I mean, there are plenty of people who know who you are, but couldn't give the slightest toss if you lived or died. They want to worry on end about your choice of life-partner and whether or not your jumper fits. Yes, these people want a part of your life, and they will stop at nothing to get it. So says HRH Queen Elizabeth the second, according to Fat Tony who drinks in my local, and he is very well connected. And in these apocalyptic times, as this fat wheezing planet spins grandly into further realms of chaos, this sort of glib statement is fast becoming fact.
Stalkers are everywhere, and they are getting more and more organised.
They will find out where you live and go through your trash. I made you famous, and now you're gonna pay. I hate you, and place a wet-knickered curse on all your children, you piece of pungent penile discharge. All my love, for all eternity, your biggest fan. Threats like these are common-place, as the disturbed individual plummets further and further into a fantasy land.