This is a blog of a perfect person a person who attained epic fail. If you don't like it, press that FUCK OFF on the right hand corner of your browser. GO AND RUN 100 FUCKING MORE ROUNDS, FUCKING KIDS!!
i say,
Fucking dreads. Fucking eyebrows. Fucking moron.
These are the usual words you will associate me with. Provided you know me.
Hello. Say hi to my threat notebook. If you don't want other people to know what you did, be my unconditional slave KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE~!!
It's hot. Scorching hot. The amount of heat that could produce mirages. Marco squinted onto the track. Eight lanes, 400 metres per round. Two reps from each house was to compete against each other. A grueling three rounds and 200 metres to run. It was no easy feat.
"Damn, I'm lucky this event isn't on the main day." Marco turned to the seats. Only about a quarter of it were filled. Marco then glanced towards his opponents. Two from the Crimson house, Leon and David, Turquoise house; Principe and George; Azure house; Alex and Marcus. A friendly punch landed on Marco's shoulder. "Hahah, nothing to be worried about. We have me, remember?" Antonio grinned.
Marco said nothing and started stretching his limbs. Shit, I don't think I'm gonna win with this lot, I'd say. He bent down and started tying his shoelaces. He felt a drop of sweat running down his face and drip onto the burning track. "Get ready, 1400m event runners!" A fat teacher hollered. Our brave gladiators take their places.
"Ready, get set...GO!!!" Shapes and colours flash before Marco's eyes. Geh don't think about them, I'd say. Step, step. Inhale, exhale. It was going as planned, till halfway thru the second round. His vision was getting hazy, his breathing; laboured. Ah damn, just a little more, I'd say...
After what seemed like an eternity of running, Marco finally caught a glimpse of the finish line. Willing his quadriceps, he sprinted the last 100 metres. "Marco, seventh place." A voice boomed. Gahh, fail, I'd say.
His legs gave way, and he sat on the hot, frying track. "I really do need a cold toilet seat now, I'd say." Marco looked at Anthony, whom he deduced as the winner, from his laughing. Marco struggled and stood up. "Cold toilet seat..."