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Pig. Sea Urchin. Rabid Babboon.

4 Aug

So there’s this one coworker (let’s call him X) who dished about his girlfriend problem to my other friend (let’s call him Y) who is a blabbermouth and told me things that he shouldn’t have. X made me think that the douchebaggery of dudes is more limitless than I previously thought.

X had a girlfriend up to about a week ago. Up to a week ago, I thought that X and his girlfriend were still an item, UNTIL…

I caught him with another girl, WHO IS ALSO MY COWORKER, this Saturday; walking in the mall with his arms around her; which tells me that prior to breaking up with his girlfriend, he already set up a “replacement” plan to fall on smoothly. Fucking spotted-dick bastard fuck.

Geezus Christo.

I may not get boys at all, but one thing I learned from X is that there is no “mourning” period from one girl to the next.
Even I who obviously is not attracted to him at all and definitely not his ex-girlfriend, feel so… violated and angry. If I were his ex I would be fucking pissed-off. I don’t know his ex and she might be an evil she-witch that made his life miserable, but wow I feel so sorry for her. Maybe this is girl-code sympathy or something. Couldn’t he at least pretend to be sad or mopey for a period of time before he gets his paws on another girl in public?

I swear, I can’t with all of this.

Why can’t I be a lesbian. Why do I like boys.

Protected: this is for my ex

14 Apr

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Mr. Spain International 2010, who the hell art thou?

28 Nov

Hello.

I’m not dead. It’s just one of those times where I totally have the right to be emo.

I know, usually when I’m in an emo-mood, I tend to go overload on the blogging, but lately I dunno. Maybe I’ve grown up and of course there’s twitter as another outlet.

But today, right now I need an outlet that is not too micro.

See, right now I cannot sleep (from caffeine overdose), cannot eat (PIGS CAN FLY), cannot think (except for impure thoughts), and cannot work (because I hate this goddamn psychology-motivational-pseudoscience bullcrap of a book that I have to summarize ON GUNPOINT; but that’s another subject, let’s focus on this instead for now).

So, here’s how it happened.

Saturday night, I was surfing the TV Channel (since I have no life), waiting for the La Liga games to start when suddenly BAM BOOM KAPOW my remote dropped to the ground when I got on Trans7. Thankfully, Indonesia made the right decision to be sexist for this once and allowed an international MALE PAGEANT (Mister International 2010) to be held here. Of course, it’s a little too late for me to stalk them boys and test their gayness meet them in person, but I liked it to just get the chance to see them on telly.

So blah blah blah it started with every delegates to introduce themselves, and I gave my thumbs up for delegates from Australia (the face is meh but the bod is YOU ME FUCK FUCK™), Austria, Belgium (+ squeal), Denmark, France, Indonesia (WHOA WHERE HAS THIS GUY BEEN ALL MY LIFE), Great Britain (the eventual winner who is too guido for my tastes but still… HOT DAMN), Slovenia… and then they got to this guy:

SWEET MERCIFUL SAN IKER, HELP ME… I CAN’T BREATHE… WHAT IS BREATHING ANYWAY? WHAT IS OXYGEN? HNNNGGG FAPPED.

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