32. BLOCKED, UNFRIENDED, UNF*CKED

The holy trinity of inner peace. Comes with a goat sticker.

This isn’t a meltdown.
It’s a sacred ritual.
An emotional decluttering with glitter, gall, and zero guilt.
Let us begin.

Step 1: BLOCKED.
Because you don’t get to live rent-free in my notifications
while I’m over here trying to budget for therapy.

You text like you forgot how much damage you did.
I block like I remembered exactly how much.

This is spiritual spam control.
Your access has been revoked.
Your contact info now lives in the same folder as expired coupons and used-to-be’s.

Step 2: UNFRIENDED.
Let’s be honest—
we weren’t friends.
You were an unpaid emotional intern with narcissistic tendencies
and a meme addiction.

Your comments always had that “bless your heart” energy.
Your vibes smelled like manipulation and essential oils.
And your birthday posts felt like surveillance.

So I clicked unfriend like it was CPR for my nervous system.

Step 3: UNF*CKED.
Not just body.
Mind. Soul. Wi-Fi signal.

I exorcised you from my group chat,
my playlists,
and the metaphorical futon of my psyche where you used to crash without asking.

I unstuck myself from your timeline.
I spiritually un-tagged our entire history.
I pulled your ghost out of my guts like emotional dental floss.

And when people say,
“Wasn’t that a little extreme?”
I say,
“Not nearly enough.”

This isn’t vengeance.
It’s emotional feng shui.

I don’t decorate with red flags anymore.
I don’t host pity parties for energy vampires.
And I definitely don’t hand out second chances
to people who threw the first slap and called it love.

So yeah—BLOCKED.
UNFRIENDED.
UNF*CKED.

With a smile, a goat emoji,
and a peace offering to myself.

I’m not healed.
I’m not holy.
But I am no longer haunted.

And that?

That’s not petty.
That’s progress with boundaries and a built-in punchline.

The exorcism is over.
The system has been debugged.
And baby…

You’re not just deleted.
You’re archived.


BLOCKED, UNFRIENDED, UNF*CKED

Click. Delete. Emotional cleanse.
A breakup trilogy with no loose ends.
They begged for chaos—I went mute.
Then blocked their soul with zero dispute.

Now my peace logs in on time,
And petty’s just a past-life crime.
No karma needed, just good tech—
One swipe, no calls, no verbal wreck.

—The Funny Phoenix, password-protected and gloriously gone

Put a Dollar in the Juke (Joke) Box

This Whirld runs on punchlines and petty cash. Tips help fund emotional damage with a comedic twist. Humor kept me alive—now it pays the therapy bills. Every dollar helps. Every laugh heals. Or at least distracts. So, if you’ve ever laughed out loud, felt seen, heard, or just temporarily less insane (you're welcome) thanks to Christy, consider:

👉 Throwing a buck in the trauma jukebox to keep the jokes flowing.
👉 Supporting a sad clown with a sarcasm addiction

Because laughter might be free — but keeping the lights on sure isn’t.

Laugh cry overshare funniest thing that ever happened to you when you were losing your s***–go.

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About Us

If this place sparked something in you—or just made you feel a little less alone while mentally spiraling—drop a tip in the flame fund. I built this place while burning out. Now it runs on caffeine, survival grit, and scrolls of half-sane truth.