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Why am I edgy as an eggshell?
Am I DOOMED to be a tragic DESPERADO my whole life? Am I normal? Or am I mad - if I'm not, why am I being kept awake at night by a hyperactive geriatric chinchilla and INDECENT VISIONS of Gareth Stingecombe wearing his dad's BRITNET SPEARS BOXER SHORTS?
What it all comes down to is this: will I ever actually DO it?