Holy Cow !

How to fucken detect a crazy crazy and incredibly near impossible orgasmic game of Scrabalous ?

Here's how :
Oxyphenbutazone for a score of 1778 ! Holy cow, fuck me ....

Passing Jugdement

Looking at him, you promised yourself to never ever be caught in such situation.

To be stripped slowly of what’s left of one’s masculinity and respect in such a way is certainly not what you are prepared for.

Period.

Thus, you sauntered away, knowing fully you are about to decline the offer soon.

*flips hair*

So, What's Next #258 ?

Most times, I simply have no idea what to do with my very much weathered and abandoned blog.

To ditch or not to ditch. To leave or to stay. I simply am not sure.

What I'm pretty certain is that most of my entries these days are very much watered down. Not unlike diluted coffee. One can still taste the caffeine but it won’t keep you awake. That sort of things.

To be honest, I tend to self-censored myself whenever I blog ( if I ever ) these days. I rarely blog about anything personal anymore. I might thread, but I seldom dive, if you get the drift.

Yeah, some might argue that this is my blog, so I should blog whatever fuck I want but then again, should I ?

I mean, as abandoned as this blog is, it is still being RSS-ed by some friends, some haters and a lover.

To receive a nudge asking whether I’m okay whenever I post an emo-slash-vile piece is the last thing I want.

Big attention whore I am, but at times, I also just wanna say my peace and get it done with. With no subsequent drama or dildos being thrown at my beaten face.

For this face can't take anymore dents, a'wight !!!

Diet Coke and A Pizza Please

Your obsession with weight is nothing new.

Everyone who knows you will vouch for it. Heck, you even started drinking laxatives with mummy dearest when you are like 14. So, go figure !

You are fat, therefore you fret. Yup, that basically explains it all.

Usually your level of fat-induced paranoia is in a deluded stage aka it's-okay-ed-ur-fat-but-ur-cute-that-way but these days, you’re just sick of tapping into the niche market again and again and again.

You are no circus freak, so why obscure yourself to such runway, you questioned. And you are right. You shouldn’t.

You should strive to do mass catering. Of the crassier kind, of course.

You should. You oughta. You need to.

For having “baby” fats when you are in your early teens is cute.

Early twenties forgiveable.

And fucken suicidal when you are a cock and two balls away from the big 30.

Big girl, you are beautiful.

*screeching sounds*

Not.