Oh, Shadow, where art thou?

So, yesterday was an adventure in what the fuck.
What’s this!?
An actual blog about actual things, not just random bullshit!?
FOR SHO MOTHAFUCKAS, FO SHO.
Anyways, I was Water Spidering for Universal Receive, and at the start of shift, one of our PAs, Starlight, tells me that a new guys going to Shadow me and I get to show him the ropes.
Yes! I love it when peeps Shadow me, meaning I get to teach people! This is going to awesome!
So,  I introduce myself, and the day goes smoothly, I tell him about picking up Prep, taking care of Transship, Down Stack, Palatalizing, where to put AR and NYR Prep, whether to use a Cage or U boat on certain lines because of the support beams, and we get to work.
I think everything’s going great and he gets pulled aside for another task, because hey, that happens, happened to me, and I was thrown into the deep end and had to ask a lot of questions in order for me to get my bearings, but once I did, I just knocked everything out.
So, I’m knocking things out left and right, and on occasion my Shadow pops around to ask the occasional question and  I do my best to answer him.
But then I notice something, every time I ask him to help me out with something, he asked if he could use the restroom, I think nothing of it, because as a Water spider, you don’t have to ask to use the restroom, you just go, do your thing, then come back.
Five or ten minute would pass before I see him again, and at this point, I starting to get just a little annoyed with him.
Juuuuuuuust a little.
So instead fo talking to Starlight about the issue, I think that I should try and nudge him along, so next time we’re collecting prep, I ask him how he feels about rate and recieving, and since he’s 18 and just out of High-school, he says meh, to most of it, so I ask him if he enjoys Water spidering, and he says that he’ll do it if he’s asked.
I have to remind myself of how I was at 18 in order to refrain from going verbally full bore on the kid, so I gently tell him that if the PAs, Problem Solvers, and AMs see him knocking things out left and right, that they’ll want to use him more. Anyways, gotta get ready for the day. I’ll finish this up in another part.

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.

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.

Fuck, I’m so god damned sore.

I’m back, I guess. Okay, so fuck it, I am back, but for good fucking reason! I’m fucking sore as fuck because they need their fav water spider to collect all the shit, do all the things, and basically be the annoying as fuck voice of “WAKE UP!” because these ten hour shifts?
Oh my god, let me tell you about these fucking ten hour shifts OH MY FUCKING GOD I CAN BARELY GET A POST OUT WITHOUT GETTING FUCKING DISTRACTED BY SOME ANNOYING AS SHIT THING!

But let’s head back to then ice, friendly neighborhood of what the actual fuck.
So, I’ve got no problem helping out where I’m needed, I knock out the rate for the week, I’ am beautiful to help out where I’m needed, go do the things, knock everything out, but yesterday!?
Yester-fucking-day?
There were just four of us. Fucking four.
And one of us had to get audited, or something like that, so it’s all good.
But, holy shit.
We needed that woman, to help ease our burdens, I mean, yeah, three of us knocked that shit out like no tomorrow, and we did get a lot of things done, but it seemed every five minutes we were switching between Down Stack, Tetris, tote Inject, Work Inject, ATAC sweeping, Prep sweeping, Tote boosting, and everything else, and after hour 6 I was just waiting for the damned thing to go balls up!

I ain’t mad, just how I write, and it was a bit stressful you know? But, with my friends, Co-Workers, and a shit ton of caffeine, I knocked the day out and repeatedly kicked it in the balls. I woke up, so woke, and so fucking sore, holy fucking shit, I wished to fucking god, they just let me receive that day, because I was in so much pain from the last two hours of it all, I mean, four lines went into AGL, and god damned, people needed to work the fuck faster, I get it, y’like to talk, talking’s great, but at the same time, the reason we went into AGL in the first place is because there were people there who simply just did not give a shit, or were picking only the good boxes!

Like, really?
Fucking really?
I’m out there, busting my ass, taking every single fucking box that passes by my station, and you, like a fuck nut, need to next level cherry pick that shit? What the utter fuck!
I had this one gal, tiny, adorable, and … just the sweetest thing ever, tell me to get her a golden tape wrapped box, and I’m in the middle of making sure the damned line gets some fucking space on it, I’m thinking fuck no, get back to work, let me do my thing!
But, I’m not a dick, so I did the perfectly balanced, I simply moved the box to a place on the line that wasn’t so crowded.
I mean, someone else got the box, of course, and her friend was laughing her ass off, but I had work to do, so I did it. If I’m working, I’m focused on that work only. I don’t take shit from no one, and if there’s a perfectly great reason why you want to do things a certain way, I am more than happy to let you do your day, but let me know and I’ll make sure that you do your thing, that way, both our days are amazing.

