If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.
The universe just loves to prove me wrong, doesn't it?
Infeno blow up, Wazzpinator must salvage! Wazzpinator blow up,
nobody salvage! Why univerze hate Wazzpinator?
Follow the rainbow, my lucky omen
There ain't no pot of gold, just copper tokens
I found the key to life, the lock was broken
All my accomplishments, are best left unspoken
I dug a hole so deep
I'm gonna drown in my mistakes
Can't even sell my soul
'Cause it ain't worth shit to take
As private parts to the gods are we, they play with us for their sport!
The world had suddenly decided to take a joyride on the road of irony and not to take me with it.
My brief flash of relief and confidence melted away. Good thing it did, too. I'm sure the world would come to an end if I were allowed to feel a sense of relief and well being for any length of time.
When you're rife with devastation There's a simple explanation, You're a toymaker's creation, Trapped inside a crystal ball.
I AM WHAT THE GODS HAVE MADE ME!
Why does the universe keep doing these insanely bewildering things to me?
God used me as a hammer, boys
To beat His weary drum today
We're all fate's bitch. You might as well go ahead and bend over for destiny now.
Damn it! You know what? I'm sick of this crap. I'm sick of being the guy who eats insects and gets the funny syphilis. As of this moment, it's over. I'm finished being everybody's Butt Monkey!
Sometimes I feel that God doesn't want me to be happy.
I was the happiest guy in the world, but fate likes to play a little game called "Up Yours, Moe".
The cogs that operate in the background take to grinding you up instead. Funds, treasured belongings, friendships, love, they are all harder to find and easier to lose. Enemies, danger, chaos, and disruption find you more readily. In looser terms, all Others, spirits and practitioners get the sense, innate or otherwise, that they can and should work against your interests. Things start to fall apart, and the pieces fall down in the least convenient arrangements for you. The universe conspires against you.
Come out! Meddlesome interfering idiots! I know you're up there somewhere, so come on out and show yourselves! Messing about with my TARDIS. Dragging us a thousand parsecs off course. Sarah:
Oi, have you gone potty? Who are you shouting at? The Doctor:
Who do you think? The Time Lords. [...]
There's something going on here, some dirty work here they won't touch with their lily-white hands. Well, I won't do it, you hear