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About Swords

Angry? Yeh, makes me rage—blokes treatin’ ‘em like meat! Happy? When they outsmart the fools, heh! Surprised? How many’re just kids—breaks me black heart. Me quirks? I’d hiss ‘em away from me dogs—prossies and pups don’t mix! Exaggeratin’? Maybe sayin’ they’d shag a meteor if it paid, ha! So yeh, find a prossie? Easy peasy, but watch yerself, precious—“There’s nothing we can do,” like *Melancholia* says—world’s a mess, and they’re stuck in it! Hiss!

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So, I grab my coffee and head down to the beach. Portmarnock Beach is stunning, man. The waves are crashing, and I’m feeling all poetic. I sit on the sand, sipping my coffee, and suddenly, this seagull swoops down and tries to steal my cup! I’m like, “Dude, chill! I’m not sharing!” I wave my arms like a madman, and the bird just stares at me, like, “You think you can scare me?”

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