Hello my friends, my foes, and my frefoes, life has struck me a blow. Now, it isn't a severe blow by any means. Truth be told it's quite a stupid blow, but I cannot get over it. This my friends, concubines, and admirers means that nobody canna cross it. I swear to you all on my grandmother's grave, that I cannot believe how it is that I have been so wounded, even if the wound is incredibly slight.
It all started when my very very very good friend C made friends with a lout, a charlatan, a ragamuffin in disguise, and a grand vizier of bastardry and douchebaggery called Patricia. Patricia is a man, but I have named him Patricia because it is my blog, and it is mine to do as I please. To be perfectly honest, Patricia is too good a name for him. He should be something like Paw-paw or panic, or Prune. Ah! I think I just outdid myself. Prune is a better name than Patricia. I communed with the Prune briefly and, it made me incredibly ill, so I shat it out or pruned it from my life. Yes! at my age and size, I am pleased to say that I deleted prune from my phone not very long ago. The move was sweet. It was like bursting a boil, or eating an incredibly sweet vindaloo.
When C, made friends with this charlatan, I was intrigued because C is usually a rather good judge of character. It was at that point that I conspired to get to know this fellow a little bit better. I meant to look at his soul and see what colour it was. When C told me not up to a week after meeting him that Prune was not good for anything, I didn't listen. In my mind Prune was only misunderstood. Prune was the underdog, the Sam Whitwicky, the guy that makes you want to join his team and support him. So I continued my investigations. But what the flying super man was I investigating you wonder? I don't quite know myself. I mean, how do you know that you like someone? Most of the time, when you know, you know. And that was how I oscillated between thinking that Prune was a master in devilry, and thinking that Prune wasn't that bad after all for the better part of 6 months.
In the end, there were two interactions that solidified my opinions about the criminal fellow.
Enter Afam and Prune, the uncouth and poorly trained
Afam: Ah! My last relationship was no picnic. There was a lot of pining, and driving, and pining, and whining, and not enough loving.
Afam: Yes. it was ghastly. In the end, I had to call it off because, there's only so much pining a human being can do. Come to think of it, I haven't told very many people this...
Prune: Am I supposed to feel special?
Enter Afam and Prune, the biggest twat in the history of twats
Prune: I saw your friend walking on the road.
Afam: Oh you should have said hello.
Prune: So I was supposed to get out of my car, and say hello to someone I don't know.
Afam: I don't see why not. It really isn't that big a deal.
Prune: You've got to be kidding me.
Afam: In any case, I didn't have anything else to say. I don't feel like being a conversation wizard today.
Prune: When you haven't got anything to say you're supposed to stay mute.
And then I was like let's delete the fucker. But then I felt bad for wanting to because it felt like a petty response to a slight that should not have mattered, but it did. He may have tried to apologise later that night after I had dallied quite frivolously with a creature of beauty but my blood was hot, and my pride was scorched, and I either flung his reaching arm off me, or barged through it. I'm quite finicky about touching. It can be a lovely thing, it can be a comforting thing, but for me, I've got to give you permission to do it, before you can do it without me feeling ill or wrong. I am grateful for the experience though. It made for a good blog.