Prescience Is A Funny Thing

Me: Wow. I really hope nobody bid the over on the "three days" thing or they should be really disappointed. In me and themselves.

Self-Loathing: Not enough people read this literary masturbation to really justify giving a shit.

Ego: You are just about the opposite of helpful.

Motivation: I concur.

Megalomania: I conquer too! Malaysia this time.

Me: You...okay, just no.

Libido: So. How about that little redhead yesterday at your bro's college?

Me: Yeah, she had a ring on. Left hand. That's basically a diamond chastity belt.

Pervert: There are ways around that.

Anxiety: Don't explicate, please. I'm pretty sure suggesting what you want to suggest will set off every sex offender search database in the known world.

Pervert: I was just going to say to go up to her, introduce yourself and ask if you could take her to dinner. Maybe it wasn't an engagement ring. Maybe it was a promise ring and if that's the case, you KNOW you can get around that one.

Anxiety: Stoppit!

Pervert: What? I meant get around in the sense of dating her, getting married and enjoying your wedding night in peace.

Me: Huh...

Pervert: And then? Buttsex sans lube.

Me: THERE we go.

Romanticism: Aw. I thought we had something really sweet going there for a minute.

Me: Go away. I killed you. I dragged you out into the street and made you bite the curb.

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaargh! Loooooooooves! Blaaaaargh!

Me: Fuck.

Libido: WHERE?

Self-Loathing: Not in here.

Self-Respect: You know, you're really starting to hurt me.

Immaturity: That's what SHE said!

Self-Loathing/Libido: No she didn't.

Me: WILL YOU GIVE IT A REST?

Inner Child: Shouting means I get presents and ice cream for dinner!

Memory: I don't recall there ever being shouting.

Ego: I know I'm going to regret this, but what about Loud as Shit and Puppy?

Libido: Oh yeah! There was shouting there. Well, more accurately, whimpering. Oh good. Now I'm starting up again.

Me: Son of a bitch.

Fashion Sense: I do hate to sound like a broken record...

Me: Then don't. Offer something productive instead of bitching about the facial hair which, by the way, is going to grow out until I have a beard.

Fashion Sense: ...this is like walking down the Green Mile. I see my death in front of me.

OCD: NOT SHAVING LEADS TO INGROWN HAIRS AND A STEEP RISE IN FACIAL GERMS SUCH AS HERPES OR EBOLA!

Anxiety: Is that true?!

Me: No!

Latent Psychopathy: Ebola, you say? Now there's an intriguing little bugger...

Budding Alcoholism: You can drown us all out with box win!

Anxiety: You could also drown YOURSELF with box wine!

Internal Sadism: Really?!

Me: That wasn't a suggestion!

Internal Sadism/Self-Loathing: Awww.

Writer: I don't really serve any purpose here, do I?

Me: ...probably not, no.