In Whispered Tones

Brain has officially gone mad. She seems to have lost all grasp on common sense and logic, opting instead for passion-fueled anger. Brain, when under the influence of alcohol, throws all restraint and poise out the window. Soul, of course, is no help, seeing as how she's always gone two sheets to the wind, which leaves tiny little Me to hold down the fort. Which is an impossibility. So when faced with the source of all our current rage, Brain thought it wise to speak up, take a stand, throw a little gas on the fire (because things were going much too smoothly, you see). And so Brain bravely marched forward, egged on by Soul's gleeful encouragements (Soul can be like a 5-year-old at Christmaswhen she feels a fight coming), and undeterred by my feeble protests. When the moment came, of course it went perfect, the reaction was priceless (if I'm to be perfectly honest). But as we were leaving, and as Brain and Soul high-five-ass-slsapped each other for a job well done, I was moaning. "You've made it worse, you ass-monkeys," I lamented, "what the fuck are we supposed to do next week?"
"Who cares?" screeched Soul, "Don't you feel relieved?"
"Well maybe for a split second, I did!" I shouted, my face red with rage, "but now everything is a million, billion, TRILLION times worse. Fucktards!" And that's when they rounded on me.
"Moments of blissful peace are few and far between - take 'em when you can get 'em," Brain stated, suddenly sober.
"Things were going to get worse before they got better," explained Soul. "We're just... just... fast forwarding the process".
They both burst into cackles. I've given up, and am now going to bed.
Until another time.

Heart