Technology! it’s a good thing!

Or… maybe not, it all depends on what you’re looking for. Really, look, I get it, you’re looking for quality, meme producing content, or you might be a blog snob, but fear not, for I give zero fucks, and you my friend, are in the right place after all! Sometimes i wonder if the things we think about are the things we should be focused on,. Lemme explain y’all something, right?
Okay, so the things we focus on aren’t exactly the things we need to focu on at the moment, because there are tons of other things going through our heads at any one point in time, it’s a combination of douche fuckery that’s both entertaining and dissuading at the same time, and I get it.
You have a set schedule and limited shit to do, but for me, something that might need to be focused on is suddenly and irrevocably distracted by some idiot wondering into my field of view or just a dumb ass random action which will invariably cause a mediocre avalanche or other things and…. well, nothing will get done.
I’m starting to think I might have ADHD, or maybe my blank mind is so zen that, well, I float like a butterfly and fuck like a bee…
Wait, that’s not how that saying goes, but fuck that, let’s move on to whatever random and mind fumblingly dumb bull shit we seem to have forgotten about or moved onto today, shall we?
Because that’s the law of averages, and sometimes, you just need  that fluff and filler to vacuum out the smarter shit in your life.
Those who know me and have had conversations with me while I’m in my unfiltered or unfocused state, kind of like a flashlight with courgettes, or however that words spelled, will no doubt have had one of those moments, where nothing makes senses, but at the same time, you’re like, well, this is different, let’s give it a go!

And that’s what I’m all about, the random ,the mystifying, the weirdly dumb and sometimes funny. Because while yes, I could do what the rest of the world likes, and follow one stream of thought or another on how many fucking selfies I need to take with various filters colors or stupid manufactured bull shit, that’s… not what I’m about. I can’t handle all that prep just for a single picture that will invariable be ignored by the majority of social Media addicted brain slugs that crawl among us, hidden in their own ethereal covens of giggles coffee, and tiny mustaches. I have a BEARD DAMN IT!

And that beard is like a sex magnet, if… that were only the case and I could stay focused long enough to actually try and be a sex magnet.

Let me tell you about the God of All Things, Randy. that was a weird as fuck segway, but I swear, everything will connect on a level you never saw coming, and this is why I continue to only get a few interaction on my blog at a time.

Randy is a magician at what he does, but lemme tell about something else entirely, why? Because I take a few weeks to finish blog posts for some reason, and my cats keep doing the thing, oh shit! I forgot to get the laundry started, annnnnd that’s now a thing.
but more then that is the concept of loving who you are or what you are.
Males?
We got the dick ball combo, nothing wrong with that, that’s just how we’re built.
The Ladies?
Y’all got boobs, vagina, and the uterus, which, in all honesty, put y’all one step ahead of us… I think.
Okay i’m going to talk about this, because I’m kind of tired of the whole mentality that guys are taking a step back in media, cause we’re riding the same wave as you girls, and y’a know what? it goes around the sun, and no matter what, Furbies are still fucked.

They truly are fucked in the head, little adorable creatures that for no real reason will start yapping their plastic asses off because that’s EXACTLY what I want to hear in the middle of the morning, that sweet sweet release of, “ME LOVE YOUR SOUL!”

Yeah, that’s kind of fucking priceless right there. THIS IS QUALITY CONTENT PEOPLE! Like and subscribe if you feel the need to validate my existence, which I know you don’t!
Because free will is willingly free, or we’d all be paying a subscription fee, which I think we already kind of do, since you know, Amazon Prime and all of that, but that’s neither here nor there, I use a lot of the same sayings from time to time don’t I?
Shit, now i’m a bit self conscious, but there’s smoke and fire, sometimes you’ll find a hobo whacking it with lighter while smoking a soggy cigar.
Why?
Cause that’s how this shit sometimes rolls y’all!
We got to keep it real, or virtual, because sometimes what’s being read or written isn’t really what’s being said. Because then we’d all be taken way the fuck too literally and there’s nothing wrong with that, if you can call that living.
Actually, on the topic of living, is there such a thing as too much living? I think there is, like, really living. Cells multiplying more than they should, but relatively speaking, I think that’s just called cancer.
But why is cancer called cancer?
doesn’t that feel a bit ironic for peeps who are Cancers via the astrological sign, who get cancer, and they’re like, “Well, HA!?” And that just sets up the whole domino effect of what ifs by comparing similar words to similar situations, all though I could be wrong about that.

god, I miss just being about to write whatever comes to mind, because then it’s such a freeing experience, you don’t have anyone tripping balls in your general direction and yes, I know!

this was such a promising blog post, and then the stinginess of the topic went away and I started being myself!

