Do I look like one of them?

They call me a killer, a monster, a terrorist. I'm none of those things. No, really. I was in college today, when I received a phone call from Gurvinder, who was laughing at me through a window from the upper floor. Apparently, while I was giving Graeme a massage, one of his classmates said, "That guy touching Graeme looks like a terrorist." I don't know if I should be flattered. I went up there and gave her a scare. But I didn't kaboom. That's reserved for Ramadan. I kid, I kid, I joke, I joke!

About the monster part. Well, let's just put it this way. Inside doesn't matter. You could tell yourself you're good at something, or cool, or whatever it is you think you are, but inside doesn't matter. Because it's what you do that defines you. And I am, by definition, a fucking boring bastard. I don't know why. It all depends on who's in the crowd I guess. Like if it's just me and person A, then it'll just be pointless talk. But if it's me + person A + person B + good mood, then I'll start my nonsense. So I'm a semi boring bastard. And a terrorist.


But I am a killer I guess. All those poor insects. I've never felt Jamesbluntish after taking the life of an insect. They deserve to die. They ALL deserve to die.

Also. I've been put on a diet by my cheap-fitness coach. Basically, only one mug of coffee a day. Zero chocolates. Only fruits and non-fat yogurt as snacks. Etc. I didn't really bother to take down the whole list of dos and don'ts. But all this, and who else should show up but Nestle.

Selling Kit Kats at Fifty cents per 2-finger bar. I just sat there and tried not to cry. Wet my pants instead.