As a last resort the sinister chick has unleashed the pink nightdress. Grossly frilly? Check. Blindingly hideous? Double check.
It’s also large and shapeless, so much that she suspects it of willfully cringing away from her mammaries, glutes and e.t.c.s (not her words- interestingly disgusting combination though…jah?).
She’s been pushed towards these desperate measures by the most sickening demon of lethargy ever loosed on earth. This lethargy is a strain yet unknown to anybody else and it fills one’s mind and blood with obese (and malicious) leeches that can waggle their eyebrows.
Tests are currently being performed on it in her sinister lab with the aim of discovering ways to package it so that it can be used on all her enemies.
The pink monstrosity has been brought out to first of all exorcise the fuckin lethargy. It also has the power to channel all her energies, good, bad, evil, blah, into sitting in front of a screen and banging out coursework, works of brilliance for peanuts and blog-sheitz.
Enough of this third person bullshit.
To deal with my disinclination to do anything meaningful, I’ve taken to watching avatar- the cartoon. As a result, I’m filled with disgust and pity for the fart-y quality of life on earth. We’re not allowed to have powers or any sort of appreciation for natural forces- not unless we’re willing to risk hellfire by becoming white witches and warlocks. Even worse, we’ve got no superheroes called Aang and old age happens to us all. Grrr.
Fuckloads of meaningless coursework(s) about boring shit like transitions to democracy and literature reviews are flung at us by merciless lecturers who like to pretend that they were never in campus. Bitches.
On earth, a guy vibing one thinks nothing of exclaiming “Twenty one?? You look twenty four- in a good way.” Tell me, vibing earthling. How is it a good thing for me to look twenty-four- even in a good way when I’m twenty one? Do you realize that you’re dooming me to a life of forever subtracting four years from my real age? Peeps? This chick is 17. Officially.
Enter bullets. Something has to take the blame for the randomness below.
- I inhaled an insect with such gusto that it was inside my gullet before I could say whatthefuck so I swallowed the damn thing. It’s been four days and my throat is still tickly. Poisoned gullet! Insect conspiracy!
- What is with exes who leave the country to “study” and return after TWO weeks?!?
I don’t want you breathing my air. Go back. With your ruined knee. Grrrr.
- On a happy note, I practically slithered into my tres cool shorts and little t-shirt today. There was no fighting, no squeezing, no heaving, cursing and/or bullshit. I don’t really change much-size wise-I’m either on the smaller, more desirable side of size 12 or the gross wobbly one that’s more of a 13 really.
Currently, I’m happily occupying the smallest most delicious side of 12 imaginable, the one that allows one to sit without clutching one’s belly or hiding it behind books and bags. I can wear a bikini and cast triumphant glances, middle fingers and tongues at self-consciousness. Hah!
- On a less giggly note, I am apologetic. I trait-ed. I’m a traitor. I deliberately misquoted one of my most valuable quotees. This is because he made it too easy. Who says “I just do not wipe” and expects me…ME to listen to the other things that he has to say? I’m sorry mah mehn. Forgive my sinister ass. (teehee)
- Lastly (and most importantly), I’m in possession of many many books written by bazmanagangsta. Lulu. Mr. Ernest Bazanye hisself. Come to bhh and buy em!
If they’re still in-of-stock that is.