How fucking weird is that!?

Anyways, I’ve just reached 1030 words totals on this thing. Time to post for no reason.

 

Masturbation is healthy.

Well, with a title like that, you’re sure to be wondering about all the amazing smart sounding bullshit about to flow from the intelligent and sophisticated parts of my head, right?
Right!?
No.
This is called Mindcicles.
Not Mindlopedia.
Y’want smart shit, go somewhere else.
You came here for my dumb ass and whatever insanity flows from my weird ass toes.
As the title states, Masturbation is a healthy thing, both male and female species do it.
How the fuck do birds masturbate!?
WHY IS THIS A QUESTION I’M ASKING!?
It is a release of built up fluids in the body, and also pretty fucking fun!
But more importantly, it’s a reset button, it’s a way for the body to just chill the fuck out and sometimes, it’s a very much needed thing.
Is there such a thing as too much masturbation?
Is there a comparison between such words and either a wet piece of beef jerky or block of Swiss cheese?
Yes.
And that answers that question.
But, it is healthy, and sometimes, other people can help you masturbate.
Hopefully, they don’t have you cornered.
Unless you want them to corner you.
You fucking freak.
It also helps you get to sleep faster, and gets you more focused. Why?
Because you don’t have that urge that punching you in the fun zone going, “Oi, mate! get yer’ fahcking hands down ‘ere and play wi’ meh!
Just remember, there’s a time and place for everything.
that time and place will always be when your alone and need to get the job done right.
Like using a monster truck as a golf cart.

Well, I’m annoyed. Maybe.

There’s something to be said about being annoyed.
Maybe it’s the fact I personally have no fucks to give?
Or maybe it’s because there are so many shit titles to great articles that everything’s either “OMG SO INSANE!” Or, “Donald Trump’s NOT going to like this!”
who give’s a fucking shit about that kind of thing, not to mention I got a auto generated spam email from a ‘Hacker’ AND… it’s STUPID, MILDLY INCONVENIENT, and I keep losing track of when I have the caps lock on… Kind weird how that whole thing plays out. But, rather then get into a whole idiotic rant about how the whole of the idiotic world can go fuck itself with ten cactus patches, I’m going to tell the world at large to go fuck off with this inane idiotic bullshit that simply pops up.

Okay, guess I know what I’m focused on today, this should be fun. I’m not that worried about things that annoy me as much anymore. After going through what I’ve been through, not much bothers me anymore. Do I sometimes get confused? Yes. Do I forget shit all the time?
Of course.
Do I give idiots the time of time simply because they’re idiots?
Not all the time, but everyone needs to feel special at one point.

Point being, cycle of stupid repeating itself, over and over, minor changes, blah fucking blah.
Or maybe I’m just irate over something that’s out of my control, and my writing this out is the only way I feel like I have some as-semblance of control?

I honestly don’t know. It’s almost like I forgotten how to be myself since meeting so many people, and maybe it’s a bit confusing because I haven’t had the opportunity to figure myself out yet?
I mean, I have, to a point, though not to the point where I can simply be myself. Well, I can be myself to a point, I’m kind of a people pleaser, but I need to step up the protesting bit…. I like pop-tarts, they’re pretty cool. Sometimes I’ll just snack on them, two at a time!

This… could be interesting.

