manual dexterity

It occurred to me that being indirectly responsible for a tragedy is one of the most painful experiences one could go through. If you’re reading this, you know who you are, and I’m sorry for what happened. In the end, I feel the same way you feel. Hopefully this doesn't affect our relationship. To those who have no idea what I am talking about, here is the AIM conversation.

!@#$%^&: crissy moran is retiring

!@#$%^&: its your goddam religion that did it

AtaraXia XVI: WHAAT

!@#$%^&: shes suddenly loves jesus

!@#$%^&: and went to a devout life of christianity

Simply put, my friend’s favorite porn star is retiring because she supposedly found inspiration from Jesus, and deemed her job unholy.

Tragedy is profound in nature, and through certain figurative fractures, we can rebuild ourselves into better people. Hopefully, my friend forgives me, and maybe he can find it in his heart to forgive Christianity.

With that said,

A few days ago... last week I think.
I'll take a stab at the day, twas probably last Thursday or so. But, before I tell you about what happened, I'll just give you a little background info about the day.

Like usual, I wake up to the sound of myself moaning. It's beautiful. It's not really a moan, it’s just a more gentle version of a grunt. It’s the sound the deer make when they fornicate on and around my shed. I swear, my shed sports a few love stains and dents derived directly from the barnyard bondage and whatnot. I'll explain this, in earnest, at a later time.

I got a solid amount of hours of sleep, like 6ish. I woke up, bonerless, pants on, mentally stable, and ready for the world. I then cleaned my body, put on my deodorant, sharpened my pencils, and then I was off to school. I usually sit in the seat all the way in the front of the bus, because that’s where people like me belong... Everyday, I find myself next to this kid whose facial expression tells me that he needs to take a shit. He probably does, but in reality, he's just depressed about the Mets or something like that. Yeah, I'm not a huge sports guy, but I do have a profound respect for Anna Kournikova and her significant impact to the world of sports.

Sitting in the first seat, I'm so close to the bus driver that I can taste a little bit of her each time she turns the steering wheel... when gushes of wind splash against the side of my face from her violent yet sensual, circular strokes in which steer the bus. Her hands are fricken accurate as hell, an apparent showcase of her manual dexterity. Yo, she steers the wheel as if she’s giving a handjob to a donut. Not that I have experience in doing such things, but I can imagine. Well, not that I want to imagine a donut handjob, but like, I’m just using it as an literary aid so you could better comprehend the situation visually.

Back to the story....

During lunch, Angie opened a can of Pure Pwn3ge, unleashed its contents, and poured the remnants of this can of pure pwn3ge onto this skinny, white chick. The white chick was on the floor, attempting to get up, and basically vibrating in what appeared to be pain.

One of the greatest fights I have ever seen.

Mrs. Coon and Mr. Mullevey tried holding the beast down, but failed miserably. I had just bought my tator tots when I witnessed this visual feast. Angie had more passion in her thrusts than a monkey fucking a coconut (Dane Cook). I almost got run over by Angie when I was extracting ketchup from the ketchup dispenser. The fight was so amazing that I drooled. The drool poured onto my tots, and formed a layer of transparent glaze. Speaking of glaze… glazed donuts are remarkable.