Yesterday (or if you're my friend Chin Whee, YASterday), I played a grand total of 6 hours of pure, sublime soccer. Nothing perks me up like very very good soccer, and yesterday's marathon put me in a very, very good mood. However, after soccer, I came across a whole series of my biggest dislikes. Mood killed like erection in a screening of The Pianist.
Firstly, I found that I had abrasions on my inner thighs and ass cheeks. Yes. Hah. Awkward areas right? I walked home like a fucking penguin, mind you.
I arrived home to an empty house later that night. I hate coming home and it's all dark and quiet. When I opened that door, I was greeted with an abyss so dark and silent that it tore at my soul. Okay not that dramatic, but I felt really bummed out realising that things were going to be quiet. Nothing my iTunes can't fix, I know, but there and then, it was really quite depressing.
Once inside, I headed straight to the fridge. To my biggest and most oversized despondency, I discovered that there were NO CHOCOLATES in MY fridge. Having no chocolates in MY fridge is like having no bats in Ozzy's fridge. I lose my direction and purpose in life. My soul starts to starve.
For 2 hours, I suffered.
Then at 1 in the morning my parents came back with a bag of snickers, and life was good again.
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