Don’t forget the pink sweat towel, babes.

Friendship. Ah.

There is something special about the bond that develops between two fake idiots. No matter how frustrating the level of pseudo-love can be, how blatantly useless they are together – they still persist.

And the cherry on top? That curtailed platonic friendship between a Poppie™ and her Jock™. As He languishes to stick his tongue down Her throat she plays the innocent victim, stealing away his hopes, crying out for nothing but a hug – a love story doomed forever. *sniff*

Demonstrated by these two fine fuckers that are part of my courses at varsity. It was Stats. Just as anything can save someone from that subject, the boy and girl sitting in front of me persisted – and succeeded.

The lecture had just finished and the retards decided to open their mouths:

Boy: Hey – what you doing now? Let’s go chill at the steps – I’m over psych.

Girl: Ah – I can’t hey. I’m heading down the hill.

Boy: Cool – I’ll join you.

Girl: Uuh… I’m running coz I have to get back up before my next class.

Boy: Okay – I’ll just come with you.

Girl: Uuh I’m running pretty fast down the hill hey.

Boy: How fast…? Like walking? Slowly?

Girl: No – running.

Boy: But like a jog right?

Girl: Nah don’t think so – I’m doing a full-on sprint.

Nevermind the fucking unbelievable image of Twiggy doing a full-on sprint down Table Mountain, God knows why he didn’t agree just to torture the bitch.

But – I’ve voted the Jock as the fucktard in this episode, kids.

Life lesson #52: if she’s wearing 3 layers of make-up – she won’t want to sweat. She’s not running down Table Mountain.

You. Just. Got. Played.

To the girl on the bus: I fucking applaud you.

Every morning I take the bus shuttle to campus. A perfect environment for The Idiots to reveal themselves: small, close-knitted, and fabulously boring.

Except for today.

Generally I don’t spy on people’s happenings – but this woman made it all too tempting. With bright pink lipstick, platinum blonde hair and eyelashes to reach Kenya with, she only managed a napkin around her waist. Boobs everywhere. Nails polished. Typical symptoms of a self-esteem not far below Paris Hilton’s.

Anyway, enough about her (lack of) image. What interested me was her cellphone. Actually, her sms she was reading. It was one that she recently sent to someone and had saved it on her cellphone. And then looked at it over and over again:

“Baby im so happy to have you in my life you make me feel so amazing i just want to be with you now baby thinking of you.”

After managing to get away from such a work of art, she flipped quickly to another sms from what I assume was the boy that she sent the previous one to. This is why I fucking love life:

“Babes I know you make me feel amazing last night i went out and saw all these hot chicks and all i wanted to do was get with them but then i remembered i have you and no one can compare to you.”

Well done on finding such an amazing guy. I’m sure you’ll have lots of fat suicidal punk-kids that’ll hate your divorce. Idiot.