My Emo Finger

Today, I thought you'd like to see a delightful picture of me.

See, there I am. Don't I look pleased with myself?

I bet you're wondering what's up with that smug smile. Perhaps I just won the Nobel Prize for Literature for yesterday's post. Could I have just solved the Riemann Hypothesis in my head? Or perhaps I'm savouring a particularly ferocious fart.

Well. It could easily be any of those, but I'm actually modelling my emo finger.

'Emo finger?' I hear you ask. 'What the hell are you blathering about, man?'

Well, take a closer look at that picture:

See it now?

That's right, the nail on my left pinkie is painted a dusky dark blue.

Needless to say, I didn't do it myself. It was done to me. I blame society. Or possibly the parents. I haven't decided yet.

Here's a close up.

That's what an emo finger is. While the rest of my hand is trying to get things done, like making the tea or typing interesting stuff like this post, my emo finger is sulking upstairs in its bedroom listening to Lostprophets or Panic At The Disco.

I'm just thankful that it's not a proper goth. Cus then I'd be proper screwed!