No movement.
The last sentence refers to the weblog of my father’s cousin (shall I call him: uncle?), who keeps posting exciting information about his placement on Earth, like “it’s still Cracow”, “it’s Ulan Bator”, “Coruscant” or “at a small planet of Naboo”. Well, how boring my life could seem, compared to his! I still have four days left to waste because of pangalactic exams going on currently. Unfortunately, no one seems to fancy spending that time with me, though.

That is, when I write a message to some folks, all they say is usually “Man, I can’t, see ya tomorrow!” or “I am currently very busy/Not present in Koszalin/Extraterrestial forms of intelligence have just invited everyone in the universe but you to a pangalactic party with hookers a huge variety of free soft drinks and hard drugs, hahahah LOL you loser” and so on. Meanwhile, most attractive chicks with nothing meaningful to do still prefer to spend their time on their own, at least without me, while attractive chicks, currently needing nothing but my bodily love, are at school or have been evaporated lately, as a result of recent accidents with nuclear evaporators, maaan, what sort of chicks they all were! How lonely I began to feel now that they’re gone… Now that everyone is gone… and I have no more money left to waste.

But it has always been so! There are times when I get involved in wild parties with loads of crazy chicks, but, according to timeless rules, after a period of wild parties comes a wild hangover and everyone just goes home! I get a few phone numbers and text the chicks once or twice, then they become bored; they stop answering my messages and convince their boyfriends to hire an assassin, so that I end up with three problems: boredom, the chick and the assassin… Still, it has nothing to do with the fact that sometimes school is more bearable than it seems; well, maybe not in the high school.

Then there rang a doorbell. How could that happen at that time? I jumped the way from my piano practising room to the hall (not to confuse with my dancehall, which only exists in the seventh dimension). I opened the door, but as soon as I saw two elderly people with thin coloured magazines in their bags, I already knew who they were and I closed my door, preventing them from stealing my soul through discussion (it’s worth way too much hard drugs to let them have it), but they were quicker. The elderly man put his shoe of pure technetium between my door and its frame, so as not to let me escape.
“Please!” shouted the man. “Take at least a free issue of this interesting magazine.”
“No, thanks,” I said.
“Just a magazine! See, there are interesting articles in this one,” said the man enthusiasticly. “For example, have you ever thought about the perfection, with which our human body is designed? Isn’t it a proof that it was designed by our perfect Creator?”
“Well, then mine must have been defective, because what I see is a fragile pile of blood and bones, easily destructible. Breaking your spine might end up with lifelong paralysis…”
“Look at your eyes! Have you known that no camera has ever been built more precisely and perfectly? Doesn’t that prove that it was designed by a god?”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t. It only proves that it was built more precisely and perfectly that any human-built camera. Yet the body in general seems absolutely random.”
“But no man has ever designed a human yet!”
“If I had over four milliard years of spare time and were as bored as your god, I would create a human too! And it would be way more perfect than this time. Goodbye.”

And I’m left with an issue of this month’s Awake!. I have to do it (that is, awake) in a few hours, so farewell, my dear readers! It was 5th May, 2011.