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A life of regrets?

Don't listen to anyone who tries to tell you that you don't want to find yourself on your deathbed regretting the things you wished you'd done. Firstly you're about to be dead and when you are face facts, you're either going in a box in the ground as food for the worms or you're about to go up in flames. Those last thoughts won't mean shit. They're not going anywhere after that so when someone tries to sell you that nonsense, don't buy it. Let's have it right, you'll have lived a life of regrets of all the stupid shit that you did do as much as the stuff you'll have regretted never doing. That my pedigree chum is all part of the rich tapestry that they call life. No matter how rich you are, you can't buy your time again. You can't erase the past either. None of us know our expiry date either. Lying on your death bed is a Victorian fantasy. More likely to be taken out by some bollock faced twat of a teenager behind the wheel of a car too busy staring at their phone than you are to get to a point you're on your actual deathbed. 

Life isn't like it is in the movies. To be fair, movies aren't even movies. The term is short for moving pictures. Except those pictures, well they don't actually move. They're just a series of still pictures taken and then shown one after another made to look like a single living breathing organism. Your brain then connects the dots. Clever thing our brains. People who say other people are thick are massively  underselling themselves. We're all fucking marvels. You might claim I don't know fuck all about mathematics of physics. Or actually you might says I dun know fuck all baut maths and fisics. Either way if you were looking at me from ten feet away and I lobbed a shoe at your head, you'd do some fucking lightning quick calculations on the trajectory and speed to move your head out the way before it hit you. No need or time to ask Siri what you should do in that situation. Your brain processes millions of pieces of information a second and going here's the most important 2,000 parts. Bosh! Every single second. Yeah you reading this, you thick twat. What's that? You're not a thick twat? No of course you're not. You're a bleeding super processor on two legs. Yes John, even you my son. Get in. High five. No, I was only kidding. Fuck me John what are you six years old? Jesus fucking Christ give me strength. Can't you put that brain of yours to better use? Eyes up higher with the ladies as well my son they don't appreciate you staring down there makes em feel uncomfortable like. You've got a mother. Show some respect. I mean OK your old man would have stared at her thrupenny bits but if he hadn't of done you wouldn't have been born but that don't make it right John my old pal. 

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