And then I bashed my knee.

So. Fucking. Embarassing.

I was on the way to the shops with Jaz when I took a fucking dive. You know how sometimes you were in so much pain and shock that you just ended up on all fours on the floor and you were not sure whether you wanted to cry from the pain or laugh to cover up your humiliation? Yes. What came out of Jaz's mouth was 'Ooh, steady! Are you alright?'. And what I answered was, 'MY LEGGINGS!'. That made me stood up quickly to check the damage though; to see if I had indeed fucked my leggings up. Leggings were fine, though. Unscathed it was, so awesome was the workmanship of TESCO leggings. Still, we hobbled on to the shops where I kept saying that my leg felt wet. Jaz was quite sure that I had sweated. From the knee. Just the shock of keeling over made my knee go into shock and sweat.

I went back to the house and yanked my leggings off and true enough, said knee was well and truly mashed.

Obviously, he rolled his eyes when I whipped the phone out to take pictures.

I NEED to show off my mangled bits to my mates on the interwebs, I said.

Still, he sat me on the counter and patched me up like the dutiful love of my clumsy life that he is.

Then he took the time to remind me that he was poorly too because on my way crashing down to the floor, I had snapped his arm that was holding my hand. 

Like I gave a shit when I was in that much pain, really.

Still, I gave him a kiss.

Begrudgingly.

Now, what did I tell you about making sure you look pretty going to the shops?

At least then, if you fall on the way there, you still look pretty, my children.

                                                                                                      

BURN, fuckdamnit!

May the bridges I burn never fucking mend itself with the help of meddling wankers. Really. Just let broken bridges lie and hopefully it will just rot with time or end up as a monumental artefact. When I burn a bridge, I don't light up a match and wonder if I Should Think It Through and then think No Fuck That Bridge. I suppose there must be some people who said Oh No, I Shouldn't Have Burned That Bridge but alas, the deed was done and that person and all the benefit that bridge brought them had gone to Broken Bridge Hell. It is not as though when I performed a DiskCleanup on the PC, I was half-expecting the crap that I had deleted to reappear the next time I choose to do the task with the dialog box saying 'We didn't really delete the crap in case you might decide you don't really wish to permanently delete 47 000 kb of internet data'.

So yes, when I burn the bridge, I don't expect the bridge to still be there the next morning with a mail in the door saying 'Just in case you decided you don't really wish to burn your relatives and friends to the ground. And we were hoping that you had Slept On It and now had a conscience attack so you won't actually go ahead with it. Signed, The Self-Repairing Meddling Fuck'.

I have discovered a minor glitch on Facebook the past weeks. It might be minor to some, and horrifyingly major (like myself) to others. When you send a Friend Request on the site, you are still able to see whatever the person you requested is up to before he/she even accepts your request. Maybe the Privacy Settings on the dim fuck is set to Absolutely Open For All To Wank To. But I get feeds on my wall and notifications about this said person's activities. It was when I clicked to see his page that I saw he had not yet accepted the request. All in all, it horrified me that even though I had clicked on Not Now for various requests instead of Not Fucking Ever, they actually had the access to my page and all my activities via my page. It freaked me out. Especially since I had Not Now-ed a few ex-schoolmates. That had forced me to look through my Not Now list and clicked Not Fucking Ever. And for added measure, in the cases of Potential Terrorists Cousins and Uncles, I blocked the fuckers. I seriously don't need for them to ever discover me on the internet and roger into me senseless the ethics of Islam and why the fuck I shouldn't be with An Infidel, who is my partner who was born a Christian but had since converted to Buddhism, abstaining from eating meat and hurting animals. Which is why I have to occasionally roll up a newspaper and bash a spider or moth to death because he will not do it, but he is alright to trap them in a glass in the kitchen to taunt the shit out of me while I prepare dinner. 'What was all that fucking noise?' he would ask from another room. And I would say 'I bashed Mothy to death!' I would answer back and carry on with chopping the veg with a spring in my step.

Why, why do moths hover around the light in its bid to be near the 'Moon'? Why does it not just satisfy its craving by going straight to the moon, in this case the light bulb, stick to it and fucking fry itself to death? Why, Mothy, do you fuck about outside your marital home to hang out with light bulbs? Does your moth-wife not question your philandering? And with that I shall smack you with a copy of TV Buzz.

But I digress. I despise a good deal of my relatives. You can't choose them, but you can sure as hell block the fuckers. I have my own set of beliefs, my own way of life and it simply gets on my stretch-marked tits when people bomb in and force views down my throat. Please don't do that. It makes my gag-reflex work overtime.

So yes, may the bridges I burn light up the skies because them fucking moths in the room is forcing me to get off my arse to find something to bash them with.