Screw the solar eclipse ; my cerebrovascular functions have been totally eclipsed over the last 2 weeks and this has resulted in numerous out of character decisions, including me parting of my underwear and doing a terrible rendition of Dumbledore in the dark with a fellow gig goer.
Pointing the wand in my direction for me to summon it into action when I cannot even summon my own legs is not a wise decision.
Next time, let's try 'Alarte Ascendare' (which apparently is the incantation of a spell used to launch an object up into the air - screw you Kama Sutra, Harry P is where it's at)
"He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack."
Sounds like this should work, no?
I swear to Godsmack, I never do this shit. As a certified control freak (c'est chic), the highway to my purgatory (I wouldn't dare be that arrogant to call it Heaven, rather Garden of Iron Maiden) is on deadlock. After coming out of an exhausting 8 years relationship, I have stayed well clear of dongs and their collaterals, and have been happy without the bells, the ends and the bellends.
Coupled to the fact that I am a perfectionist, the feeling of shame is even more ample - just like Axl Rose's gut. Since I performed as sexily as Amy Winehouse (RIP) on stilts,I cannot bear the thought of reconnecting with the person and the social group we sort of belong to.
Note to self : When propositioned with 25 gallons of whiskey processing in your liver RUN TOOOOO THE HIIIILLLLLS!
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