acidicman

I imagined I got a text message from my scab on me knee "It is time to pick me off." I didn't really get that message, I was imagining because my best friend looks like he has finally got lucky with the opposite sex. I was instrumental in getting them together. Namely I stood there and said, "My mate fancies you." "Shut up", "No I don't!". So I said "Yes you do." and she said "Do you really?" and he said "Yes, but I'm really embarassed now." and some of this really happened and some didn't and I failed to take note of which way the BullShit'o'meter was facing.

But it still leaves me alone and I spent a long time in that club, being an awkwrd mutha hubard. I supose drinking the most expensive drink made me look pretentious wothout even trying.

God I want to go back to Prague. I can spend my money in sex bars and be reagrded as a filth monster. Yet I spend the same amount in this country on buying drinks and I'm regarded as the ill but safe mutha that you dont ask from.

Father? Yes Son? I want to kill you. Mother? I want to wahoo, yahey, whooop whooop. This is the end, my friend, the end.