Laura suggested I write a blog entry about how much I hate her. So here it is.
I hate her not at all. Or rather, my hatred for her, if it were expressed numerically, would be a large negative number. In fact, it would probably be one of those numbers that is best expressed in scientific notation, perhaps with multiple levels of superscript.
I hate her so little, that hate is probably too weak a word. I should be talking about how little I loathe her, or how much I don’t abhor her presence.
Laura is my shooting star. She’s the icing on my sexcake.
She’s the whirl in my dervish, and the prop for my biplane.
She pushes my levers, and flips my buttons.
If I were flying higher than an eagle, she’d probably have procured the pot.
She is my muse, both good and bad, and inspiration for many of my “greatest hits”.
She’s the first thing I think of when I get up in the morning (horny) and she’s already gone. She’s the last thing I think of late at night when I’m trying to climb over her inert body and fall asleep without invoking her wrath. (Still horny, I inevitably fail, and can hear her mumble, “Why do you always have to come to bed so late?”)
I hate Laura so little that if hate were matter I would probably blow up the entire universe with the anti-matter in my brain.
Right now I am going home… to be with the one I hate.