Killing in the zone
Today is probably London's best weather ever. Not so cold, not so warm. I can't even say I've felt that feeling back in my country. It has a unique fresh vibration on its own that it's really exhilarating. It was awkward to wear just plain ol' white t-shirt in public not that it's the first time I've done it but still unusual. Remember that Little Bo Peep I've been talking about? Yeah, we saw each other again. I began hating on her. Not hitting, hating. I hate her fucking guts. I just wish she get buttraped by that hobo always passing by Goldhawk. She just nauseates me. The thought of her baffles why I even considered wanting her. She has the most despicable eyebrows known to women, crooked and seemingly artificial. Like an android or something awaiting her master's command, which quite sadly is to buttfuck him all day long. Enough of her. Even writing about her is oh so sickening.
Today I love myself some Killzone. I have just been promoted to medic and my record is so settling to the point I can't even believe I'm doing good at shooters. My kill-death is astoundingly improved by a 200-point margin. Un-f'n-believable, but believe it.
Oh yeah, heard the news my mom's coming home by May 9th. Hooray? I truly doubt it so. That's good anyway, but really no biggie. She can't even be the salvation to my life's woes. Oh well. Better luck next time, I guess.