Fate.

Assalamualaikum.

Heh.

I’m very much glad that his lost testicles hits him hard in the face.

See. Cursing Abstinence supplements images of things  even more disgustingly vivid.

Also I’m gaining back my pathetical power of wider vocabulary because of that.

Not by imagining testicles more vividly. The Abstinence.

Anywho.

A believer of a worn out Canadian.

That’s probably the worst thing that can happen to the friends I have in my life.

I have nothing against said Canadian.

He’s just pathetically boring.

Bear in mind I’ve hated Yuna for breaking into the mainstream world.

Sudipsterism.

I’ve somehow figured out how her brain works.

People throw around, ‘You don’t know me’, when they forget that that statement is void in this age of broadening, less personal cyberspace.

Tweets.
Statuses.
Blogs.
And then vlogs.
Even the kind of things you do with your friends from the instagram-laden Twitter of yours.

Unless you’re a solid, testicle-tolerant psycopath, you’re pretty much an open book.

Psychology is fun.

I pity that lad for succumbing to fulfilling a fantasy of a girl.

Not a woman, but a girl.

Not even the girl, but a girl.

Meaning, oh nevermind.

I, on the other hand, am not a girl.

Not yet a woman either.

Pardon the inclusion of Jamie Lynn Spears’ sister’s song.

Call me a jealous female dog, but if I have a friend like him God help me or I will sling him/her across the Grand Canyon so that he/she would be forced to use the flight time to think through before touchdown upon the hydrophobically hardened soil.

I choose my friends wisely. I can be 99.9 percent certain that action is not ever necessary.

That 0.01 percent; allocation for probability of God pulling pranks on us all.

I don’t use ‘Good Luck’ because it is a myth people spread to hang a noose of hope around their neck, but I’ll excuse myself this time.

Good luck. You having intercourse need it.