OH MY FUCKING GOD

I was thinking about the grand scope of the universe and why it was the squirrels get the best stick in life, like an ACTUAL fucking stick, I mean, if it were an actual FUCKING STICK that’d be questionable, because then you’d see sweet old ladies screaming for their lives with bags of broken crackers, all the while a fuck ton of squirrels with oddly bloody twigs would be chasing her, and you KNOW shit’s about to go down when you see that kind of bullshit happen.

I once saw an octopus. No reason really, it was just there, and I was having the time of my life just looking at this fucking thing, and I was like, “Hey, octopus.” And the thing did say a word, because it has an ass mouth. That’s right, you heard, Octopi have ass mouths, they can be masters of talking shit, because of their ass mouths, and there’s nothing you or I can really do about it.

There’s such a thing as redundant torture, where you do something utterly inane to someone else over a large or short period of time, and they’ll finally be all, “Hey, what the fuck.” All calm like, but you know deep down they’re sad.
Or… something, I don’t fucking know.

Maybe we’re all just in a simulation and the robots are the real players here, because that’d be absolutely amazing, if ready player one wasn’t about the time space-continuum because a vacation inditing the mass roach riot of 20:14 military time, because I like fucking with people’s perception of things every now and then. It’s just a thing I do, you know how I know? Because you aren’t me, and even if you were, I’d still be the one writing this fucking thing, so you can’t stop me no matter who you are!
Yes, I ripped that from Ace venture, which is honestly my favorite movie of all time.

I don’t wonder why time traveling eggs don’t time travel, they’d be too chicken by the end of it. Ha.

Dumb jokes for smart people include:
1. My dating life.
My hair line.
The fact I more famous than a regular potato.
Every knows a regular potota. Or potato.
Fuck pototas. They’ve done nothing for humanity.

Those assholes.
This blog was brought to you by the overwhelming need to fuck around on the interenet and write some weird bullshit that’ll make you question if I’m high or not.
I am 6″5 or six foot five inches. Why does my jaw feel like a peice of toast ready to pop the fuck out of a toaster? Oh yeah, gravity. I keep forgetting that’s a thing.
Kinda like Brangolina. Or Bracheal.
Or Bennigan’s.

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.

 

Fucknuggets.

Some days aren’t great, but I ain’t about to fuckin talk bout that shit, let everyone talk about that shit, Imma talk about… well, now I can’t rightly say, or maybe I can, but I don’t want to, so I might not be able to say what I was about to say before the moment where I could’ve said something about something else but now, this is just a recurring loop of broken ideas and stupid logic.
Everyone has stupid logic.
Even birds.
Yes birds, birds have stupid logic.
Not like stupid human logic, but stupid bird logic.
Squirrels are just fucking stupid, regardless of level of intelligence. But don’t discount sharks.
Fuck sharks.
And spiders.
And clowns.
Actually, fuck any and all combination of the three of those things, because any and all of them are just bad.
really bad.
So bad it makes you think that no matter what, you’re about to find out some shit that don’t make sense, but desperately need to because in a way, Earnest Hemingway did not drink enough.
But then again, stupid Squirrel logic infects everything we do on a level never before seen.
I have not zoomed out.
Not, I have zoomed out, don’t ask why I haven’t zoomed out, maybe I was zoomed in?
Maybe I wasn’t? Maybe I couldn’t be zoomed out or in to save my life, or maybe there’s a need to be more zoomed in than out in this day and age where being zoomed in has more an impact meaning than one would assume.
But you know what they say about assuming things, right?
That donkey’s shouldn’t speed.
Or drive. But they do anyways, because there asses, and they’re a danger to you and me on the road.
Ass Zooming. that’s assuming they know how to drive using those clods hoppers of a hoof on their feet.
But they only have one hoof between all four feet.
Well, they might be transformers.
Hey, we live in a day and age where anyone can be anything or any gender they choose.
I once dated a woman who identified as a ketchup bottle.
Which made sense in a weird way, a way I leave to your imagination, because that’s the kind of logic we’re dealing with here today.
Stupid squirrel spider shark clown bird logic.

Dear short women.

As you know, being short or tall has it’s advantages and disadvantages.
Keeping the ass hats away with bad vision is one of them.
I would like to think smaller boobs meaning less back pain would be another one, but then again, it’s a matter of perspective. More importantly, I would like to believe that science has been lying to us all and their are actually two brain halves, one in each breast. this explains why women in general are considered smarter than men.
Because we too have a second brain, it’s just rather unfortunately placed, and we keep sitting on them from time to time.
that being said, as a tall man, or Stretchy Boi as one would phrase it, it’s come to my understanding that Short woman plus Tall man equals Relationship goals. mainly because I’d like to think, and I’m just being blunt here, and I’m quoting a friend here, “That tall man dick just fills more.”
If I am mistaken, please let me know.
Yes, I will talk about the sex organs, whatever’s on my mind, because even though there are things that need pictures of cupcakes, exotic locales, or trips to where ever the fuck, I’m not one of those types that randomly douches it up because “Clickbaiting” means having to lie to you about how awesome I am.
So sirs and Madame’s, I’m treating you, yes YOU, like the beautiful intelligent persons you are and not having bright colorful pictures every two words.
They are pretty, they are fun.
I am neither.
I’m much better than them.
Suck it http://www.travelbanana.org.
You ass.

Right, talking about short women, meh, I really don’t like staying on topic, Short women are the shit, all women are the shit, y’all keep humanity going, no matter the height, because love is love. And We all know what’s at the base end of love, right?
Oh yeah, a shit ton of fuckin’.

But hey, we’re all adults here, and everyone has their things.
Some people like to fall in love, other’s want to love a sad clown in an iron lung.
Because there are people with a void of darkness in their hearts.
OMG THE CUPCAKE TRUCK IS HERE!
Fucking love me some cupcakes.

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!

There comes a point where coffee tastes bad.

