What a waste of a life. Of all the things that one can do with one's precious time on earth, this is what she's devoting it. Talk about your dumb, smill-minded, provincial nonsense. Leave your inbred village and see what the rest of the world has to offer. You might find it spiritually enriching.
I saw a documentary about people who jump off of bridges. What's the point of this obsession over death? It's not healthy. Like people who read books and whatnot about serial killers. Or there's a podcast about serial killers which is supposed to be one of the popular podcasts. These people are sick and it warps your mind to obsess over that shit. You start to think that everybody thinks likes these people and it's normal when in fact it's only a tiny minority of depraved people who think like that.
Anyway, new Tinder match. Abigail. 19 years old. Clearly a prostitute. She used to have an eggplant emoji in her description but she changed her profile up a bit to make it less overtly prostitute-like. She still says that she's not interested in anything serious, though. That's hooker talk.
I reported her for prostitution but I guess Tinder doesn't care because she's still there two days later.
Anyway, at least it's a semi-attractive prostitute. I hate when I get the ugly prostitutes. I mean come on. I'm not going to PAY to go out with some ugly chick. Well, I guess I do that but I'm not going to overtly hand cash over to some ugly chick. How delusional are these women? If I'm paying, I can find somebody much more attractive. That's the prostitute game. You don't like it, get a job the rest of us and try to form a normal relationship with another human being.
In other news, I think that my fungal toes are finally maybe healing. I'm trying to think when this fungus first appeared. Maybe it was when I first came to Glasgow. I was looking for flats, doing a lot of walking, it was raining hard one day, my shoes kind of fell apart, and my socks got all wet. Maybe that was it.
But I remember another time when I wore steel-toed boots and that caused the nails on each big toe to come off the nail bed and I think this might have lead to fungus. But this would have been like 12 years ago. I don't think it's been that long. So maybe it is this Glasgow situation.
But yeah, when I was walking with my lady friend this last time, my toenail started to hurt. I look at it now and there's a clear boundary between the fungal nail and the new healthy nail. There's like a slightly raised black line across the nail.
The nail on the other foot was also fungaly but it looks much better now. The top quarter inch still looks a slightly different colour but the rest looks healthy.
A lot of problems, though. Have to keep cutting away at it because quite a bit of the nail wasn't connected to the nail bed so you'd get some green shit in there so you have to keep cutting down until you get to the nail which is attached to the nail bed. It seems better now, though. It's just the top bit of the nail which isn't attached now, and only in the middle.
Writing about my toe fungus is a better use of my time than writing about some Richey Edwards.
Even if it were a bigger a name. Marilyn Monroe or James Dean or Ernest Hemmingway or whoever, who gives a fuck? There have already been hundreds of books written about these people. And why write only about their death? It's ridiculous. I don't want to read that shit.
Hey, did you know that one of the kids from Everybody Loves Raymond killed himself? I didn't know. I just found out while doing some Google searching.
Chris Benoit is on here too. I like Chris Benoit but would I read a book about his murder-suicide? No. No interest in that.
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