I'm a liability lately. I've been complaining about absolutely everything to anyone who strays into the path of conversation with me. And it's not letting up any time soon, I can tell you
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I had a conversation with a good friend of mine just the other day that was somewhat related to this topic, only replace "madness" with "being an asshole" and you've got it. The argument was that there are no men who aren't assholes. Just men who are good enough to admit fully that they can be a massive asshole from time to time or possibly even frequently. The ones who go on about how great they are are usually the ones to look out for. At least that's the conclusion we reached. I myself tend to choose the openly insane to the closeted insane because it's so much more fun when you embrace it. Nobody likes someone in denial. Rehab for insanity is just an extention of denial. Unless you're an investment banker and not qualified as one of the insane entertaining masses.
I've been craving almonds all day. I hope you're happy.
There, now that's a rant in and of itself. Being an arsehole is a side effect of the XY, I'm utterly in agreement with that. And it's very silly not to admit it. I've never known a single arseholish bloke who's had trouble coupling. It's the ones that stifle their urges and who seem really nice who have the most trouble, and according to many women in my life, who GIVE the most trouble by being sneaky and less than forthcoming about inclinations, preferences and occurrences. I have, however, been known to go on about how great I am given the proper parameters, though rarely seriously.
Nothing pisses me off more than a performer uttering the statement, 'Basically, I just live a normal life.' Well, apart from the rampant insanity, yes.
Right. Just pop out to the corner shops, then, I dare you, normalito.
All of my former almonds are making their way through several feet of internal plumbing in a most inedible texture. There are many of its genus, I'm told, available for purchase in nearly all countries on earth. I could send you some of the same because my god - they are outstanding.
Huff. Fine, let me just find you in my old-fashioned, non-electronic Rolodex and send you some of the very same brand, because my god - oh I said that already.
Only when I start to see pigs fly will I then call myself mad. Until that time, I like to refer to myself as someone who has only put a toe in the vat of madness. Thank you very much.
Ha, Tiptoes. I had a hard time knowing whether I was supposed to laugh or not.
As someone who's often mistaken for wacky, I throw in my beautifully painted wood lots into the "agree" barrel. Wacky, you bastards. I'll wacky you. Be a love and do us a cuppa one sugar?
"I'll wacky you" is one of those statements that add to the reasons why you're one of my favourite tiny humans. I've got the kettle on, and a phenomenal new door upon which you may knock at will.
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I've been craving almonds all day. I hope you're happy.
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Sirius Black, I want some of your almonds.
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All of my former almonds are making their way through several feet of internal plumbing in a most inedible texture. There are many of its genus, I'm told, available for purchase in nearly all countries on earth. I could send you some of the same because my god - they are outstanding.
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That's an appalling visual, but I'll let it slide because you are endearingly mad. Now I'm craving them!
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Huff. Fine, let me just find you in my old-fashioned, non-electronic Rolodex and send you some of the very same brand, because my god - oh I said that already.
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Ha, Tiptoes. I had a hard time knowing whether I was supposed to laugh or not.
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I'd love to give you guidance on whether to laugh or not, but I haven't seen it myself. I hope it's funny.
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Who would do that to an almond? Oh, the Japanese.
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