This has nothing to do with that, but it has something to do with taste.
Let’s get something out of the way here, I’ve not had sex in nearly two years.
Yes, this might be the thing we’re talking about here, my lack of penis in vagina activity.
Nope, no regrets.
I’m not going to go off, fuck it, yes I am, because in my self love journey, I’ve been to some strange as fuck place, and… I dunno how I feel about the whole thing.
The sex part, when I was having it regularly, was amazing? I dunno. I only ever finished once, and that took an amazing amount of time, and a lot of focus.
Yes, I’m an easily distracted sex machine.
No, you can’t plug your phone in my ass to charge it.
Yes, I’m very well aware that’s a kind of fetish.
No, I do no want to receive “The Power of Zues” through my ass.
No, I’m not into that kind of thing.
Look, point being, I need to get laid, but in this day and age where any attempt to either get some or get love is a frightening ordeal, because, at any point point, either you or that one super bitchy girlfriend of yours can just up and claim I’m harassing you. The very moment I detect something off, that’s it, I’m cutting myself off from talking to you, and will only engage if absolutely needed.
Now, I know how to treat women with respect, I know how to behave myself, and would much rather things develop organically as opposed to, “Well, time to fuck and see what happens.” Being a guy now a days is… to be honest, a confusing experience in everyway possible.

The basis of the Metoo movement is to make sexual assaulters pay dearly for their crimes against whatever gender their creepy little mitts are wriggling towards. That’s it, and then for a long while, it seemed like every guy was fair game, and men bounded through the tall grass like majestic walruses, “OORPH”ing their way towards a better and brighter future, only to be stopped in t heir tracks by a false claim of grabbin’ some boob.
And trust me, I get it, I truly do, Y’all have put up with enough of guys weird bullshit from the dawn of time, and the damn finally burst, and men were like, “Oh…. Well fuck.”
Now that the tables have turned, so is the dating scene steps, where it’s usually the women who have to initiate Ye Ol’ Dating Ritual.

Which, hey, more power to you.
It’s just a terrifying, scary, nightmarish, and dick shriveling level of anxiety that gets built up into the core of men’s souls wondering whether or not they should go ahead and make a move on Susie Sunshine or be left in the cold icy grip of the Night King, otherwise known as whacking off.
And let’s talk about that for a second, really. Because now there’s a law in Texas, about to pass, that states that men are legally not allowed to whack off, on the premise that it’s killing unconceived children. So, our physiological need to expel built up waste is now under attack in Texas.
Because, really, that’s all that is if it’s not being used to make babies, waste.  Like, really?

I get it, the reproductive rights of women in terms of abortion has been a hotbed of WTF for a long time, with them main question of the debate being, “When does life begin? At the moment of conception, or the moment of birth?”

Well, my answer is this: Until the heart fully develops and starts pumping and the brain develops to the point where the growth stops being a growth and starts being a little human, that exact moment is when life begins. Of course, I have no authority over what women do with their bodies, I can only give my thoughts on the matter and leave it at that.

Anyways, getting back to what I was talking about, dating…. Actually, it’s around 2:27 and I’ve got to get ready for the day.

I seek the strange man.

You know that feeling in the back of your head when you’re onto something really great?
It’s an itching sensation that you can’t quite get to, and it never leaves you alone for long.
It’s a momentary lightning strike that leaves no trace, and like the momentary flash of brilliance, once distracted from it’s entrancing display, it’s gone, out of sight, replaced by something more ubiquitous than whatever the flying fuck is going on with the world right now.
It’s the feeling of loss, replaced by greater loss, yet still replaced by greater loss, only to be filled immediately by next small victory.
Because you have to count the small victories, you have to make those small things count, or else the whole thing would collapse, leaving you nothing more than a blubbering pile of salted insults upon an already dead horse, by which the beating stick has long since broken, but people still wish to use it on the same horse, even though there’s a perfectly good horse right next to it.
Why do people do this?
Why beat the dead horse with vileness and venom?
Why not try for a different approach that would make the next horse last just a little bit longer?
There’s no shame in revealing something old to a newer generation, but it has to be done right, or else you lose the essential impact the original content had.
Am I being vague?
Of fucking course I am!
not for vagueness sake, not for some melodramatic reveal that simply wastes the effort upon which the base of this post, or review, or whatever the hell this actually is might have.
But simply because I like doing things a certain way, to be less or more descriptive to hide a true intention, or maybe just because I like the feeling of wandering my way around a post until such time that my snappy assed brain decides right then and there to actually be direct. And by THAT point alone, I’ve already lost the original thread, but the post keeps on building, word by word, layer by layer, until there is a pivotal moment, a lightning flash that screams out into the blank void of my keyboard obsessed mind, it should scream, “Now wait just a fucking minute, you pedantic ass faced moron! Looky here! Fish string! now ain’t that a kick in the balls with a cattle prod!” and this might lead to someone questioning the logic prepared by that one statement!
How does one kick someone in the balls, or anywhere really with a cattle prod?
Do they kick the cattle prod into the balls?
Is the cattle prod already placed ball sack adjacent?
Where the fuck is this taking place and has Netflix already signed on for five seasons of build up to this one moment in which nothing is explained and we are left devoid of any joy whatsoever because we canceled our subscription and now season six is tied up on actors being dicks and demanding WAY more money than their ability should ever grant them?

The feeling is mutual, and the build up is grand, and the payoff is fucking tantamount to that of having your last orgasm before you die with a smile on your face and your preferred genital analogy writhing with utmost pleasure.

That’s how I felt watching Love, Death, and Robots.
Like a fucking god.
Now where the fuck is Season Two?

And so the Clock Spring of the Cumulative Human Psyche Snaps loose again.