Sometimes I don’t think.
I just do.
Not in the inspirational way, not in the ‘Let’s go get ’em boys! Today’s our day!’ way, just the instinctual do.
It’s a strange thought, no more stranger than anything else I’ve tried to accomplish, but at the very same time, you have to wonder about the intellectual clockwork that might be missing from whatever thought processes weren’t there.
For instance, I decided to make a sandwich, and before I knew it, I had already eaten the sandwich.
My question:
Where did the time go?
Did it disappear into a vase only to be pushed off the ledge in a time space event known only to Dan Aykroyd and the security footage of my left nostril?
And suddenly this supposedly intellectual take on not thinking just took the metaphor, and released into the cruel world in reality, where bitches be crazy and The Bachelor and Bachelorette are shows about truly indecisive fuckwads where clearly the producer is crotch stabbing them with a cattle prod in order to the the results the Networks desire.
A… mazing.
Or is it?
for within these truly inspired works of total genius lay the one truth that has both pressed its meaty sausage against the peephole of life and hidden it’s Donald Trump sized shame in a fourteen year investigation about whether potatoes can ACTUALLY see from their, and I quote, “eyes.”
Before the very mental speaker, of which you are NO doubt mentally verbalizing a slightly drunk Ghost bosters era Dan Akroyd, lies a genie.
A Game Genie. and you, like thel ittle psychotic game hacker you are back in them id 90’s decided to put in a random code, only to watch as you NES went sailing to the cieling like a fireworks display, inside a mobile fireworks shop, being made currently, inside a fireworks factory. surrounded by fireworks.
A… Stounding.
truly, the width and breadth of humanity is on full display before your very eyes in plain black and white.
And this is why i should neverb e allowed ot have coffee at 2:33am, for this very reason.
Because the longer I make this blog post, the more insane and incomprehensible it becomes, and like every crack addicted actor in a rendition of MacBeth ever using only the power of screaming, boiling lobsters, clown puppets, and surprise punches to the crotch of every man woman, and child in that very theater, I will continue to fill your head with such vivid imagery that your brain never wanted.
Enjoy the night terrors of little Timmy Traumatized as the organ music blasts “Send in the clowns” but they are sent in the exact wrong way, and little Timmy Traumatized now spends the majority of his paychecks on Therapy and vicodin, knowing only the blind fury of the fact that now, you’re imagining Morgan Freeman narrating this, or Jerry Seinfeld, but most likely Alex Trebek as played by Stone Cold Steve Austin, POWER BOMBING THE UNDERTAKER IN WCW XIIIL!
Dan Aykroyd.
I should post this, but I won’t, but eventually, I will, fully edited to the peak of literary evolution, and made to shine like a gold plated pile of shit, andp owered by screaming nun gerbils. their little squeaks of terror bring the demon robot joy, in an ever evolving effort to turn their little adorable fur coats in the a blanket of snow white madness.
My god, the humanity would have been appropriate, but since these are currently misspelled words on a screen, humanity nor God, has anything to do with this.
And oh shit, it’s sunday, and I should get to sleep, but I refuse to, on the principle, that sometimes (you’re now reading this in Clint Eastwoods “Dirty Harry” era voice.) a man’s got to do with several jars of nondescript glow in the dark playdough, what a man’s got to do. And what that mans has to do?
Is build such a version of Frosty the Snowman that wanders the streets at night, screaming into the kitchen windows just as someones about to pour hot noodles into a strainer, and wreak his oddly specific vengeance upon the world roughly around dinner time each AND EVERY NIGHT!
This blog took a WTF turn, didn’t it?

Cats and eyelashes are not good for your productivity.

