“Kanker heeft me aardser gemaakt. Wat komt, dat komt, en daar moet je mee leren leven. Je hebt niet alles in de hand. Ik maak me niet vaak druk meer.Het afgelopen jaar heeft me berusting geleerd. Het is vreemd, maar ik ben veel gelukkiger. Er is een hoop ballast van me afgevallen.” – Marie-Rose Morel in Het Nieuwsblad Magazine
Schrap die eerste zin en ik zou klak hetzelfde zeggen (maar vergeet niet: alles is relatief). Hoera! En voor mijn part mogen alle stresskippen een cursus berusting krijgen (kanker wens ik niemand toe).
___________________________________________________ / You go slow, be gentle. It's no one-way street -- \ | you know how you feel and that's all. It's how | | the girl feels too. Don't press. If the girl | | feels anything for you at all, you'll know. -- | \ Kirk, "Charlie X", stardate 1535.8 / --------------------------------------------------- \ ^__^ \ (oo)\_______ (__)\ )\/\ ||----w | || ||
Lassie looked brilliant, in part because the farm family she lived with was made up of idiots. Remember? One of them was always getting pinned under the tractor, and Lassie was always rushing back to the farmhouse to alert the other ones. She’d whimper and tug at their sleeves, and they’d always waste precious minutes saying things: “Do you think something’s wrong? Do you think she wants us to follow her? What is it, girl?”, etc., as if this had never happened before, instead of every week. What with all the time these people spent pinned under the tractor, I don’t see how they managed to grow any crops whatsoever. They probably got by on federal crop supports, which Lassie filed the applications for. — Dave Barry
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?