First off, yay.
Another shooting.
Just, what the utter fuck.
I mean, really, so soon after 50 people died in a shooting spree that spanned two mosques in New Zealand, some random ass hat goes on a shooting spree inside a fucking train in a Dutch town Utrecht.
No deaths so far, thank god.
Wish I had more to say on the matter, but I don’t.
Except, fuck these motherfuckers that think this shit is okay. It ain’t.
Also, I thought I had some amazing insights with that long ass title, but apparently, I have the honest to god insights of a blind chimp tazing a gimp in the sack with a cattle prod, and unironically, they’re handcuffed to each other, so trust me when I say, I feel your pain.
If you’re wondering about the title, the theory is this:

The solar system is a big fucking clock, yes, I swear, I ain’t apologizing! Lol?
Lol.
Anyways, let’s try this again!
Okay, so, think of humanity as biological, disconnected clock, with each category of human being a kind of piece in the great engine of said clock. The clock spring is the sanity level of the whole thing, and the cumulative human psyche is the clock spring that binds us all together, and, as you might have noticed at concerts, we’re kind of easilly lead in sing alongs. So take that initial example and replace singing along to crappy Nickelback songs with the potential for violence.
The looser the clock spring, the less chance there is for people to lose their shit, take bath salts, and rip their room mates heart through their asshole and eat it in the name of Cthulu to prevent the end times. The tighter wound the clock spring, the closer people are to simply losing their shit and doing the afore mentioned heart eating.
So, when the clock spring of the cumulative human psyche is wound too tightly, it snaps outwards, and whatever category of human it hits, and it takes a very specific category of human for this to happen, that person or persons will lose their shit, plan some violence, and in most cases by the end of it, take their own life.
To which I say, well fuck, less ass hats that do these kinds of things, the better.
So, the question remains, how long will this snapping out of the clock spring band take?
Well, unfortunately, its been going on for quite a while, and Donald trump getting elected, took most of the bat shit crazy momentum out of the damned thing and for two years, only stupid dumb things have happened since Donald’s absorbing most of the crazy being sent out.
So, I’m guessing this fucking thing has been going for a good ten years?
So, you’re thinking, where’s the proof?
What’s the evidence that this thing exists, even if its a theoretical metaphysical entity who’s presence is only ever felt when some crazy shit goes down?
Every mass shooting. (Large impact)
Every dumb ass Florida Man/Woman story you read. (small impact)
Every dumb ass fake anger about social media influencers (Small to medium impact)
Every fucking thing Trump has said/done/tweeted since birth (small impact, absorbs the impact)
Anything that has to do with out of the ordinary, boom, proof of the Clock Spring theory, and yeah, not the most scientific, but how can you be more scientific about some massive, theoretical, metaphysical thing in our lives?

Point being, shit be cray cray, and getting sometimes less or more cray cray, depending on what brand of cray cray we’re dealing with.

Impermanence: With the pull of a trigger

I normally don’t do scripted videos anymore, I like to be unfocused, let my mind wander. But for some reason, I can’t let this one go.
Too many dead.
Too much anger.
Too much is too much.
I’ve written scripts for videos on Mass shootings before, with the clear sight on anger, or confusion, or wondering just what the fuck is actually going on, and most of the time, it started off with anger, and then popped into a kind of cooled down rage.
Friday, Brenton Tarrant, Australian, and a former Gym Teacher who felt lost with the ideology instilled in him by his parents and society at large, who then went from place to place, trying to find something, anything that would fill his spiritual and ideological needs, went from bad to worse and finally landed on the White Nationalist ideology, and then took it one step further.
He planned a massacre with two other men and one woman.
Before he went about his merry fucked up way, Brenton wrote an 87-page manifesto filled with intolerance, hatred, and plain old racism, with phrasing in tune with ISIS, referencing Donald Trump, and calling for people to Subscribe to Pewdiepie for maximum damage beyond the scope of what a pulled trigger could do.
He carried it out, shooting and killing 50 Muslims worshipping at two mosques in Christchurch and another in New Zealand, and wounding twenty others as well, live streaming the whole 17-minute debacle through a streaming service, posting it on 8chan, and from there, the footage just spread like wild fire.
Please know that I fucking hate Brenton Tarrant, and any other person like him, someone who has lost their damned fucking mind, unsatisfied with their life, and clearly out of their damned mind. Someone who feels they need to take the lives of others in order for their own life, in their mind, to have any kind of worth.
New Zealand had been, until recently, inoculated from mass shooters because of its relatively small size and because it happens to be an island nation, yes, I know, but for simplicity sake, I’m calling it a island nation.
My focus and the effects of coffee don’t last as long as they used it.
Never the less, the response has been amazing.
Not long after the shooting, footage cropped up of New Zealand law enforcements beating the utter fuck out of Brenton, as all Law enforcement has the right to do to Mass shooters. At least, in my opinion.
Look, this isn’t easy for me to write, let alone keep my focus on, but I will say this, I’m not going to be one of those people who think that by not saying the person’s name or talking about it, you’re going to make the problem go away.
Know what that’s called? Digging your head in the sand.
Being a fucking Ostrich.
Don’t be a fucking Ostrich
Talk about the issue, talk about what the utter fuck is on your mind, stop hiding your opinion because that’s what the shooters want, if you stop talking about it, stop communicating, then how will we learn how to prepare?
I’m not one to be ashamed of my words, well, not anymore, when I state the following:
These past twelve years, in the scope of the sheer number of shootings, have been fucking horrific. Kids, teens, adults, men, women, old, young, civilian, former military, I mean, will it ever end?
The short answer is, no.
Not until we go the drastic route is making and slow and horrifying example out of the next one. I won’t go into detail, but dear god I REALLY want to.
Fuck it, let’s do this shit.
I think, we should televise the execution of the shooter, not in the classic way, not by the merciful bullet to the head or lethal injection, no, no, no, no, nooooo my friends. I think we should sit them down, and ask them one simple question:
We’re they able to get away with it, using whatever tools they had made available to them, and let them take as much time as they wanted to take their targets apart, what would they do, how would they go about it, how long would they take to get it done?
And how they responded?
Do the exact same thing to them, as per their own disgusting instructions.
Take them apart, piece by piece, as if the executioner was a mechanic, disassembling a car down its very bolts. Happen upon them what they would happen upon their targets.
Televise that shit, make it the only thing on.
Force people to watch.
Send the message that those who commit such acts on innocent lives will be dealt with in the same fashion, and their last words of disgusting intent be the words of their own undoing, and their last words will be of their own screams being cut short by the final merciful act of slowly, ever so slowly twisting their heads till they screamed like rabbits being prepped for the pot, their cries for mercy and understanding falling on deaf ears as their victims cries for mercy fell deaf upon theirs.
Tell them, in their final moment, that loved ones will not greet them, nor god, nor the devil. That their minds shall simply cease to be, their brains will shut down, and everything they ever knew will be nothing. Their body will lie, cold and in the dirt to be feasted upon and turned to compost by insects, and eventually all record of who they were shall be erased.
Whatever impact they held in life, will weigh as nothing in death.
The point being, and needing to move on to the next point of interest here, is that idiots are going to be idiots. That seems like a watered-down version of the thing I want to know, and knowing me, I’m going to say it somewhere else, but we need to do something about the chaotically unwinding clock spring of the collective Human Psyche. It’s snapped, and it aint stopping, yes, it’s slowed down some, and yes, Donald trump with his brand of crazy is absorbing the majority of the blows from this thing, but we need to figure out a way of stopping it completely.
The usual news cycle is going to play out, that Brenton’s a white nationalist, something broke in his head, thoughts and prayers are going to be flung out from across the world, and HOPEFULLY New Zealand makes good on its promise to change its gun laws, and from there, things will go the route they usually do.
Sad, but true.
And I don’t write those words easily.
I write them, knowing full well that lives were lost, families torn apart, sons and daughters will grow up never hearing their father and or mothers’ voices again, mothers and or fathers, brothers and or sisters, husbands and or wives will continue living on with a great hole in their lives where there was once comfort and joy.
We need to do better.
All of us.
In whatever capacity we can.
We need leaders that aren’t afraid of insulting their base when a tragedy strikes.
We need condemnation of Nazis.

