Q:Why are you doing this?
A:Why not?
Q:Fuck lah, can you stop being cryptic.
A:Okay, okay. Because it's a halfassed attempt
at doing some shit, in collaboration with Valentine's day.
Q:To make up for a lack of doing anything romantic?
A:Aye, fuck lah. I'm plenty romantic, okay? You just have
to lure it out with incentive. Namely, booze, booze and maybe just
a feel. Heh.
Q: Are you fucking serious?
A: Why not? Have you ever seen me near drunk? The poetry just
flows, like the piss from my phallus. And you've obviously never
seen the joy I derive from feeling people up. When I'm happy,
I do many things. Including being romantic.
*Pauses*
Boob, ah, happy day.
Q:You're very vulgar aren't you?
A:Why, of course not! I feel so insulted.
Q:This seriously is pointless, right?
A: Righto! Smart boy! *reaches over to ruffle your hair*
Q:Anything you want to say, in lieu of the whole
Valentine's day theme?
A:Fuck lah, already late by one day, how about,
'Thank You, Sayonara, Goodbye. See you next year!"
Q:God, you're a fucking hardass.
A:I know, I love you too.
Q:Say, anyone else you might like to say that to as well?
A: You think you're damn smart aren't you?
Q:Shoot, I thought I almost caught you there.
A:Oh well, you didn't.
Q:Come on, you're human. You must have feelings.
A:Naaa, I'm not human. I'm a fucking god. My Ego
qualifies me for such godly-status.
Q:Dedication to a special someone?
A: No.
Q:Please?
A: Errrr. To her, I Love you. I Love you, I want to haunt
your every step. I want to take in your every breathe.
And, errr.... Fuck it, lah. I'm not feeling up a boob, I'm not
full up with booze. Maybe if you give me some crack, eh?
Q: I fucking hate you...
A: Yea, I know, I hate myself too. Why can't I meet a sensible,
and well educated young lass, with proportionate features,
common sense yet wildy romantic? The world isn't fair,
I tell ya. It fucking isn't.
Q:Hmm, there've been plenty of fucks in this interview, eh?
A: Fucking, A! I believe so!
Q:Can you try to do something romantic?
A:Errr, okay, but just because someone else asked to.
Love is, that feeling you get, deep in the recess of that hole
you call a heart,which gets you all smiley and hippy faced.
Then reality snaps in, he/she does something incredibly
asinine and juvenile and you get pissed off with him/her.
Then, he/she comes around again, let's you have a feel of his
boob/penis and you're a happy couple again.
Then bloody stupidity comes around again.
Love is, a vicious cycle.
Note: Sorry, LeRaine, wasn't up to it.
I tried.
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