Posts Tagged ‘prostitute’

So, Dennis Hopper just died… Of cancer.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes that shit causes cancer. Tough luck.

… That’s just sad.

Oh yeah, and today’s the International Children’s Day, so… Congratulations on all the fucking kids.

Soon-to-be, YMCA-singin' Village People coverband!

Seriously. Fucking kids. Well, those babies in the picture are cute. Except for the boy dressed as a fairy. Or princess or whatever. Yeah, they are kinda cute. But those aren’t kids, those are babies. Kids I fucking hate.

You are adopted, and your mother hate you. Oh yeah, your dad's a drunk and sleeps with prostitutes. That includes your mom. Fuck you.

I fucking hate spending four fucking hours in a fucking train with 60 fucking 8th graders shouting and yelling with their fucking mouths. How the hell is it even possible to be constanlty noisy and shouty for four fucking hours straight?

So happy fucking Children’s Day. I hope you get syphilis and die, you miserable fuck.

******

Ps. That felt great getting all that shit out of my system, so here’s a drawing of a giraffe I found on google

Yay, look at me! I'm a giraffe, the tallest motherfucker on the planet, take that elephants! Look the 8 year old daughter of a prostitute that drew me can't even make it look like I'm in balance. Fuck me, I'm tipping!

 

I don’t have anything relevant nor intelligent to write about, but still I felt like I had to. So, what’s going down? Not much. I need to get myself together and call that masseuse (no, not a prostitute, if I need that I’d call Your Mother), I’ve been delaying it for about two or three weeks now, but my back is really killing me. It feels like I have two lumbs of agony pressed in between each scapula and my spine. One of each side of cause. Fucking exams. I have had them for almost 10 months now, but my economy didn’t allow me to pay for a massage, it still doesn’t, but my girlfriend gave me a gift certificate. Still, they’re a reminder, telling me to sit straight, and not bend my back when I sit in a chair reading or writing or stuff like that. That’s how I got ’em in the first place. My advice to you, dear reader (or jew) is a little something I got from this book I got called The Bible:

When you study for your exams, don’t sit in a couch bent over a small coffee table. Use a goddamn desk and a nice chair. The couch will fuck your back up. Seriously.

Okay! Motherfucking newsflash! It’s started to snow! Seriously huge motherfucking flakes of snow! Shit, last week the thermometer said 10-12 degrees! It’s supposed to be spring now, not fucking winther! I bet it’s that damn volcano, yet another side effect of the Dustpocalypse. Fucking snow!

När du studerar till din examen, inte sitta i en soffa böjd över ett litet soffbord. Använd ett jävla skrivbord och en fin stol. Soffan kommer knulla din igen. Allvarligt.

I do not believe in God, Allah, Jehova, Shiva or Buddha. I do not believe in faith or destiny or that “things happen for a reason”. I believe in freedom. The opportunity to do whatever I want, whenever I want. That I can board a plane to Los Angeles this afternoon and spend the rest of my days as a rich, classy guy-hooker for all the rich ladies, or that I can punch the pregnant lady in the seat right next to me in the stomach and cause an instant abortion (love the song, actually), and no one can do anything about it – I hold all of these life-changing decisions in my hand, and I can make them whenever I like. My only regret would be, if I didn’t take advantage of it at some point.

So all you sad, sobbing determinst idiots out there: stop whining, take some responsibility for your life and live a little. You can always regret on your death bed.

PS.: for the record: I didn’t punch the pregnant lady in the stomach.

PPS.: actually I didn’t punch anyone at all…

Jesus säger: inte en kuk.