All that we are.
All that we were.
All that we will ever be.
Within 200 years after our initial passing, everyone connected to us, all our works, all stories of our descendants, will be as nothing. Simply dust in the wind.
Data never to be viewed again.
Words never to read.
Voices never to be heard.
Within 200 years, if we’re lucky, and we’ve lived a life worth living, we will be remembered for that one spark of ingenuity that made us memorable.
All other details? Gone, until rediscovered.
If it sounds like I’m sucking the philosophical dick right now, that’s because I am. The Mosque shootings have gotten me thinking about the importance of things, the greater meaning behind it all, it’s kick started something in my mind that won’t let go, no matter how much I want it to.
Back in my twenties, when I was wild, free, not tied down by the twelve ton chains of the truth of life in general, that all actions, all words, all story lines, have been repeated countless times by countless others in one way or another, I had so many different theories about how humanity continued to be.
About how our seemingly infinite variety of facial and body designs, were in fact very limited in scope, and the only difference between you and that other, at least a hundred, at most ten thousand, other people who look almost exactly like you or had the exact same thought, interest, likes, dislikes, fears, and or non-fears like you were limited to that scope, because at our hearts, at our very cores, within that subset of values, we’re simply copies of people that came before us, and they, copies of people who came before them.
Yet, despite our similarities, what we share both mentally and or physically, the ways in which we go about achieving those interests, overcoming those fears, the technology we have access to changes with every cycle.

We are fucking amazing.

And yet, with the simple snapping of a mind, the spiral into the darker parts of the basic, primal, savage, lizard section of the human mind.
With the planning of the deaths of those incorrectly perceived to be threats to our own personal safety.
With the purchasing of weapons capable of carrying out such plans.
With the initiating those plans, aiming of those weapons, and the pulling of the trigger to take out those incorrectly perceived as threats, and the ending of those same lives…
Those copies of humans who came before, at least that particular lineage, for that person, if they do not have kids…
that persons story will end.
A kind of metaphysical, “BEGONE THOT!” moment.
We are only temporary, but the impact, the weight of what we, they, he, or she will have left behind can be felt immensely, as if to say, “Hear our voice echo throughout this mighty chamber, though I may be gone and my life now forfeit, my deeds, my actions, will haunt the ones that have done me wrong. For my soul was cast, not in the name of evil or good, but somewhere in the middle, so as I might choose my own path. Here my actions thunder throughout creation, for my name be but spoken, and judgement will come thundering down upon the that poor soul.”
Impermanence: Temporary.

How will you make your impact on history last eternal?

Fuck, that’s hot coffee.

And other amazing as fuck facts about life in general.
I mean, really. What did I think getting into this post?

That it’d be some amazing fact finding spree of inspiration, of such great heights that it would forever change the landscape of human discourse and force a great and powerful evultionary force!?
Should every post be something mindblowing?
No, I don’t think so.
If you like the post, you like the post, I’m not going to get all pissy because some fucking commentor that was marked as spam, shunts a half assed, grab bag of words into what can only be described as a brain damaged serial killers first words after losing his dick in a knife fight?

Fuck no.

And yet, I’m writing a post, simply for the fuck of it. Yes, I could discover some GREAT ANDD POWERFUL DIETY but why the fuck would I waste my time doing… whatever it was I was writing about?
More importantly, hot coffee is hot.. I mean, really fucking hot. I use Ice cubes to cool it off, because I like cold coffee, that’s just how my shit rolls, I mean, really, for all our accomplishments, you have assholes that like it hot, and those who like it cold!
I’m Mr. Winter, I’m Mr. Told you so, I’m Mr. Zero Fucks Given and no I’ll not give any to your pour.
I’ve literally forgotten the part WHERE MY FUCKING ANKLE ITCHES!
Itch taken care of.
Mission all complete.
End of Line.
Go fucking Voltron.
What the fuck am I talking about!? I don’t know, there seems to be a disconnect, there is a disconnect, I can’t remember what the utter fuck I was talking about, writing about, I’m not talking, I’m writing, why the fuck would I narrate this to myself!?

Fuck thee hard, with a rotating cactus Book of Faces!