Outside of that, I had a pretty standard day, got a lot of work done, stayed focus, talked to people when the work flow was a little low, but over all, I stayed busy. Today’s the final boss of the week, so I’ve got to make double my usual mix, I’m getting better at saving my money, and I’ve set a budget for myself, so I’m getting enough together for a deposit, which has been a bit hard, but I’m knocking it out, still need to find a decent place, and save up about four more weeks, so 550/week, that’s about 1,600 to 2,100, enough for the deposit, and a buffer zone for other expenses as well. So that’s the goal… 2,100 in the account. If I can save up that much, I’ll be golden, and won’t have to worry about much.

Well, that’s enough from me, despite how everything reads, I’m having a lot of fun during this mini-peak, and Prime Day is popping around the corner, so it’s good practice for when things heat up again, I’ll just be happy to have my Sundays back… dear god, I’m so fucking tired…. But, hopefully, when I’ve got my own place, I’ll be happy as shit, and be able to post vids again without hesitation…

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.

Nazi Beer Pong, R. Kelly Crying, and Erasing Michael Jackson… What the fuck.

So, normally, or rather lately I don’t bother with the stronger stuff, I just don’t, there’s already enough examples of me getting pissed about dumb ass things that really… I shouldn’t get mad at.
Still, the Miss America Pageant can go fuck itself, I have my reasons.
So, what’s the new rager today?
I mean, if you have to ask that, ya’ didn’t read the title of this, did ya?
So let’s tackle the biggest fucker here, shall we?
Nazi beer pong. Teens who recently learned about the Holocaust, and saw the angry Austrian dude flinging hands around, who blamed Germany’s defeat on the Jewish annnnd subsequently decided, “AWRIGHT, LETS PARTAY!” first off, fuck em. fuck those idiots for thinking this was such a GREAT FUCKING IDEA in the first place,
Yes, I get it, they’re sorry, but y’know what? That’s the beauty of getting older, you start to give less of a fuck about the fact they’re sorry AFTER THE FACT and more pissed about the fact they did this shit in the first place.
Not to mention, y’know, the great sentient cheesy poof with a habit of flicking the word Fake News everywhere failed to condemn Nazis, and said there were great people on both sides… Yeah, I’m guessing that had a shit ton to do with why they thought this was a great theme for a party, which, HA, underage drinking and the usual dumbassery of thinking they’d get away with this was fucking brilliant.
Also, kudos to the dumbass that thought up the brilliant plan of flooding the principal with emails so he wouldn’t be able to expel them from school. yeah, no. If I were the principal of that place, I’d have thrown a fucking rally, invite the little bastards to the center of the auditorium, give a big ol speech, and hand them the expulsion papers, and yeah, while that’d be quick to solve the riddle of “Hurdur, can’t expel us if we’re gunna flood his emails!” and quick to piss a few parents off, I’d kindly remind the little shits that our school has no room, absolutely none whatsoever for that kind of bullshit.
And yes, the parents would have their opinions about “WE PAID SO MUCH MONEY SO OUR DARLING LITTLE ANGEL COULD HAVE THE BEST EDUCATION!”
I would have mine, “We sent good young men to their graves by the thousands to kill the Nazi sumbitch that was killing over 6 million Jewish practitioners, and the last thing we need is another rise of the Nazi, get your kid the fuck off my campus.”
My initial gut reaction over with… Let’s dial it back a little.

First, don’t get me wrong, I read the CNN article, and I’m happy that the Nazi Beer Pongers got a taste of reality, by way of Eva Schloss telling them about the horrors of the Holocaust, about how she and her Step sister, Anne Frank, hid from the Nazis in an apartment block, and survived the concentration camps while, unfortunately, Anne Frank passed away before her sixteenth birthday.
It’s refreshing to know that with the proper guidance and educational tools, as well as a little first person recounting of such horrifying events, the youth of today can become a better generation.
Seriously, Fuck Nazis.
I wanted to get that out of the way before heading into the second part.

