Bradford is back!

This time, with a letter to someone he has met...a few hours ago - and cannot stand. I am experimenting with the kind of style I usually use in my LJ entries.

WARNING: Weirdness, Trademark Bradfordness, bad grammar, randomity, long sentences, suggestive behavior and bad, Mor-style humour.



It is with a heavy heart that I pen these words to you, the reason being that you are young and virile, and I am not - but I insist on making this confession, because I feel that it is my responsibility to enlighten you on how much you irritate me.

For the past twenty days it has long been my belief that one of the most hideous things in life was the prevalence of a brownish substances in my kettle - the other situation being on the receiving end of Bad casserole. Confirmation of your existence, however, has changed my views, perhaps for the better.

It is now indisputable that I desire a rope every instant I allow my mind to wander near the forbidden territories of conversing with you on a Saturday morning. You have demonstrated your ability to skilfully undo every single one of nature's laws both in theory and practice by your random, frequent acts of social seppuku. I did not know an attempt at such a thing was succeedable. I also did not possess an inkling prior to meeting you that it was physically possible to shave one's nether regions whilst performing the fandango.

But I digress. An experience involving your questionable social skills does not leave one to philosophy on why your acquaintances often display their buttocks to the local mime, under the misguided illusion that the subject of their elaborate foreplay will hold true to his occupation and refrain from voicing his dissent.

Your flamboyancy is unbearable, and your utter lack of with causes me to draw parallels of your sense of humour with a dried squid. So it is now that I urge you: please do not ever speak to me again. I am the insignificant stone. Kick me, by all means, but if you do ever come so close to speaking as parting your lips, I shall place a finger to your mouth and whisper softly for you to keep your silence. It should not be that much of a task.

Lastly, your breath has the distinct aroma of a cat drenched with gasoline. Often, it makes me want to vomit.

Yours Forever

Bradford Weiss

Also, I think I am starting to get my extroversion back. Which is a v. good thing. And I am constantly happy nowadays - just content, excited with life. This elation goes on for days at a stretch. My current one has lasted 7 days. Go me!