First off, let’s get one thing straight:
Fuck Facebook, that’s all.
I mean, yeah, there’s more to it than that, and believe me when I say that I am one cynical son of a bitch when it comes to things to get mad at.
Seriously, I pitched an epic level bitch fit about an overblown beauty competition that seeks to first exploit women for their looks, than subvert the beauty pageant for and IQ quiz, as if women need to prove that they’re intelligent. They are, stop making them look like overstuffed tit fests you fucking sexist fucks.
I mean, yeah, I could be blowing that WAY out of proportion, but by todays standards, that shit was tame compared to what I would’ve put eight years back, and believe me, I was filled with fire and fury like the world would never have believed.
I was also filled with the idiotic notion that people would love my blogging skills despite overwhelming proof the only reason they ever read beyond the second word was to see how far into the post itself they could get before deciding, “Nah, fuck it, UNREADABLE GARBAGE!”
Because I did not edit worth a DAMN Back then.
I learned the hard way.
Like the Archbishop in Australia learned?

I mean, holy fuck. no worries, I’ll get back to the whole “FACEBOOK BE DOWN, EVERYBODY POST ELMO MEMES!”  shit in a second, I just want to talk about this idiot. He fucked two kids because he caught them stealing from the church, and these little guys were just minding their own damned business.
Anyways, legend has it that the guy that shit under wraps for DECADES before his own guilt ate at him to the point where he just up and turned himself in.
Whoa, and what the utter fuck?
I mean, thank god he turned himself in, but the shit storm he threw into the air among the cluster fuck sized hurrican of WTF the Catholic church is already going through?
Jesus…

Anyways, back to the point of this, fuck Facebook for being down even though I don’t really give a shit. Yes, there arep eople out there that get EVERYTHING from FB, and good for them, really… show’s something positive about the platform that ultimately means people are going to freak out every time the platforms down for a few hours to half a day.
I mean, where else am I going to see crappy adverts for games I already don’t give a shit about?
”OH MY GOD, THEY WERE RIGHT, THE GAME SO AWESOME, FACEBOOK THOUGHT IT WAS A CONSERVATIVE POST SO HARDCORE, FACEBOOK TOOK ITSELF DOWN!”  Wait… no, that doesn’t strike the right chord here.
”OMG, FACEBOOK IS NAUGHTY, DON’T LET YOUR GIRLFRIEND CATCH YOU PLAYING WITH IT, AND YOURSELF!” Nope, still not right.
”FACEBOOK WENT AND FUCKED ITSELF OFF THE INTERNET!”
Perfect.
Or, is it? I can never really tell.
I mean, really, to me, Facebook is the thing that I HAVE to keep an account on, not because I need to, but because it connects me to my fam, my friends, and my potential dates that never quite get to the actual date part. Which is, at the moment, how I prefer it.
But, for those who’ve gone the “MUST WORSHIP THINE BOOK OF FACES, OUR SOUL FOR BAD PAY TO WAIT TO PLAY GAMES!”
It’s almost as if Le Zuckerberg is testing out a theory, so he brought FB offline just to see what would happen, and holy shit, he brought out the popcorn  and had himself a marathon as people took to twitter to shit all over the website as if it were their drug of choice and their dealer was a no show.
Fucking beautiful.
Though, I could be wrong, I mean, I’ve been wrong about things before, so it wouldn’t surprise me if the given reason were that FB is going through the piecemeal process of updating its platform on a massive scale to combat misinformation campaigns launched by Trump supporters to further influence the 2020 campaign.
Now, don’t get me wrong OR right, there’s a chance we might have a second Trump Term, but then again, we might not… Like, really. I’m almost excited at the prospect of how  this election cycle is going to play out… Still, with FB being down, which might be a sign of the times, that the unyielding might of the platform, is gone, creates a vacuum.

Dear Women, yes… ALL of y’all.

I don’t understand breasts.
Let’s be frank here, and if you don’t like being Frank, there’s always Luanne. Which, I GUESS is kind of the female version of being frank, although, you COULD be Gina, or Gary!
Anyways, I’m not talking about breasts in the kinky way that might make one cringe when thinking about a gal rolling in a dogpile of porcupines…. Fuck it, the crazy train left the station and it’s building up steam, so why not keep going?
Anyways, breasts have always intrigued me, naturally, and in some cases, unnaturally.
I really don’t know where I’m going with this.
What mystifies me the most is how something on your upper torso can cause you to have lower back pain… Oh wait, the additional weight of both breasts, especially with larger chested women, causes slight spinal compression, which puts pressure on the nerves in that area, causes a risk for paralysis and the evolution of shooting nipple lasers.
Wait, no, that’s wrong.
But it sounds FUCKING AWESOME! The niplasers, not the paralysis…
I forget where i was going with this, parttly because my energy drink addled brain is twitchy as fuck, and my dog needed to go outside, so… Yup! something about the inherent natural beauty that women have, adding to the mystique about hte female mind from the male perspective.
Though really, y’all probably want the more assholish guys or gals to stop cat calling you, among other things, like I said, completely blanked on where I was going with this…. I want a bowl of doritos now.
Right, also, to my new followers, sometimes I write random posts, it ain’t always going to be thought provoking… well, it always provokes the thought of why I ever think any of these posts are a great idea.
But, fortune favors the bold… i guess.
Right, boobs serve a function, nutrition, signaling, and if large enough, the absolute destroyer of watermelons… but at what cost?

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.

More intelligent than a dumb ass next to a switch

I walk in, do my thing, go to the sink to wash my hands, and the dude slides out like he’s Kramer from Seinfeld, like, “HEY YA JERRY! I’VE GOTTA TELL YA SOMETHING!”