R. Kelly crying… Just, okay, I don’t even know where to begin, so i’m going to start at the heaviest thing here:
The man’s accused of having relations with underage girls, imprisoning women in his house, being a controlling asshole, and… yeah, let’s zipline back to that first one, since, the other two pale in comparison:
R. Kelly is being accused of being a sexual predator.
Just… what the actual fuck. And when Gayle King interviewed him, and I love this part, because it shows that for a split second he premeditated and planned this shit out:
Robert asked if a particular camera was on him, and when it was confirmed, the dude purposefully flipped out, addressing the camera directly, screaming, punching his fist, flipping out, basically the god damned water works.

And I wasn’t focusing so much on the man baby being a dramatic asshole, I was much more focused on Gayle herself, she sat there, with poise, calmly trying to figure out a way to get everything under control, and she did just that.
He just continued pouring on the gas to the fire and went all out, and while I’m tempted to feel sorry for the guy, I can’t, I just can’t.
IF, for some reason, this was blackmail, or someone had kidnapped someone close to him, and he was freaking out about this, because they wanted something of his, but he’s like, “Nah motherfucker, my shit’s mine.” THEN and only then would I feel sorry for the guy. And if he’s proven innocent in the end of all of this, I will walk back my comments, but if he’s guilty of pedophilia, then all my fucks have simply run out and he deserves everything coming to him.
It’s sad to know that being a Celebrity comes with the known risk of someone destroying your life because of a fuck up, and yes, I am aware that nothing’s been proven yet, but Robert’s going to have to register as a sex offender, serve time in which he’ll get his ass handed to him many times over, his music’s getting pulled off the play lists the world over, and basically, his life’s work is over with.
Hopefully, the latter’s not the case, but if it is, fuck him. Never listened to his music that much anyways. And there will always be a dedicated fan base, no matter what. People, fans, that will listen to his music no matter what the hell is going on.

Which brings us to the final third of this: Because of a documentary aired on HBO, “Leaving Neverland”, basically the poison pill that kills the majority of love for the King of Pop, Michael Jackson is effectively and posthumously being erased from culture, why?
As stated above, there will always be die hard fans who’ve got eternal love for Michael Jackson, no matter what, but it will become more and more difficult to publicly show that appreciation for his musical genius, especially when there are parties out there, ever ready to continue their assault on his musical majesty.
The documentary has interviews from people claiming Michael molested them when they were kids, and I’m not going to lie when I ask the question, where the fuck were these assholes while he was alive?
Why did they only feel safe to come out of the woodwork ten years after he passed away, though there are people out there that say his doctor murdered him. And verdicts as well. Nother topic for another day, if I remember that.
What disturbs me the most is, that in this weird era we seem to be in, Which, hey, if it does the great deed of removing creepy fucks from positions of power, I’m all for it. But, if the movement assails the memory of the person after they’ve passed away, that’s just wrong.
Regardless of what the proof and verdict is, I will always enjoy michaels music, regardless of what the majority of die hard Celeb Status killers want to say.
Prove them guilty while they’re alive, while it has the most impact, don’t wait till their bodies have been cold in the ground for a decade to turn the cherished memory of the person into a pile of shit smelling ash.

So, in closing:
Nazi’s can go fuck themselves.
Robert Kelly needs to man the fuck up and stop pitching bitch fits at the camera.
Stop trying to kill the memory of his Musical Majesty, Michael Jackson, long may he moon walk over the haters.

Just needed to get this out of the way…

The Cohen Testimony… Holy shit.

So I’ve pretty much live tweeted the fuck out of this thing…. And I’m tired as fuck. So, what I’m going to do later, is copy/paste that into this thing… or another post that’s properly edited. I need to get to sleep…. so fucking tired, unfortunate, since its just getting good with the NDA as the topic.