We wake up, bright eyed, bushy tailed, ready to sit down for another productive day at work from home, and wouldn’t you know it? Sir Fluffyass McFurrytail decides to hop up on your lap and give you some love. But little do you and your workflow know about the tiny, invisible, multi pronged attack your furry four legged friend/arch nemesis has delivered unto you!
Because, like a gift from the god of irritating the fuck out of you from beyond this mortal veil, come hundreds of tiny, targeted, indiscriminate hairs, that, like any tweet from Trump, means ten fucking minutes of rubbing your god damned eyes wondering why it hurts so fucking much! Then you take care of the problem, and you feel safe, snug, why, you might even begin to work again! Hot Dog! Oh, what’s that little Timmy!? Why, it’s a random eyelash! Run little Timmy run! And like a huge clown ship of nightmares, those little fuckers get under your eye lids and decide to play “Hide and Go fuck your work day!”because you’ll be once again rubbing your damned eye and wondering just what it was in your past life you did to deserve such a hellish fate! What ancient, eldritch god did you inadvertently piss off to the point where they would command, NAY, not command, for that would belay any scent of peace and harmony! NO! DEMAND A VIRGIN SACRIFICE of the random ass eyelash that decides to fuck with you even further! And to top it off, you best fwiend in the whole woild decides to pay you another visit! Right as one irritating distraction leaves you, another hops on your lap, purrs loudly, prances around on your keyboard like a demon possessed totem about to fuck your shit up, and suddenly, before you know it, Amazon is delivering twelve pounds of Lucky Charms marshmallows, two sex dolls, a couch made of potatoes, and several calls from the FBI wondering, “WHY, just dear god why, did you order the episode of Twilight Zone where Yanni stars as a flutist taunting an empty chair with insults that seem oddly racist against the very oxygen he breathes seven hundred times!?” Then your day is FUCKED, because it’s a never ending cycle of personal torment so horrific and demented that you wonder why none of the SAW traps were just this irritating cycle of Cats, cat hair, the musical cast from cats acting out this vicious attack on your sanity from the universe itself, and your own body hair deciding NOW IS AS GREAT TIME AS ANY TO PRACTICE AT BEING INEFFECTIVE PARATROOPERS WITH THE LANDING ZONE BEING THE CENTER OF YOUR PUPIL WITH SUCH GREAT MILITARY LIKE PRECISION you begin to wonder why anything gets done at all. Then, like Bane threatening a grumpy Batman, Only when your original plans are broken and burning piles of ash, do you have your cat and eyelashes permission to work… Only for the unrelenting hell to start up again, so you give up and decide to watch Netflix, and that’s when the true douchefuckery begins.
Now you have to decide what to watch? Bitchy Bridesmaids Season 734? Because the previous 733 couldn’t possibly get any better! Assholes in Kitchens Season 7? Because nothing screams originality like someone screaming at someone else because the ovens set to 399 instead of 400 in a british accent. Idiots being Idiots to other Idiots Season 2? Every fucking reality show ever. Or that new movie about blindfolded people screaming at nothing while doing everyday tasks? Could be fun or depressing, depending on the task. Decisions decisions…. Fuck netflix, just go for a walk. Sidenote: I was originally going to talk about how weird the weathers been.

Oh to thine own soul, I doth speak to thee

I speak a summer’s breeze of creativity, heavy and rife with intellect and naive of the mind’s own maze of batshit craycray.

Preface:
Caffeine was involved.
Copious amounts of caffeine.
No fucks or apologies issued, you knew wtf was going to happen.

