June 5 - The Woman That Billy Joel Says May Be Right Effectively Tells Him That She Doesn't Think He's Crazy; She Just Thinks He's a Douche

Listen up, Billy. It is Billy, right? Not Bill or Will. Definitely not William. No self-respecting "crazy" guy would go by such an unabashedly square name. No, not you. It's Billy. Well Billy, you might want to sit down so this news doesn't kick you in the ass too hard, but you know all those times when I said you were crazy? That was sarcasm.
That was sarcasm, you dense boob.
Let me guess. You thought my calling you crazy was really just my roundabout way of telling you how cool and dangerous I thought you were. Like I couldn't openly admit how edgy and therefore hot you were, so I pretended to accuse you of being crazy and self-destructive. Is that it?
Um, no.
It wasn't attraction disguised as contempt. It was mocking disguised as nothing.
Jesus, how much more obvious could I have made it that I was mocking you? All those times when you would get that dorky cocksure smile and say, "You may be right. I may be crazy," I was like, you freaking dork. Do you have no concept of fucking sarcasm? Yeah, like I really thought you were crazy for driving your motorcycle in the rain, just like I thought the fact that you made it home alive only proved you were insane. I only said those things because you called to tell me you made it home OK and I couldn't think of anything else to say. But yeah, no, driving your motorcycle home in a light drizzle does not make you insane, especially if you wear a helmet.
Speaking of last Friday, for the last time, you didn't "crash" my party. You were invited. Jesus, everybody from work was. And yes, I know you were only having fun. And no, it wasn't hurting anyone. Nobody ever said it was. My God, where do you get your ideas? Was it because of the beer? Billy, how many times do I have to tell you? Those were for everyone. Of course, I didn't care that you had as many as you did. Hell, take them all next time for all I care. I don't even like beer.
Then there was all that bragging about walking through Bedford Stuy alone. Yeah, like walking through Bedford Stuy in the middle of the afternoon makes you such a badass. Dude, who fucking cares? My mom walks through Bedford Stuy alone. It's not that rough of a neighborhood. And by the way, no, there's nothing the matter with the clothes you're wearing. Why do you keep asking me that?
Look, you're a nice guy. At least you used to be, and I don't mean that in a "but now you're a lunatic and I need to save you" kind of way. I just mean you were a lot more charming back when you wanted us all to call you the Piano Man. This whole brooding, edgy thing, it doesn't work for you. Go back to being that guy. Go back to being the entertainer.
And for the love of God and all things holy, stop calling me your uptown girl.