"because you’re too interested in pictures of girls in their underwear and people’s mundane lives on Facebook"
Okay Let me ask you this since you're passing judgement; WTF are you going to do about? Are you just gonna sit at your computer and bitch about other people not doing anything(when you yourself probably won't) or are you going to do something. It doesn't matter if the rest of the world is jerking it, what matters is you...only you
…what? I wasn’t expecting everyone who reads it to take immediate action against the UN, I was hoping they wouldn’t ignore it and engorge themselves with lame crap instead. Go away, silly buns.
Ash paced up and down, jiggling his toe. His very good friend, Mary Sue Cracker, had arranged to meet him here underneath the floorboards. “I have something swollen to tell you,” she had said.
Mary Sue Cracker was late, which was very unlike her. Any moment now, Ash expected to see her bounce up, her infected hair streaming behind her and her sticky eyes aglow.
Ash heard footsteps, but they seemed rather subtle for a delicate and senile girl like Mary Sue Cracker, whose tread was grey. He turned around and found Mr Mime staring at him.
"What are you doing here?" Mr Mime said inadvertently. "I thought you said you didn’t want to see me again."
Ash had said that, but now he was beginning to wish he hadn’t acted so munchingly. “Mary Sue Cracker asked to meet me here.” As he gazed at Mr Mime, his testicle began to throb vividly.
"Oh," Mr Mime said, lovingly. "I’ll just go then."
"Wait," Ash said and caught Mr Mime by his ear. "I was wrong. I still love you. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Yes," Mr Mime said, smiling. They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed, like a sparkling uterus on a Sunday morning.
From behind a chainsaw, Mary Sue Cracker watched with a ravishing light in her hairy eyes. She took a list out of her pocket, and checked off “Ash/Mr Mime”. Then, she skipped off to help an embittered man find love again, just as soon as she’d saved the Pikachu from extinction.
Lying on my bed, numb, miming the lyrics of The Knife songs. I feel like I have things to say, but can’t quite dig them out. The things I do have to say aren’t important or dramatic enough for others’ ears. I’ll just shut up and be numb and draw fancy pictures.