Yeah, I fucking swear, UHMAHGAWD leave me alone~ Or some other weird bullshit like that, I dunno, maybe I do? Either way, we’s gon’ get drunk annnnnnnnnd blog. About random bullshit, I like mac n cheese, but not the kind of mac n cheese that’s mac n cheese. I’m fucking hipster like that, or not, fuck those idiots that claim to like things BEFORE they were cool. And Yeah, I know, old gripe, but can we PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD, make the other days of the week food related? We’ve already got Taco Tuesday.
So let’s have Menudo Monday, Waldorf Salad Wednesday, Turkey Thursday, Fuckfoods Friday, you know? food that you eat after you have a good fuck, like shit you REALLY want to eat right after sex, I’m talking the kind of food that you just want to chow down on right after you get done chowing down on. Me?
Personally? A bowl of fucking lucky charms! Like, fuck yeah!
They’re magically delicious because SO AM I DAMMIT!
It’s all good. My cat is proving once again, that they do indeed rule the universe, because while i’m writing this, she’s doing everything in her power to role on my keyboard. So, every sentence is like a battle of wills between my wanting to knock out a post, and her wanting me to pet her. MOTHERFUCKER, I AM A GOD DAMNED BLOGGER, let me do this shit. I’ll give you scratchings behind the ears later.
Like a goddamn boss.

I’ve been working for Amazon for what seems like forever now, and I’m getting used to the flow of the same damned thing almost everyday, there’s there far away prospect of getting Blue Badged, at least, it seems like a far away prospect, in truth I’m not really sure when they’ll offer, but there are constant whispers of it up and down the lines, in the break room, and pretty much in the one bathroom stall that’s always occupied by the same guy.
No fucking joke.
Every single day, same stall, same guy.
I walk in, do my thing, go to the sink to wash my hands, and the dude slides out like he’s Kramer from Seinfeld, like, “HEY YA JERRY! I’VE GOTTA TELL YA SOMETHING!”
Funniest damned thing since it’s usually a PA, KBS, or AM, depending on the day, and what they felt like doing at the time. There’s two times where they have the departments gather called stand up, and it’s not that interesting, basically it goes:
1. People gather around.
2. Stretching.
3. any tips from the audience, (I usually get ignored, no matter how loud I am.)
4. Who to give props to. (also get ignored)
5. The mad rush to get to a station.

During any one of these portions, people are always talking, and the PA’s can BARELY be heard on the speaker system they’ve got set up, it’s the weirdest fucking feeling in the world. SEPS was the same way, only except people were fucked to speak during inspections. I almost kind of want Stand Up to be like inspections, just a little.

The job, love it, love everything about it. Made a few friends there, one of my best friends from work is also my ride, and lately, what we’ve been doing is going to a different place everyday. Sometimes the food’s great, sometimes it’s a bit lacking, but we try every place we can, and make the mad rush to get to work afterwards. Which is a treat in and of itself.
Because let it be known that there are fucking idiots on the road, who will drive twenty three fucking miles, with a god damned traffic cone stuck to the under carriage of their car, and it’s the funniest god damned thing in the world, like a car based unicorn with day glow viagra, it’s a god damned rarity.
Also a treat is the driver trying to constantly pass us if we’re going the speed limit and the dumb ass’s girlfriend starts taking a picture of the car? OH my fucking god, it’s… great!
Cause I flipped that dumbass off, and I’m kind of wondering what they were trying to get a picture of. But so far, so good, nothing new to report. We’re alos gaming buddies on the switch, which reminds me to snag Splatoon 2.

Coffee Thoughts in the morning!

God I fucking love coffee!

Seriously, nothing more satisfying in the mornings then hcocking down some random shit I no longer care about writing.

Well, not that topic anymore, I don’t write these morning blogs just to be all philosophical and shit, I write them to just fucking say what’s on my mind, and there’s not really much on my mind, no, really!

I used to try and make sense of the world, try to unlock it’s various dick shaped puzzles, and try to be something more than my mind actually was:

Infinite confuckled about everything stupid and trying to be more intelligent than a methed out gerbil being stupid funny on a facebook live of a Captain Hook porn parody where no one’s having fun, and everything just seems fucked.

More or less, I’m sure the clown in the corner, sadly jacking it to a rendition of “hurt me more” by the Sugarpops and Daddy6969 is truly just wonderful.

Outside of that, I drink coffee and slap my face against the keyboard because i need to more freeform with my thoughts, try not to bog em down with the heavier shit, because that’s what the fuck I was doing for a long fucking time, you know?

Understand the mysteries of the universe, logic it all out.

There’s nothing to logic out, it’s all impulse!All fuck this, blow up that, make fun of this person, why?

What’s the point?

Aren’t we fucked enough already without that added pressure of the constant shit talking?

Maybe we just need to shut our minds down for a bit and relax, not worry about what the others are doing as Jack and beanstalk simply refers to the act of getting a blowjob from a snaggle toothed, broken jawed hooker during an earthquake on a rickety roller coaster.

Or maybe it’s something more which I don’t have the mental patience to deal with?

I dunno…

I just do not know.

I’ve spent so much of my life looking at a keyboard that it’s really the one constant thing, more constant than staring at a screen for one reason or another.

Although it does seem a bit more fun than backwards fisting a zombie in the ass.

Maybe?

Yeah definitely don’t want to think about reverse fisting anything that’s decomposing.

Ha… You’re thinking of it aren’t you?

LMAO!

that’s the thing I love about coffee thoughts, you can just say whatever’s on yer mind and not really have to worry about a fucking thing!

It’s a freeing feeling, something I’ve continually missed as i’ve plugged away at this project or that project, wondering when and if I’d get back to the one thing that really matters, randomly blogging about nothing at all, or making some sort of sense to the five people that actually read this thing, all over the world…

Did you know I used to be read all over the world?

Seriously, that shit was insane, yeah, I used to talk mad shit about people over at VVC back when there was shit talking to be done, but I was fucked read all over the place.

Sometimes for good reasons, other times for bad, sometimes for reasons that  seemed a bit obtuse, no, no intelligent words.

BAD BRAIN, BAD FUCKING BRAIN!

Point being, I guess no matter what I do, I’m going to have some kind of draw, some kind of gravitational pull, even if I don’t think I have one. After all, hits are hits, regardless of how many times or how many minutes people read or watch. not that i’m complaining, it’s just a natural fact of life that now a days, if you’re aren’t shit talking someone, you’re not a part of the cool crowd, though to be fair, I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of the cool crowd?

Maybe?

I’m not really sure anymore, everything’s a bit fuzzy in the memory, sometimes I get flashes of the person I used to be in my twenties, and I look back at the things I wanted to accomplish, and look upon my many failings, and see that there is a veritable graveyard of them. But I can’t give up!

