A year ago today saw a post right here called Valentines Doornails.
It had a specially created graphic. I went and got a syringe, pulled some blood into it out my own arm and then sprayed it around a dying rose flower.
Something like this…
Stop holding your breath.
This year you lot get nothing.
Fifty Shades of Grey, my ass. I have spent time (quality time) with various females whom have read this book. Sounds like Mills n Boon with a couple of extra props to me. Yawn.
Lately I have been getting a few tattoos. I dropped a car gearbox on my forearm two days ago.
I am in danger of falling in love with the girl whom hits the bruise on my forearm with a closed fist as hard as she can. In danger of falling for the girl whom is so open and obnoxious in public that she could compete with me. (And that really is something…) The girl whom sees a new tattoo, grabs it, hits it, scratches her fingernails down it, and then cares for it with all the tender care of a mother caring for a new born.
The girl whom…. Well, fuck, we enjoy each others company greatly. A hugely dangerous and problematic time approaches all too rapidly.
She has left me with fifty shades of black and blue.
Think it has to end. She claims she is a good friend.
I have yet to see it.
Hell of a lot of fun maybe.
But good? Not on your life.