Let’s get something straight here, I fucking swear in my posts!
“BUT WHY!?”
And I say to you this, my child:
Because, the human language has over a trillion words in various dialects, each with their own unique needs and wants and kinks, and sometimes, the word ‘Is’ likes to do the butt stuff. Hard butt stuff with mimes dressed as T-rex’s, each armed with fifty dildos and a crosed of broken glass, which MUST BE INSTRUMENTALLY INSERTED INTO THEIR NIPPLES LIKE A CROSS DRESSING FUCK KING!
So, yeah, I swear.
Right now?
right now I’m about to lay some knowledge into your faces heads, and in your mind anus, some infojizz will bloom the might horny person into the wellspring net of yahaolmyspace.com!
So… if you were expecting an intelligent and thoughtful, proviking stance on why longboats needed to be shipped into the email addresses of local midget villages, than you’ve… made a wrong turn somewhere, because here? Here is the MOTHERFUCKING MINDCICLES! Where the contrast between intelligent and ALLMIGHTYWHATTHEFUCK happens just as quickly as a dick stabbing squirrel dressed as a honey bee setting fire to the orphanages of all of Christmas Day!
Plus, straight coffee fucks with my head in magical ways. And yes! Yes my friends, my followers, there will be days where madness spits in your face nipples and your eye feet will run, SCREAMING INTO THE MIDNIGHT FORESTS OF THE DEAD SOUL DEER, AND NOTHING SHALL RETURN!
Except, a higher knowing of what you just read might become the stuff of legend. I say unto thee, I speak for the worms and the wood, and the wood winds, and the woods that break wind, fart and from that fart, know that you shall launch the moon monday penis into the sky clouds and hamper the laundry of the infinite sadness!
Wait, the fuck?
I don’t care about making sense, I just need to write something, anything, something that makes me feel like you follow me so that at one point or another, this Bob ross of a painting of words will somehow inspire your to greater heights. Maybe, somehow, somewhere, the minds that crafted the intranet, the internet, may one day VENTURE TO THE OUTERNET! and holy fuck I’m looking up the OUTERNET as soon as IO finish writing this! Like, fuck me, that’s an awesome idea, the inter, the intra, the outer, the through, the around, and the undernet…. MY GOD, MOTHER OF FUCK LORD’S GOD, WHAT HAVE I INSPIRED!? Nothing? Everything? Possibly something that may make the thought raptor of Seclusiondick 5 turn vegan ONCE MORE AND SOLVE THE DINO-CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS!? Well, that’d be a fucking amazing mashup, wouldn’t it? I mean, to literally be there while a SUPERSTEGO shoots dick beams of ice and fury…. that…. truly would be a FROST JOB!
I’m not going to be serious in the post, I don’t wanna be, there’s no need to be serious in a blog post all the time! Sometimes, you just need to say fuck it with the sanity, and go with the mental flow! After all, if there isn’t a blog post out there that speaks to the psychological inner workings of the mind through abstract constructs, then you’re just wasting the time of both the reader and the writer, for every step we take is another that someone else may one day too take. Maybe you two end up in a foot race of thoughts and ideas, each step taken inspires you further along the road of life, and your souls become synched, tuned, like fine instruments to be played at such a level only those with the finest hearing can truly see where it leads!
And I KNOW for a fact that some people follow me because of the sometimes insane ramblings I post, and others for the intelligent aspect. Or maybe you read because I’m just an interesting guy, I’ll never know, really. I just want to entertain you, like the MIND SLUG SQUIRRELS OF SCOUT TROOP 555- Kidding. Just think of every non sequitur as an idea for a short story, something bottled up and shaken around for a little bit, and finally let loose. I’ve been wanting to get back into writing short stories for a while, get my thoughts out to the world, you know?

MY work schedule just kind of drains me of that, day by day, hour by hour, scan after scan. IT just seems like I’m losing a bit of who I am, and like my man Paul always tells me, “HEY! KNOCK THAT DEPRESSING SHIT OFF!” I just wanted to keep myself pumped, at the same time, I’m just a little bit freaked out by the progress in my life. For the first time in a while, a LONG while, I’m finally at a job where I’m just knocking shit out left and right, where I’m surrounded by thinkers, doers, gamers, and people with a shit ton of experience to draw from.