Not giving up!

Ever since I tried to hang myself, I’ve come to the realization that my life, my efforts, my everything really, is more important than just some one off project that for one reason or another needs to be slapped together in the form of a blog or something to make others happy.

It’s a way of keeping myself motivated for the future, to punch that sun right in the fucking dick!

To proclaim to the world that all should HAIL BILL FUCKING WATSON!

To make the most badass shoutout videos in the world and keep people smiling.

I lost the goal of that in the course of chasing high hit counts and wanting people to subscribe to me.

I lost that point, maybe that’s why my follower count hasn’t risen or fallen? Maybe that’s why I’m struggling to get anymore traction?

Or ,maybe I just secretly gave up the rat race once I figured out the truth of the matter, that no matter what I try, there’s always going to be someone to shit on my parade.

So I need to shit on theirs first, because of course that’s going to be a thing, right?

I create because it’s what I’m excellent at, I’m godlike when it comes to creating things.

the question is, how do I turn that creation into profit, more importantly, how did I go from using all of my finger to only using five? that shit confused the hell out of me.

Is it to match my internal voice when it comes to… thinking?

I dunno, don’t care, batshit crazy thought time:

So a penguin with a machete and a tiny top hat went on a tiny adorable rampage at a library and that shit went sideways with the chihuahua FBI showed up and was all “BARK BARK MOTHERFUCKER!”

I KEEP FORGETTING THE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG, TO NOT MAKE SENSE, TO HAVE FREE FLOWING THOUGHT IN A WAY THAT’S NEITHER CONSTRICTING NOR CAUSES ME TO PAUSE, LIKE AN ECLECTIC COLLECTOR OF LECTURES. HA! I DID A THING THAT MADE ME SMILE ON THE INSIDE.

PEOPLE SAY I NEED TO SMILE MORE, WHY? WHAT’S THE POINT? WHAT AM I SMILING AT?

THE SUN?

THAT SHIT’S BEEN THERE FOR TRILLIONS OF YEARS, AND NO AMOUNT OF SMILING IS GOING TO CHANGE THAT.

OH, SHIT, I’VE HAD CAPS LOCK ON THIS ENTIRE TIME.

There we go, that’s going to read very weird, people are going to be like “Why is he yelling about smiling at the sun?”

Puppies, I don’t know, that’s just the word I was focused on when my fingers hit the keyboard, and now this blog is getting more metaphysical than I’d actually like. I need to practice using more than just two fingers- SHUT THE METAMINDFUCKING PHYSICAL BULLSHIT DOWN!

There we go, hate it when that happens, because than I’m just focused on the random bullshit that’s going on, and you see what’s ACTUALLY going on instead of enjoying a nice nonsensical blog about shit that no longer matters ten minutes down the road as you focus on which Forte Nite skin to use to do the same thing over and over and over and over again. Because really, that’s all gaming really is, and maybe I’m over extending my reach as John Wick 3 is just about John Wick going on a murder rampage because someone took his plate of nachos at golden Corral, and john’s had enough of that shit.

The movie will be a veritable and verifiable week long in running time. And it will be just millions of senior citizens rushing John in an attempt to fuck with death itself.

Wow, that’s on my mind heavily, maybe it’s something more, or something less.? I need to go to the mental gym more often and work on the mental gymnastics required to keep this train of thought going?

Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t give a fuck anymore about trying to make sense, nope, old topic, moving forward, moving on!

I like writing songs, it’s a pretty fun experience, to hear the flow of the music as you slap a ham sandwich against the way and make fart noises and than you think, well this isn’t making music, just making a mess.

Coffee thoughts

make you wonder if there’s anything in my head worth wringing out… Because thought drops are shit enough without the proper things.

I’m sitting here in my underwear wondering why cheetahs and the name of the snack is so fucking hard to spell. Maybe I’m lazy? I could be lazy.

Either that or I just don’t want to pay attention to what I’m saying anymore. i’m seeing a therapist because recently, I tried to hang myself. I know, shocking, right? Actually, it is in a way.

I’m too bored at the moment to go through the whole process of reliving that shit, so I’ll just link the tweet thread at the end of the post. I drank a cup of coffee at the moment, so nothing I’m saying actually makes much sense. But i don’t think it’s supposed to, maybe i’m trying to be more than I want to be at the moment, but i really need to get back into the whole blogging thing. I love the stats of seeing how many people read my stuff, all across the country and all that, but I gave up trying to keep up with the times or what’s trending, because than I just lose the point of writing the blog.

which is to just keep my thoughts out of my head, and into your heart. or some strange fucking bullshit like that. I dunno, recently i’ve just been at a loss for words because of what I put myself though that it just seems pointless trying to find the right audience. Maybe there isn’t one? Maybe I just don’t know how to run a blog? Or maybe I’ve found the right audience, but at the same time, my skills at marketing it are kind of shit?
I really don’t know. the most important question I have at this point is why the moldy fat bridge troll Rudy Fuckedhisaunty thinks that the Truth isn’t the Truth, when in fact, the Truth, is the Truth. I’d like to punch him.

I don’t care if he’s a lawyer, or former 9/11 superhero, guys a fucknut, and I challenge him to a fist fight. i’d kick his ass. He knows it, I knows it, and now i’m speaking like Popeye, because fuck proper spelling at this point. Do you know how many hamster i’d like to fire out of a minigun?
Me neither, because I don’t have a gun license, a minigun, or a bullet belt with tiny enough hamsters to find out the answer to that very disturbing question.

I could be looking at a mirror, but then how would I write on the keyboard? this blog is a mystery. Some points are constant, others are just fuckled mysteries that need more explaining than people are will to put forth. though I don’t dare claim to be a great blogger, I’m just putting my thoughts out there, a Gonzo blogger if you will. there’s no hard hitting truth, no mystery of the universe 3, just one asshole, a cup of coffee and a wifi connection that’d make you wonder if there’s anything in my head worth wringing out… Because thought drops are shit enough without the proper things.

