Death by stress. (For you, Christine:D Recgonise it?) I would so much rather death by chocolate. More fun, and at least you're fat before your fall. Whoop. Alliteration. And at least you're happy. To the last of my knowledge, stress is not a happy thing. Chocolate is.

And chocolate is yummy too.

And doesn't involve incredible insatiable desires to push a certain teacher underneath the guillotine, and slam the blade down on that certain person's neck.

Whoosh.

And also doesn't involve the very senseless, foolish, doltish act of slamming your head on a very hard, solid object. Folly, I say!

Because, as everyone knows, that effectively rids your brain of many important little things that float around in our tiny widdle little pathetic brains, that die anyway (but this banging head action just increases the speed of death) that we need for our brain to work properly, also known as the little things in our brain that die anyway so hitting ourselves on the head doesn't make much difference, a.k.a brain cells.

And your head hurts after that too.

And death by chocolate does not involve feeling like a little piece of shit that just went flying out of someone's not-so-nice-to-mention part, whoosing down the toilet bowl, whirling through the pipoe, entering the main pipe (floundering there for a little bit, plopping up and down), THEN zooming down another clasutrophobic pipe, entering a domain with a huge strainer-lookalike, drained through that strainer-like thinggummy (at which our poor friend the little piece of shit looses much of itself, and breakdowns and this is consequently the end of our little piece of shit.) The bigger parts, unable to strain through the strainer-lookalike to become some sort of drinking water (such a wanton machinery) spin heedlessly, helplessly, debilitated as it whirls around and around in a circle, until all it's cells (if it has cells) are a mass of swirling... mess.

Poor little piece of shit.

Whhee.

I'm comparing myself to a piece of shit.

I'm losing it.

And proud of it.

~Fin~