those who’ve followed my blog for a while, know that I’ve been around the net for a while, that my posts are unfocused, a kind of stream of consciousness kind of dealio, but it’s all good. It just takes a while for me to get to the meat of the issue, and if you’ve read this far, welcome to the format, a thick layer of insane ramblings, and underneath the prospect of learning something deeper about me. Maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t build a squirrel launching catapult.
Maybe, I shouldn’t dress the quirrels up in little Evil Kneivel costumes.
Maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t aim said catapult in the direction of metro PCS. but this world of ours is full of surprises! and no matter what, we can all agree, that Trump is a fucking moron who’s going to kick off world war 3 by tweet alone.
Because fuck him, that glow in the dark son of a bitch! That fuck nutted shit for brains, used cheeto bag fucking, mushroom dicked, tiny handed, treasonous fuck munch of a human being! That rejected Garbage Pale Kid, that shit for brains ass face, that fucking moron, that diaper fucking ass for face! And yeah, I’m kind going all in, because like I said in the beginning of htis fucking thing, I swear in my blogs, and there are MANY MANY MANY layers to this thing, and sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t need to make sense, or focus on ap articular thing, or just fucking fuck shit up on a literary sense.
Sometimes, you just need to go all in, and as long as the thoughts are pretty much fucking unorganized little traumatized SPIDERS FROM A DEAD CLOWNS BROOM CLOSET, THE WORLD WILL SEEK THE UNDERKING OF THE NONTERNET, SLOOPY MCFARTNUTSACK! The stretchiest of Fartsacks the world has never cared to here.
Fart Sacks. The nuts of the human ass. The biological equiviliant of bending space and time so that the WORLD CAN’T UNDERSTAND THE EMOTIONAL SCREECH CRIES OF THE TERABYTE BASED FLOCKAWAVES! They shall know only SORROW! Like the creeping insect voids of Therserererer Five nine eight! Wellp, whatever sanity this particular post had, has left the building, I mean, it WAS there for a while, and then shit just went left field, right field, pitchers mound, and ran the fucking bases.
Home fucking run.
Wait, I wonder if its possible to fuck and run and the same time?
I mean, seriously, the act is possible, on some level, by the sprints of each act will REQUIRE THE BEES OF A THOUSAND HIVES AND SEVERAL JARS OF JEFF PEANUT BUTTER!
Jeff, because while Mothers like jiff, Jeff has a bitching sports car, also the latest AC/DC Compact disk. Jeff Peanut butter, tastes like blood, motor oil, and getting chicks man!
God damn it Jeff.
Um, what was I going on about? The bee population is shrinking and no one really understands why, maybe Antisex groups are mkaing tiny bee condoms? Like, how does that shit even work? OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO SEARCH UP BEE DICKS. Also, fun fact, the size of Narwhal Penis is determined by the size of their Horn. Ladies, lmao. So the larger the horn, the bigger of the balls, and thaaaaat’s…. fucking disturbing the shit out of me. Not for the normal reasons, but because now?
Now I’m imagining regular bees, with regular narwhal hors, and giant ass testicles. So, there’s a bit of Nightmare fuel. How do Narwhals jack off? By slamming their horns into rocks or something? I mean, that make sense if you think about it… And you’re thinking about it.

Where art thou?

Love ends, the search begins, and a memory of a sexy Code Girl rises.

Don’t let the picture fool you, I’m now single.

there’s a slightly heartbreaking sentence.

The failing of a relationship to hold together, merely on the basis of the man’s inability to get the woman pregnant. mind you, said woman is not legally divorced, and is only legally separated.

Oh, and she had just turned 30.
So, I’m guessing, THAT’S a valid reason to break up with someone?
We weren’t trying for kids, we had talked about the possibility of kids AFTER we had gotten married, only getting married AFTER she had finalized the divorce.
Maybe she’s just looking for another baby daddy?
Yeah, I’m guessing that’s it.
Because she straight up told me that she’s passed the point of recovery and is moving forward.
Well, I’m happy to hear that, good for you!
REALLY.
Good… For YOU.
Because let’s face it folks, when a relationship ends, there’s only one real way to deal with everything, and NO… you sick little fuckers, it’s not to buy the original Kermit T. Frog puppet on Ebay and have live streamed fuck session with it, because THAT’S not what I did.
Nope, I just sat there, stonefaced, like a boss, cut to the point, when she tried repeating old arguments, I cut her off, stating plainly that we’d already talked about that. And she tried FB shaming ME.
I’ll give you a minute to laugh, because I’m laughing as well, in fact I haven’t stopped laughing about her attempt at controlling the break up like it was a fucking press release, and I straight up told her as well, “Break ups aren’t like a clothing release, you have no control over that whole thing, and since you’ve already let me know what this meeting is already about, I’ve ALREADY got the emotional part out of the way.”

I was like motherfucking Obi Wan.
“I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND ASHLEY, IT’S FOOLISH! I LOVED YOU LIKE A WIFE, YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE, YOU WERE MEANT TO BRING BALANCE TO THE FORCE, NOT TIP IT OT THE DARK SIDE!”

