Knickers.

Courtesy of Jean.
Temasek Polytechnic, school of Business.
Diploma in Retail Management.

I speak my own words like phases of the baked moon. I live my own life like thunders of the monstrous storms.


Thursday, August 13, 2009

Just foob me.

Foob=Fuck
Fuck=Foob

Time to unleash the swearing words. Pardon me.

WHAT A FOOBING BITCH YOU ARE. Are you just foobing dumb? Foobing dimwit. Did you foobing have nothing else better to do than to foobing crack such a foobing joke? You are such a foobing bonehead. The functions of your foobing pea brains are meant to foobing think, but apparently, I am guessing your foobing brains are simply foobing worthless. You foobing blew it, you foobing moron. Foob it! You foobing misplaced his trust for you. Which foobing jackass would joke about such a foobing ridiculous thing? You, of course. Foobing airhead. I foobing swear that if he distrust you, bitch, from this foobing incident onwards, you had better foobing forget about every single foobing thing and retreat yourself into solitude and foobing reflect on your foobing shit. Your foobing verdict will be passed down tomorrow, so you better foobing cross your fingers the whole foobing night, bitch. See what the foob have you gotten your foobing self into? You have foobing gone way too overboard.



(I thought this got a little funny.)

Sincere apologies, really.

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