Seriously, hands shouldn't look like that. See that black stuff on my thumb*? That's not dirt. That's rubber that's like been burned on there by the shitty low-quality oars I was left using today. RUBBER. They look like the floor of a fucking tyre show. A tyre show that took place in a building with central-heating to just below the melting point of rubber. A building that had sandpaper instead of carpet YOU GET WHAT I MEAN? RUBBERY. Euck. And it's really burnt in there... all my rigorous self-cleansing regimes did NOTHING to shift it.
So far this week I've had a grand total of TEN BLISTERS.
TEN. THATS LIKE THE NUMBER OF CROSSES THAT JESUS WAS STAPLED TO, BUT WITH NINE EXTRA.
NINE. THATS LIKE THE NUMBER OF SKYSCRAPERS THAT FELL OVER ON 9/11**... but FOUR TIMES THE NUMBER. THEN WITH ONE EXTRA.
ONE. THATS LIKE THE NUMBER OF GONADS IN LANCE ARMSTRONG.*** The sheer amounts of pus that have leaked out of my body... it's truly umpleasant. Then I bite off the spare bit of skin and eat it. Mmm. Don't you just want to punch me in the mouth with a piece of concrete?
And you know what? I can't even quit rowing now. The boatie coach randomly went up to me today and said "Well I'm impressed with your ergo times and I think that if you work hard you might get a place in the first 8 next year."
Omg. Omg. OMG. OH MY GOD. DID YOU HEAR WHAT HE SAID? THE FIRST EIGHT. THE FIRST FUCKING EIGHT. This is like the most important moment of my life... shit, man. Thanks. That's really something to look forward to. The 1st 8... that really would be a prestigious achievement. I mean, just imagine me in the 1st 8. Wowzers. I can't imagine a higher honour. Even being elected King Of The Entire Planet... shit, compared to getting into the 1st 8 and getting a natty white hoodie. The 1st 8... I'm truly not worthy. But yes, I'll work my damndest until next year so that I TOO can be a possible member of the FIRST 8. YES MAN. YOU HEARD ME. THE FIRST EIGHT. WOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
[/irony off]
So that means that He Has An Eye On Me. So I can't just randomly quit when it loses its fun value. I'M TRAPPED. YET AGAIN, I'M TRAPPED. CUNTS. To be honest, I was never going to quit rowing anyway. If I was to quit it, I'd have nothing to whinge about. I'd get fat and sweaty in like a week and a half. And I WOULD PROBABLY MISS THE DAMN SPORT. THAT'S WHATS UNFAIR. I HATE IT, YET I KNOW THAT I WOULD BE REALLY SAD IF I LEFT IT. KIND OF LIKE ME AND LINKIN PARK. IF LINKIN PARK EVER LEFT MY LIFE, MAN, I'D BE CRYING MY EYES OUT LIKE THE GOTH-PUNK-ROCK-METAL-EMO-KING-OF-ROCKYROLL I AM. But seriously, it was just nice to imagine an easy life... a life in which I could go home when the school governors decided it was prudent to... a life when I could sleep in on Saturdays and drink copious amounts of alkeyhol on Fridays... actually screw it I'm gonna drink anyway, I don't care what the coaches say... a life when I didn't have to wear tight lycra that gives me really odd tan-lines... a life when I didn't have to listen to DJ FUCKING SAMI EVERY TEN MINUTES. I really hate rave music.
Mm, lycra.
I think the 'I'm gonna quit at the end of this week' mentality was more of a placebo. Yes, I just said placebo. Like a drunkard saying "I can stop this boozing time I want"... or a smoker saying "FINE THEN I'LL QUIT AND SAVE YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE 5 YEAR OLD LUNGS". Or an Oli G (manliest man... I don't think that I reiterate this point enough) saying "ok, I'll only sleep with HALF of this class of sexually promiscuous 16 year olds". Or Ogg saying "Ok guys, two more weeks then I'll tell her that I'm only going out with her for a bet". I'M NEVER GOING TO QUIT ROWING BUT I'M ALWAYS GOING TO WANT TO.
DAMN YOU, ROWING. DAMN YOU TO HELL.
*Yes, this IS a scan of my hand. So for all you internet perverts out there, this at least proves that I am a white-boy, floury, cracker, wigro, pop n fresh, slavedriving, Colonel Sanders, white-bread, wifro, milk-skinned, sausagemeat, albino, Santa's Beard, lily-lad, orgen, cookie-dough, white-choclolate, pretty-fly-for-a-white-guy, chickenliver, icy-fresh snow-boy, angelic KKK honkey little motherfucker. So that's nice, homies.
**Technically, it should be 11/9. 9/11... what kind of retarded way of writing dates is that? What happened on the 9th of December that year? Anything good? Morons. With time-keeping skills like that, it's no wonder your buildings kept falling over.
***Gonads gonads gonads gonads gonads GONADS.
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