Women… Phhh

First off, y’all… are strange as fuck.
And, here’s why that’s a good thing.
you are innovators.
you are geniuses.
you are teachers.
You are muses.
you are inspiration.
You are literally the engine that keeps humanity going, and yes, talking about crotch stuff. Well, belly… you know what I’m talking about. TALKIN’ BOUT EJECTING A TINY HUMAN FROM CROTCH HOLE AFTER FUN FUN TIME!
Men are just as insecure about mating as women are about men being insecure about mating.
Here’s the thing, and fun with girl logic memes:
A gal, hanging around with some guy friends, in some cases, has to claim she has a boyfriend, (I said in SOME cases) so that any potential annoying flirts will be knocked away, like a fluffy cat, batting at a piece of string. The string of hope, it dangles. Like old man balls. Bat, fluffy cat, bat.
Getting off track, I honestly have no fucking clue where I was going with this, needless to say, it’s hard for me to transition from friend to boyfriend, because then I get caught up in what’s allowed versus not allowed because then it’s a whole new ballgame, and I’d rather meet someone new with the sole intention of getting with them, and while the friends first thing works out a ton, it just confuses the fuck out of me, because if things don’t work out, and I’m sending you the “go ahead” signal, but you don’t send it back, wtf does the mean?
Try harder?
Stop trying?
Eat at Joe’s?
Where the fuck is Joe’s?
What do they serve?
Are there annoying yelp reviews that I can make fun of?
Most importantly, with women, in this day and age, dating is fucking terrifying, because ya don’t know how the gal is going to react, what the hell is going through her head, and more importantly, what the percentage of success you’re going to have is, I’m not talking how often is it going to end up in sex, I’m simply talking getting to the next date and so on and so forth, especially with the ingrained perception that YOU MUST HAVE AT LEAST THIS MUCH TO EVEN QUALIFY FOR A DATE!
And even then, it’s a fucking mystery as to which women will reply to what messages in what style and that’s another set of SHERLOCK BOOKS THAT TAKES YEARS TO GET THROUGH and the whole time you’re thinking to yourself, ‘The fuck. Could be at home watching porn!’
But nooooooo!
That’s always the wrong answer, porn is never the right answer, unless the question being asked is “How many feathers can I get away with?”
But now you’re just focusing on the feathers instead of the date and that’s how you wind up ordering the Chicken when you REALLY just wanted the steak!

See!?
See what I mean!?
Now I want more chicken.
So, in short, dating is fucking terrifying, I want more chicken, and women are the perpetual motion machines of humanity, because you help slap the stupid out of men. Also, my cat has a furry monoboob… need to get that thing checked out.

Dear Amy, here’s all the things I want to say to you.

This is to a woman I’ve dated for around 7 months with no progress… And I’m not going to hold back.
Dear Amy,
You want to know the reason i’m not really talking to you?
It’s not because of your family.
It’s not because of you (Partially).
Actually, no, check that last ones… Every conversation we have online turns into you talking about how crappy your life is because you feel alone.
We all feel alone, that’s why we try to hang out with people we think have common interests.
Unfortunately, you tend to take everything and make it about you…. so, fun! This is conjunction with the fact you have a thing about long messages (which by far are more convieniant than short messages leaving me with a puzzled look on my face about what exactly it is I’m supposed to infer from the words, “Nope, I’m fine now.” apart from the following:
“I’m fucking with your head, because you wouldn’t talk to me when I wanted to talk to you but you were busy then, and now that you’re free to talk, I don’t want to talk to you.”
how is this supposed to get me to understand anything, it’s like you take every bit of advice from jokes and memes clearly not meant to be taken seriously, and while I do applaud your forwardness, calling me an asshole for just wanting to break away from my 20 year habit (I’m 34) of going from relationship to relationship, or straight on to dating, or saying something you don’t agree with, is just… .weird. And I’m not talking about anything major, it’s the littlest thing which can set you off on a tangent, and yay, great, lovely.
Whatever.
the fact of the matter is I don’t have the patience I used to.
More over, I told you I loved you annnnnd nothing, just straight on to the next clump of sadness you needed to unload. I get wanting to take your time, but my attraction to you has it’s limits, and if I’m not getting anything in return, nevermind the physical, ’cause outside of me giving you a back massage, there was nothing.
I got you nearly 150 bucks in christmas gifts, there wasn’t a thank you.
I was checking my account to see if I had enough for the rest of the week for expenses, gas money, rent, and you told me not to worry about it.
I asked straight up if you loved me back emotionally, and you basically said nope.
So, why then, should I bother continue to date someone if it’s just going to be a one way thing?
Why should I continue to bother wondering if there’s any possibility of ANYTHING happening when the closer I think We getting to that goal line, the harder you make it for there to even be an ‘Us’?
Shit happened, crappy relationships, douchebag friends, I got that, no need to go into detail,and most importantly:
You were going into nursing, studying the crap out of the subject, you showed me your workbook, and it was filled to the brim with notes, answers, references, and it showed you poured your heart into the subject, but when you got the opportunity to knock it out of the park, you let the words of some idiot teacher and a few bitchy women get in the way of you succeeding and decided instead to go for other jobs.
far be it from me to lambast you for choosing how to live your life, but at the same time, dear fucking god, woman, wtf?
So, I’m done, I’m taking a break, and this part has nothing to do with you, I’m finally taking a break for my own benefit, why, you ask?
Because for so long I’ve let my self confidence be determined by if I have a girlfriend or not, and that’s not a healthy way for ANYONE to live.
I need to have self confidence based on my own level of self esteem, nothing else.
Again, this part has nothing to do with you, even though you’ll think it definitely does, because yeah, that’s a thing.

