Justice Has Been Served.

Actually, no. No it hasn't.

Rebounds are always fun, especially when you're getting over the love of your life, sent into shock with no clue what exactly went wrong. Instead of letting Bananarama's Cruel Summer become my official theme song, I declared "No, damn it, I'm not going to be brought down by this. I'm young, I've got a long road ahead of me, and there's no reason why I shouldn't get out of the damn car and fix the flat tire myself!"

I got out of the car, and bent over to start repairing the damage done. Within a few blinks of my once tearfilled eyes, I was no longer alone. I had options, because a couple of guys pulled over to lend me a helping hand.

Some people would have called the cops at the sight of a rapevan. Me? Nah, why judge a book by its cover? Chances are it's going to suck anyways. Might as well give it a go! So the guy pulls over, and it was tons of fun, oh trust me. Until one night, as I lay slightly intoxicated, tied to a bed.

"JUSTICE IS SERVED!!!" (I swear to god, those are the exact words that came out of his mouth.) In case his housemates didn't already realize what had just happened, he went ahead and screamed it at 3 in the morning just to make sure. I sure know how to pick 'em.

I'm going to ask for a retrial, tie him up naked only to be found by his buddies as I leave the house screaming that justice has now been served.


NOTE: To clear up a little misunderstanding... *coughcaseycough* the car thing is purely a metaphor. This random guy did not really pull over and pick me up. I actually went over to hang out with my best friend, who happens to be living with him. So no need to call the cops guys. It's all good, okay?