dignity armageddon
(Monday, August 22, 2005)some irresponsible rotten idiot (i presume) had accidentally smashed my car number plate. one piece of it is gone. the lad has to be a genius because my bumper looks fine. the result of the 15 minute preliminary endeavor to look for any form of scratches was negative. nothing. the parameters of the bumper looks pretty fucking fine so far. either he's so good, he only manages to smash onto my number plate or he's a bloke with a shitload of luck or maybe i ran onto something, which is highly unlikely cause i don't feel a thing. it was still there this morning when i went off to work.
on the other hand, i am feeling partly disinteragrated now. hell yeah, i'm half ill for about a week already. borderline sickness, i call it. not severe enough to put you out for days but docile enough to interfere with the daily routine.
the mathematical equation for lousy weak-ass sick fucks:
fucked up knee + headache + sore eyes + drowsy + nauseous + occasion barfing = a little sick.
other than the fucked up knee, i've got all the symptoms for pregnancy. isn't that grotesquely assuring? i'm pretty fucking sure i'm not pregnant but i think that amazing doctor near my place will think otherwise. what, you think you can't get pregnant now? stop being a stereotypical ass. in our previous encounter, he thinks that i was a girl, i shit you not.
Vic came over to fetch some rubbish after work and i smelled like a girl cause that dumb ass myn wee sprayed me with dior ladies' perfume at klcc today. never in my life i intend to smell like a peach, ever. even if nicole kidman and natalie imbruglia both wants to hump me silly if i smell like that. no fucking way. so i asked vic to meet me at the basketball park so i don't smell like i was in a playmate mosh pit.
dammit that Vic actually brought her running shoes along so we can jog a couple of laps. so we ran for 2 laps until my stomach felt like a razor ran through it and i started throwing up. bet it wasn't the bouncy D-cup set of tits. so Vic was rubbing her hands along my spine to help me puke the fucking intestines and lunch and breakfast out and the first remark she made was with impudence sying, why the fuck in the world you smell like a pussy? instead of the cliche are you fucking ok, dude? she just sat there laughing while looking at me pathetically choke on my puke.
