She stands like she’s posing for a fashion photoshoot, but looks around the room like she’s an owl that hears the heartbeat of a wee mouse beneath the floorboards.

My instant and extremely violent suicide would go down in history. They’d write songs about the cloud of bone talc I’d disappear into like a jihadist ninja. Studies would be performed to discover just how finely my corporal form was disassembled, firing my few remaining atoms around the Large Hadron Collider with such force that I break free of time and space and enter the 4th dimension, but even the 4D scientists living there will have no clue how I managed to die so fucking thoroughly.

You’d get longer for pirating a movie…

I’m one of those great people who can’t read social cues, so when a get-together is winding down and people are leaving, I’ll hang around until you explicitly tell me to GTFO. It’s not that I’m desperate to stay or anything, I just don’t know how to read a room, especially if I have no other plans. I would be an absolute fucking nightmare at an orgy. 4am, the host now fully dressed again, mopping up the cum and sweat, and it’d just be me left, naked, wanking on his couch. His wife away to bed already, lights in the kitchen switched off, dogs fed and candles blown out, and just the thwick-thwick-thwick of my foreskin rolling back and forth while the guy angrily clears his throat, getting progressively more tuberculosisy as his impatience grows and with my apparently psychopathic dominance display showing no signs of abating.

“Hey man, got any more Viagra? Don’t think I’ll be getting another natural one tonight lol”

“Please… please leave…”

“Oh sure no worries, bye” and I’d be gone in 3 minutes without being any the wiser about what a colossal fucking prick I’d been until maybe 3 or 4 years later.

Actually, this reminded me of a real thing that happened when I was a teen, and the horror of which only dawned on me about 6 months after. I was in Belfast meeting a potential new bandmate for my metal band. He wouldn’t be there for another 45 minutes or so, so I thought I’d pass the time in a guitar store, playing a guitar I could never afford, without headphones. I must have ran through Metallica’s entire discography for that full 45 minutes - an incredibly long time. One of the clerks came and chatted with me, and I thought he was just shooting the shit, but in retrospect he was screaming through his eyes “motherfucker, buy something or fuck off, or at least stop playing Enter fucking Sandman”. As I was leaving the store, one of the other guys behind the counter joked “after all that and you’re not even buying something?” but guess what friends? That was no joke. And my parting response to it must have sounded truly fucking psychotic. “What for? Sure I can just come in here and play to my heart’s content for free lol” as the door closes behind me. I don’t even want to imagine what they said about me after I left.

Lads, get that autism diagnosis under your belt as early as you possibly can.

Also, if anyone is having an orgy near Belfast, hit me up! My willy’s pretty small, so I won’t be a bother to anyone. You won’t even know I’m there.