Nope, not feeling bad, I ended the relationship, i’m owning it, not letting the little twerp take that shit away from me. Because you know what? After a month and a half of absofuckinglutely nothing? I felt nothng in return, I treated her in that short 20 minute conversation, as she treated me, and it felt WONDERFUL.

She tried making the tears, and I just continued looking her in the eyes, not a tear drop forming in my own. She knew what the hell she was doing when she sent that text, and I knew what the hell it meant, so I waited a full day before reacting, because if there’s one thing I REALLY hate? It’s being left in suspense.

I’m sorry, this ain’t “Dukes of Hazard”
“Looks like them Duke boys got a notice of potential break up from Daisy, wonder how they’ll get themselves out of this one? Stay tuned and find out!”
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Fuck that bullshit. We were together for two years, and I learned a thing or two from her, always prep for the best, mehhest, and worst scenario, have things in place ahead of  time, and the let the fucking odminos fall where they may.

i’m thinking to myself the whole entire time, like, “don’t tear up, don’t tear up, don’t move, don’t react., don’t even blink. Don’t blink, you blink, and that’s when she’ll attack!” Like it’s an episode of Doctor Who and she’s a weeping angel, lmao.

i’m choosing to find the humor in this situation, because I can’t find anything to be mad aboooooout…. Yes, yes I can, one thing, always one thing. She was constantly late, she said she’d be there at a certain time, she’d never, EVER be there on time. Until the second year in the relationship, where she MAGICALLY got all the timing right.
Yay.

Small victories folks, small victories.
For some reason, she always hid me away in her room, like she didn’t want me talking to her folks, like she had already known that ANY man she’d met on Tinder was just a rebound dick, and should NEVER develop any kind of friendship with her friends or family.
bitch please, herding me is like herding twenty cats without any treats, my ass is all over the place, talking to every single person in the room if there’s something sparkly on them. Like, “Well, we’re going over there- SPARKLY THING PERSON IS HOLDING, BRB ROFLCOPTER!”

There were a bunch of things she did, small things, annoying things, things that stayed under the radar because A, those small things happened behind the smoke screen of, “It’s okay, I’ll be patient, because at the moment, I love, respect, and want to make sure she’s amazingly happy. Plus, I fuck like a mother fucking BEAST, and she ain’t NEVER finding dick like me ever again should she leave me.”

Words to live by folks, words to fucking live by. And I get it, people grow apart over time, things change, and sometimes a breakup needs to happen for those people to find their true happiness, and in the end, despite all the jokes, because at the end of the day, despite what looks like a massive, dickishly mean, asshole take down of this woman?

We were perfect together. We completed each other in so many different ways that we both honestly believed early on that it could’ve led to marriage. She laughed at nearly every joke I made, and I laughed at every joke she made, even if I didn’t connect with it. I loved her, as one would love the air in their lungs.

I loved her, her daughter, her family, her brother, and I connected well with her friends and extended family. I feel no guilt over how things ended, for a while, I understood completely, she supported me during my time in Great Lakes, sending me perfume scented letters and pictures, letters, pictures, gifts which I still keep to this day, granted, she returned the picture I made for her, bitch move Ashley, total bitch move, but, I understand the motivation for it.

We had both been thinking of ending the relationship, I just got to the finish line first. there was no breakup sex, she could’ve been offering, but I had my laptop with me, getting some work done, and I just didn’t feel like spending four minutes packing up after only being there for an hour or so.

It’s… it’s for the best, right? She’ll find someone, I’ll find someone, and those few precious memories not captured on picture or video will slowly fade away, as… as they were mean’t to.

It’s been a few weeks, and I can’t even remember what her voice properly sounds like, so… Progress, I guess?

Before we met up in person, there was another woman, just one singular meeting, mostly nonverbal. A Kirsten, Chirsten, Kristen, Christien… She was absolutely astounding, she was Caucasian, around five foot six inches, maybe taller, brown hair, cut short, buzzed on the sides, made into a small pony tail, eyes that you could REALLY fall into.
She was programming an A.I. for a hospital, she worked in the I.T. department, I think. She was wearing a white tank top, might’ve been either a C or B cup, nice body, beautiful voice, I wanted to kiss her right then and there.
I’ve always had a thing for women with tattoos, as there’s always a story behind every one, even if it was just someone liking the design.
We talked intermittently as we both worked, striking up a conversation only when we had finished the majority of our work, though, secretly, I think she might’ve been one Kim A.K.
But, that’s just a theory, a identity theory! Thanks for watching!

