Wankers

Sometimes I wish I could blow fairy dust on my tarot cards and make some of them come to life. Who would I be... the Empress of course. But I don't want to digress today. I just want to put one wanker to shame. I need an axe really, I could stand the gore, but probably not the smell that would come out of a wanker. It'd be nice to see a wanker go cold, but then again I have to think of decomposition which would happen fast, because bad people decompose faster. Don't argue with me, it might not be true, but for me it's a sacred truth. It's just like a monster thriller where once hit where it hurts, the monster will fizzle and evaporate fast fast fast. The same thing happens in life. And monsters are bound to give off foul-smelling gasses. So, no axe. Although my weary brain can just draw a not too blissful picture of what I could do with an axe and a wanker. Wankers, the most private of people, because of course they don't want us to know that they're not getting any and have to make do with dating porn sites, are... wankers. And the more private they try to be, the more obvious they get. You can spot a wanker from a mile off. I can spot them from 7 miles off, but that's just me and my sex radars. And really, they can wank themselves to death if it so pleases them, but not if it means that so hard they try not to look like a wanker, they behave even more of a wanker. Wankers can never be my friends. Because friendships start with a handshake. And there is no way I am putting my royal hand into another hand which obviously has been shaking something else just beforehand.