Maybe I just wanted to write something, I’ve been out of the loop, and as much as I want to rag on Trump for this or that, I just don’t have it in me anymore. Yeah, I could put more energy into my posts, add a picture or two, but really? i’m a lazy blogger, my entries are what they are, and despite all my efforts to try and cultivate an audience, my thoughts are kind of flat and boring. Do I let you into my life and get yelled at for it by my controlling parents or do I just dance around the topics that are long bothering me and leave you more disappointed than a hooker hired by a club of ED sufferers?

Okay, that one was pretty good. Sometimes I don’t get it, I try to make myself interesting in some fashion, it works out for a while, and then I get bored with it. Why? What’s the point?  Is there some greater purpose i’m supposed to be serving? Do I just go slowly insane talking to myself for weeks on end, gibbering in a strange language that only I and the shadows in a well lit room understand? Or am I just getting older with the knowledge that no matter what I try? My own futile attempts at some form of relevancy or just enough to make someone laugh for half a second before turning to something more interesting?

Maybe i need to get drunk off my ass again and write from that standpoint. I’ve been a bit angry at nothing for a while. Powder room with no lit fuse or something. Something to focus my energies on, something to grasp at straws. I’m good at being despondent, annoyed by things out of my mental grasp, and just in general, being a massive asshole to people on twitter, or maybe I’m not a massive asshole on twitter… maybe I’m just me, not fully grasping the nuances of comedy as as write this in the voice of a fucking noncy wine consumer.

Don’t know. Don’t care. Bored. I need to do something with my life….

I’m going to write a post about school shootings DAMN IT!!

FUCK! Fine! i’ll do it! I’ll fucking do it!  I’ll write a blog about gun safety and school shootings, I’m fucking sick to death of this shit! Seriously! i don’t like focusing on the fact that my nose hair itches, as does my eye brow because then it distracts me from realizing that I’ve already lost the line of thought  I was going to make about how fucking itchy my body is  being right now, you honestly have no fucking clue, because it’s really god damned itchy!

I’m trying my best to focus on the School shootings which seem to become an almost everyday thing, and yet, we’ve got kids protesting the fuck out of things. And adults? After one or two tries, we give right the fuck up because we have shit to do. Kids? Fuck naw, they get right up in peoples faces and be like, “I’m sick and mother fucking tired of these mother fucking guns on this mother fucking plane!”

There… I wrote something about it… Now I can be happy that the side of my head itches… That’s not something to be happy about.

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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Just some random brain shit… Maybe.

Okay, it’s been a while since I’ve actually talked about what’s going on in my life on this thing. Why did I stop? Because my mother, god bless her soul, is somewhat particular over what I talk about, like she’s afraid someone’s going up and break the house because of one blog post. Seriously, it’s somehow that bad… Which is somewhat hilarious.

But, here I am. Instead of in the Navy, which is where I should’ve been, had I not caught Pneumonia and fallen behind in training… And getting Separated, let’s not forget that whole shlameagle. Yeah, I get moved from one stress filled spirit dish to another, make a bunch of friends, and look at that! I’m off topic again! But, I dunno, we’ll be moving in a few months, so that means I’ve gotta find a job, because when they leave, I stay… Or something like that. OR I might still be renting when they leave… Which is always a thing.

Which could be cool, but I try not to focus anymore on the “What if this actually happened!?” And I had the place to myself? I dunno what I’d do to be honest… Make more videos? Actually be able to enjoy myself for more than two days at a time? I dunno… don’t get me wrong, home life is… interesting when I’m not getting reamed for one thing or another,at the same time though, it’s more that I don’t have any motivation to do anything else besides what I’ve been doing.

Yeah, I’ve worked 9 to 5s before, and while the pay is well worth the frustration I sometimes felt while working there, I dunno… it’s just not me. But, that time is nigh approaching for when it has to be me! Or something like that… But I figure it like this, the more projects I get done and published, the happier I’ll be, the more confident I’ll be, and the bigger fish I’ll move up to.

It always comes up to that doesn’t it? The great cycle of things. You start it up, it goes well, you get lazy, you forget about a few things, and boom,  you’re back at square one, just a little bit wiser with what you want to get for. Mind you, it’s not a bad way to kick things off, there are worse ways to go about the cycle of things, but for the most part, it just, is what it is.

I’ve had more theories about the way my life’s been headed than I can count. And sometimes the more introspective stuff is just a bit on the nose. For instance, I often think about what my life would’ve been like had my parents stayed married for the entirety of my life up to this point. Would i still be in the same situation? Would I have had the same friends? The same relationships? what about career choice? you never really know about the different aspects and the divisions your personal timeline could take unless you REALLY take a good hard long look at it. And that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing a lot lately.

Right now, as it stands, I’m more dedicated, career wise, to the idea of being an Author, and stapled to the struggles that come along with it. I know that because I fucked around a lot, because I never really took my schooling seriously, focused more on the social aspect of things that my life, in reality, is going to be a bit more harsher than I originally thought it was going to turn out.

Let’s see, the pro’s? The Pros of my life, as it is right now at the time of writing this post are: I’ve got a wonderful girlfriend, both my biological and step parents are alive, I’ve got brothers and sisters, I’ve got a ton of friends, loving parents and extended family, plenty of pets, horses and chickens, and I was, for whatever period of time, in the military.

Not bad, not bad at all Morgy boy! So, now, we do the shitty side of things… The Cons.

The cons are as follows: I live at home, my bio parents divorced when I was young, one of my step parents went insane (The one I rarely see.), I haven’t seen my brothers or sisters in years, my mom can be a bit over the top and flip on a dime about any number of things. Yes, I’ve got a ton of friends, but if I’m not posting something relevant to their interests, I’m kind of dust. My IRL friends I sometimes don’t talk to for weeks at a time. And I was separated for catching a super flue and falling behind in training.

There are no downsides to my girlfriend, I love her to pieces!

Anyways, I’m running out of writing steam here… And I’ve lost track of whatever the fuck I was talking about… I might have ADHD or ADD… who knows.

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