Since this is my blog, I'm prima facie entitled to rant whatever I want and bitch about anything and/or anyone I deem fit to be bitched about. So to whoever who's rolling your eyes right now and think that "Oh no, its one of those days" you can go get bitten in the groin by a crocodile, poke yourself in both eyes with a pitchfork and shove a bucketful of super, super concentrated tabasco sauce up your asshole. Hopefully, your butt will sprout sunflowers in all its glory.
Hey man, don't complain. The month of May hasn't been kind to me either. Firstly, I've discovered a cyst on my right thigh and its gotten badly inflamed a few days prior to my finals. Doctor said I need surgery as soon as possible but I wasn't able to undergo surgery thanks very, very much to the finals. Oh yeah, finals rocks. Then in the middle of my finals, the bloody cyst ruptured. Does it hurt? Hell yeah, u asshole. Much more than what you'll have to go through to grow sunflowers on your ass. In short, I've been in immmense pain even since before the finals, so don't you dare tell me that you understand cos its even more painful than me pouring acid on your ass to make your sunflower shrivel and wither.
I've arranged for surgery on the 16th of May and there goes my booze night in celebration of the end of finals and of Ah Ma's bday. The surgeon told me that the surgery will leave a scar on my thigh and there might be some skin pigmentation effects cos I carried the bloody inflamed cyst for so long. There's a whole mess of rubbish in my poor leg and even though I go for surgery, its impossible for him to completely remove the crap in there. Hence, the 5% chance of recurrence. Oh, this made me sooo happy that I felt like bursting out the song Getting Away with Murder by Papa Roach. I dare you to come near me, please do.
Hey man, don't complain. The month of May hasn't been kind to me either. Firstly, I've discovered a cyst on my right thigh and its gotten badly inflamed a few days prior to my finals. Doctor said I need surgery as soon as possible but I wasn't able to undergo surgery thanks very, very much to the finals. Oh yeah, finals rocks. Then in the middle of my finals, the bloody cyst ruptured. Does it hurt? Hell yeah, u asshole. Much more than what you'll have to go through to grow sunflowers on your ass. In short, I've been in immmense pain even since before the finals, so don't you dare tell me that you understand cos its even more painful than me pouring acid on your ass to make your sunflower shrivel and wither.
I've arranged for surgery on the 16th of May and there goes my booze night in celebration of the end of finals and of Ah Ma's bday. The surgeon told me that the surgery will leave a scar on my thigh and there might be some skin pigmentation effects cos I carried the bloody inflamed cyst for so long. There's a whole mess of rubbish in my poor leg and even though I go for surgery, its impossible for him to completely remove the crap in there. Hence, the 5% chance of recurrence. Oh, this made me sooo happy that I felt like bursting out the song Getting Away with Murder by Papa Roach. I dare you to come near me, please do.
My body system has been filled with antibiotics for almost a month now and call it psychology or whatever your poop of a brain wants, but it has made me lethargic the whole day and it has affected my ability to memorise. Stupid people would think that at least I have painkillers to keep the pain at bay. I have news for you, stupid - painkillers knock me out. Unless one of my life goals is to fail 2nd year law finals, I would take painkillers immediately before I enter the exam hall and give myself a good 3 hours' worth of painless sleep. So, since you are so stupid, shut your yap.
Anyway, I've been born blemish-free and oh joy, I'm soon to be marked for life. I can't even rob 7-11 in the future cos the whole world would recognise my scar and the next thing you know, fat and ugly policemen would be checking people's legs for marks. Then, u'll see my face behind bars in the papers ---> "Cops identified robber through her bloody-ass scar!" Wtf. There goes my career as a robber.
Secondly, this finals has got to be one of the worst in the history of histories. Its bad enough that I have to endure pain throughout the entire duration of my finals; I was weighed down with 1000 gazillion tons of stress cos 2nd year law students have this ridiculously complicated paper with the highest failing rate since time immemorial, known as Land Law and I had the extreme-est of extreme misfortune to be taught by a retarded gorrila who can't even differentiate between a hazelnut and a cashew nut. As a bonus, this stupid gorrila has fatal body odour which contributed to the sudden mass, unexplainable deaths of polar bears in the North Pole - that's halfway across the globe, smart-ass. Oh, she makes a garbage dump smell like roses. I nearly died this year from inhaling so much toxic fumes. Its a miracle my brain wasn't permanently damaged.
And then, after all the pain and stress, the people in Reading decided to be sadists this year and set questions which were changed in format. I think Queen Elizabeth stole all their Earl Grey tea in an attempt to teach her corgis how to make tea for her cos her royal chef stuffed 2 years' stock of tea up his nose to avoid damaging his smell sensors from the gorrila's BO. Apparently, the smell can reach UK. So now, I have to worry about whether I can pass my finals or not.
To add and rub salt into the wound, this guy whom I shall bequest the name of Tipsy, sits in front of me in every paper. So he can't answer his questions; fine with me. Since he has so much free time cos he can't answer, he squirms in his seat like a dung-worm costantly; no prob - doesn't bother me one bit. Squirm, squirm, squirm... fart. Fart! WTF! Is he trying to drag me down with him?! I would love to contain his fart in a plastic bag with a few strands of gorrila's armpit hairs and cup it on his face, especially where his nose is, making sure that its held in place with super glue. There! A taste of your own medicine! That's what you get for giving me a headache while I'm quoting common law judgments from Lord Wildberry! In your face!
Grrr! Now you know why I'm so grumpy, cranky and emotionally unstable this May. What I've typed so far isn't even everything that's been bugging me, so thank your lucky stars that you're not vomiting blood this very moment.
Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness
I need to calculate
What creates my own madness
And I'm addicted to your punishment
And you're the master
And I am waiting for disaster
I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth I am
Getting away with murder~
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