First off, fuck you Daniel Hogg! Why!? Because that insult was well, the fuck, overdue, and if anything, it sets the god damned tone of this fucking entry! Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, my inherent anger at the hunchback of trollerdamned isn’t the only focus here. My rage is directed mainly at data, the connection which connects us to connecting connections, so we can hopefully make fuck fuck noises while biologically connecting. This makes no sense to anyone but me, so fuck that logic. fuck it hard, without love, with a barb wired condom, attacked to a train piston, about to explode.
In Trump’s face.
there, we got that out of the way, and why am I raging like a failed Viagra patient? Because, when I’m writing, my mind’s focus, like a laser beam shot gun, and like a laser beam shotgun, I’m going to blow my load of lead pellets, all over somethings face. Like hunters, in the wilderness, going full on Broke Back Grizzly Bear. I have no fucking clue what my aim is anymore, and I’m not even drunk to tell you the truth. I guess most of whatever rage I DID have was spent on Dan’s insult. god I’m so fucking exhausted, but more on that later. Like I was saying, when I’m writing a part for the story, I don’t like my music to be interrupted by something like Battery Doctors prescription of Pissmeoffium, because it does that. On a regular basis, and I’m kind of sick of it.
I guess it’s just age, or whatnot, but…. Hopp, found it! Found my focus! When I’m listening to Trance music for a while, my memory kind of flips out on me, and it brings me back to Kim Kelly. I don’t know why, maybe my subconscious is still trying to figure everything out all over again? I don’t know, I don’t care to be honest, but hey, more power to the little guy, right? It’s a weird set of circumstances when the memories of something from the past coming trouncing back into your mind.
It’s almost like a long forgotten puzzle you’ve just put away, and kind of abandoned over the years, only to find yourself still trying to figure it out later on when no ones looking. to be honest, I’ve been thinking a LOT about Kim, but more in a “Huh, interesting. I wonder what’s on HBO?” kinda way. and it’s not even about the ACTUAL woman herself, it’s more or less about the function of the psychologically created construct that serves as a reminder of who this Kim person was to me, and I can’t shake the feeling she might’ve been someone important in one way or another, either directly or indirectly. Maybe a forced amnesia?
Either way, it’s never really a topic I’ve openly talked about till now. Maybe it’s the fact I’m alone most of the day? So my mind tends to try and figure out these little puzzlebox memories of situations I’ve landed myself in. And the… What do I want to call this? The… Kimcident? works well enough I suppose. the Kimcident was a period of my time at Victorvalley colledge where I learned a few well placed hard truths about adulthood, and my own personal sanity as a result. It taught me to calm the fuck down, dress the fuck up, and instead of flipping the fuck out, try to solve my way out of the situation with a bunch of fail safes, redundancies, and quick fixes, all of which would work well enough together.
But moving on from there,what I originally wanted to talk about was the problem of certain apps auto killing the data connection to phones in order to speed up the charge rates of batteries. Which, due to the technical limitations, can only really do so much in terms to helping the recharge rate. After all, the tines that connect the USB cable to the battery itself are only designed to deliver so much ampage, and any more would ultimately fry the battery, or cause a chemical reaction within the battery acid contained there within.
I just went full on technobabble without any effort! now to edit and post this sick son of a bitch, like the orphaning of the batman all over again! Seriously, we tend to want to see Bruce Wayne’s parents rekilled every couple of years, and even though it’s pretty damned worth it to see the joker get his ICP reject asss handed to him on a silver platter, you’ve gotta admit, killing Bruce Waynes Parents over and over is a sick addiction that the public just can’t get enough of. Fuck you Warner Brothers