I think I'm a female.
No, I think I'm PMSing. Symptoms of PMS: OK I can only commit one to memory, and that is 'sore breasts'.
OK I have my biology textbook on my lap now.
'Physical symptoms include sore breasts, feeling bloated, acne or pimple outbreaks, headaches, feeling tired and having trouble sleeping.'
That was copied from the 'Biology Matters'.
Yep, I'm irritable right now. I've flared up no less than 10times throughout the course of this Sunday.
Let's start with my post yesterday and the feedback I got on my tagboard.
Which made me flare up, apparently.
I was having fun doing CIP, got a bit high, took that picture, posted it on my blog because I felt like it. Your comments on my tagboard would not make me take down my pictures, or make me feel bad about how I look.
Face it--I know I'm ugly. But you don't know the definition of 'cute'. It means 'ugly but adorable'. I think I'm adorable. If I'm not, why would you even read my blog in the first place? Adorable=lovely in a childlike way. And I do find myself childish, which explains my argument with the Downs' Syndrome lady of yesterday. So why are you even telling me how I look disgusting/disturbing? I don't really care, and all that it did was to make me pissed.
I have the liberty to post whatever pictures I wish to post, and I can upload pornographic materials if I wished to. Can you stop me? No, so if you wish to stop me, or feel greatly disturbed by my writings and posted pictures, screw off lah. No one is forcing you to read my blog or look at my pictures, and since you're so voluntary in visiting my blog, I'd appreciate if you give constructive feedback, reminders, cocktalking. Not bullshit reminding me of how ugly I look.
That's not constructive, that's not helpful, and that only shows how superficial you are, because you only know how to look at pictures, comment on them, and get away from my blog. I'd rather you not visit at all. Really. I don't want my visitor count to be increased by humans of sub-intelligence. It makes me feel as if my blog is patronized by idiots who can't breathe properly.
I already know I'm ugly, it's a fact, I don't bother denying. I won't bother with plastic surgery, make-up, long hair. I accept long hair at pubic area, but not on the head.
And I know you throat is dry.
Enough. My blood is boiling. No, not really. I'm cooking lobsters in Runescape even as I type. I don't need my full concentration on blog posts, and therefore I don't expect you to read
in rapt attention. If you do, it translates into incompetency at reading bullshit churned out on a daily basis by an ugly guy with a small dick. Suicide is the only way out for you people. Either that, or lung infections from breathing in air with your mouth.
I'm really PMS-ing. I think it's my right do attack anyone I feel like, here and now. But I shall show some self-restraint. And focus my energy on killing demons and levelling up my attack and HP. I find that more constructive than a dialogue session with idiots.
And I think I've earned free rides on the emotional roller-coaster. It's like, somehow, in a crowded area, I'd have a sudden urge to sit at one corner and keep to myself. It's not out of necessity that I stop myself from doing so--it's just that I want to prove to myself that I can do it, that I can somehow control myself and stand tall, no matter my mood.
OK that part was random. I don't want to dwell on my emotional problems which are perpetuated by my 28day cycle.
Went to the cemetery just now. 清明节, however you write it. Quite left out, because the spotlight was on my sister. What course she's applying for, which university to choose, this, that. And I enjoyed being left out. I have mood swings, after all. And I do feel like being transparent when the need arises.
Anyway, there was a spooky moment. I don't think I should blog about it anyway. Skip.
Went home and slept. Woke up to find that my sister got her new phone. Which makes my w800 obsolete, because I don't have a 3G phone. Sobs. I know I'd get a new phone soon anyway, because I'm a materialistic asshole who needs the latest electronic gadget to feel up-to-date and hip-and-trendy, or else I'd feel insecure about my dick size and end up committing suicide.
And the rest of the day progressed painlessly, with a few flashes of anger every now and then. I seriously think that there's something wrong with me.
Oh. And I read the Straits Times article on modification of body parts. I think the picture is too gross to be posted. It's like..teflon balls under your skin. If it's at your boobs, people would just pass it off as breast implants. But if it's at your forearm, you're just trying to be a freak of nature. I don't know about you, but I definitely won't want balls in my arms, under my skin, placed side by side/on my blood vessels. What if someone whacked your arm at where you balls are? And I don't mean your scrotum, I meant your arm. I think your blood vessels would all rupture. There you go. It's not a sign of manliness, it's just a form of mutilation.
If you think that putting balls in your arms is cool, why don't we all bind our feet? We're walking back in time, back to the point when binding of feet is not only encouraged, but enforced. Young rich ladies retain their feet size at like...age 5? And they walk around with all that pressure on their feet.
Pressure=Force/Area
I don't know, but my guess is that the ladies didn't enjoy walking.
And during the Tang Dynasty, fat women were considered beauties. I think it was that period of time anyway. That translates into more force/same area, which means that the girls would be lying in bed, incapable of anything but sex.
If that's the cost of beauty, I'd rather remain ugly.
And the S-Pop concert is going on now, right? It sounds exciting, but I can't be bothered with all the act-cute girls. I can't stand girls who 'teh' so much my goosebumps pop out. But somehow, they still attract loadsa masculine support. I find myself swaying at my feet. I have a fetish for female voices that I'm not exactly familiar with. I guess it's because Cat High is an all-boys school. I'm too used to the bursting-with-testosterone syndrome most guys are afflicted with.
And CRY sent me a chain mail. I find it quite meaningful. But the riddle, don't understand.
Paul Harvey riddle:
What is greater than God, more evil than the devil, the poor have it, the rich need it. and if you eat it you'll die?
Kindergarten kids supposedly have a higher chance of solving this riddle, but unfortunately I'm too old.
Oh. I just levelled up. I'm now lvl102.
-- 3/23/2008 09:07:00 PM
