Third 👁️ Eye Spy
You fucked up
Sooooo, I ask myself. What're the chances of it raining tomorrow in tropical sarfest (south-east) England? Hmm, Aye? I'm hedging a bet on 99.9999999% it will because I'll be stuffed and thrown to the death-defying sea creatures of flat England that the weather forecast is anything to go by. The last I trusted in that load of ole tripe before a date, I was in a white dress, stepped out my front door, and BOOM! Torrential rain...Mhm, see my drift? I suppose my dress was the only one having fun, touching up my nips.
Yesterday, EARLY September my vag was having a party in my knickers heating up with the blazing hot sunshine. Today? Wearing a jumper.....I've had more warmth from my little toe than I have the sky. And where did August go? Up snowy rainy, can't-see-the-fckin-sky-for-a-whole-month shit creek instead of hot girl summer. Where was hot girl summer? And guess how many guys have I been with this summer? Minus five. Work that out, a bit like the weather. Shit.
I need to send a "You fucked up" email to God, this shite needs sorting.
Don't rain tomorrow!
And before the haters go getting their wands and voodoo dolls out, to fuck with my non-rainy, stupendously marvellous sunshiny day. Remember my rolling pin is hardcore and I will hunt you down and bop you over your nut with it.
God? Can you sort it out, and while your at it, I am suggesting lightning bolts find their way up the backsides of those government scientists who keep fingering our weather.
Over and out.