Kirsten sent me a text one night after Ashley and I had finished making love, she asked who that was, and i told her all about Kirsten, and she was pretty cool about it. In the text, Kirsten asked what I was up to, or if we wanted to meet up, and I apologized, that during the time we had last seen each other, I had found someone else, and that we had been going out for a few weeks. She asked for a picture, so I sent one of Ashley and I at the park during one of the days I was trying to study for the ASVAB.

I wished her much happiness in her search for the perfect guy, and she wished us much happiness and a long and healthy relationship, and outside of a few times where I sent her a ‘How’s it going?” text, I hadn’t heard back from her.

My only question for her at the moment is this:

“Where art thou?”

I just drank a pot of coffees worth of caffiene in just a few gulps.

So let’s just get right into this fuck shit. I’m not angry, actually, I’m going with stream of consciousness and figuring out why peanuts are peanuts. Are they a Pea? Are they a Nut? Are they the rejected abortion of the people behind Peanut butter cups? Do they not get half sassed Christmas cards in the mail? Are their spiders in my brains? OH GOD! THERE ARE! send IN THE FLAT STANLEY, OR WHATEVER THE FUCK IS THE EQUIVALENT OF CLOWN PENIS! Well…. Aah, that got weird in ah hurry. But maybe I don’t feel like being smart today? No, I don’t feel like being smart right now, because I damn well can’t figure out a smart topic to write about. And OBVIOUSLY, that’s what you guys follow this blog for.

Right? Or is it just the random madness that pops up and goes “HERE THE FUCK I STILL AM! MAY HA HA HA!” Because that’d be awesome! Only the Rat King knows his nose from a mug shot line up of… People with fairly large noses. I guess? I can imagine the line of questions going on there.

Cop: Which one picked your nose!?
Rat King: THE ONE WITH THE MIRROR!
Cop: That’s…. Just the mirror.
Rat King: THEN, I, SIR JULIUS OF FRUIT SQUEEZING, HAVE WRONGLY PICKED MY OWN NOSE!

God, I miss screen writing, I love it so much, but at the same time, I’m trying not to be too focused on whatever the hell I’m thinking about. you know, trying to stay out of my own ass so I can see the SPIDERS IN MY BRAIN HAVE STARTED A DEMOCRACY! OH MY GOD, FAIR TRIALS AND FREE GAMES WITH NO PAY PER PLAY FEATURES FOR ALL! Things are looking up, but at the same time, you’re thinking: WHAT….What the fuck am I reading!?

Or maybe not. Maybe your train of thought has gone else where, or you’re now reading this in Morgan Freeman’s voice. Hello, I’m god. Ha, I just fucked a clown, and the world is my ostrich. Good news everybody, Jim Carey’s a… Twitter based philosophical god of random existential crisis tweets. I guess.

I dunno anymore, I thought it’d just be fun to write like I did in the olden times, back in the good ol days before I became blessed with having quality memes, or even a focused line of serious as fuck blogs about shit that I’ll slowly begin to hate with the VILE FURY OF THE RAT KING, JULIUS OF FRUIT SQUEEZING! That’s… Going to become a thing, I can tell. Maybe I can’t? I can’t tell, the sparkly blue hat I’m wearing prevents me from caring too much about any one thing, and for that, I thank you. No, I really AM wearing a sparkly blue hat. It’s taken me too fucking long to load up the sparkly hat picture, but just know, just know, I AM WEARING A SPARKLY BLUE HAT! Damn it feels good to be wearing a sparkly blue hat. This is my party face!20180220_185206

Holy shit, I am forevermore adding random pictures of myself to express different moods. Like fear:
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rage:20180220_185948

Kawaii:

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Rocking out:
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Complete and utter badassery.
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