My inner child is coming out and it hurts.

I guess this would be as good a time as any to tell y’all something shocking… or maybe not so much shocking as it just an exorcism of one thing or another. Or maybe not, i mean, really, there’s a lot to unpack and if I just talking talking about how five or six months ago I tried commiting to try the suicide slide at a friends house, y’all would
flip
the
fuck
out.
That was so worth the four lines it took to write that out. But, on the down low?
Or download, or USB flash drives- oh shit, let’s talk about that instead of hte obviously more impactful topic that’s rattling around in my head wanting o get out, but, for reasons beyond my understanding, I will now speak of gerbils!
Suicidal Gerbils running a wheel of their own demise!
There’s a theme here, I just don’t know where it is, what it is, nor why it want’s me to subscribe to Tseries.
right, Logan Paul is back in the news for saying the obviously dumbfuck thing of “being gay for a month.”
The fuck that even mean!?
Is it when Logan reveals to us that he’s been gay all this time, but due to an unfortunate backwards run in with a dead person that he’s been scarred for life? Or does he have the innate genetic ability to become homosexual for 30 days at a time when making vlogs?
Like, what’s his reasoning beyond wanting to remain i nthel ime light? Because whoever his PR person is, god damned, they are fucking horrible at the job, not like, “mma put a fork inna toaster when I wuz burn” dumb, but more along the lines of, “I’m obviously an educated man, with the ability to make smart choices, yet I will obvious continue to ghost ride my whip into traffic at every conceivable turn!”
Let’s face it, Logan was never the smartest man in any room, and I’d lovingly plant my fist repeatedly into his throat given the chance.
what?
I said lovingly. Meaning I’d punch him with a tazer. Set on high. Dressed as a clown. while laughing hysterically.
that’s… not lovingly at all, is it?
Look, what slice of demented that seems ot be, it’s nothing in comparison to the fact that once again, Logan has pissed the world off, and somehow, to the level where a person made a very visible mural of him hanging. So…. fuck.
How can dumbasses be this dumbass? Is he not only appealing to 12 year olds, but also trying to be one again?
When will he learn that words have power, but video is like the Disney version of animation, meaning it will fuck your shit up and fast if you so much as even draw three circles on a dollar bill trying to buy a pack of smokes and a used condom.
That…. was disturbing as fuck imagery, and as I’ve written previously somewhere in the shit filled chasm of the 650 or so blog posts, someone’s gotta pull the plug on Logan’s channel, nay, all channels who place before them as “entertaining content” the presumption that “Making people angry enough to artistically threaten lynching you is fun and popular! Be a lemming and throw yourself into the meat grinder again…. and again.”
That’s the message behind all branding, “Be like me, or be alone.” that’s all it is, that one message.
Look, I get that people like to follow the trends but if the trend ends up becoming a materialistic annoying as fuck, snap selfie taking fashion zombie with no clue about who or what is actually entertaining… Then they’re probably Logan Paul.
Now… here’s the flipside of that.
The 18 and under crowd, despite all their god given talent, intelligence, all that “your child is the godsend of humanity” ass kissing that goes around, their entertainment choices are annoying as fuck, insane as all hell and deal with serious topics in a way that makes it look like no one actually gives a shit.
Which is further from the truth.
But the way it looks to me, obviously very fucking cynical, when I see thee news that once again, a Youtuber shit the bed by saying something that amounts to them publicly wetting themselves without wearing any pants, is that we’re fucked, absolutely fucked.
And if making an ass out of myself on the internet is the only way to combat the problem by becoming the problem to fight the problem from the inside, only to just become the problem, hey, I’ve achieved a very convoluted and confusing goal from the get go of the whole, “To fight the system, you must become part of the system to change the system, but nothing will change. So, yay!”
The saying that kids are the future isn’t just a Fortune Cookie to throw away, it’s not some cynical war veteran mutering his last words into a broken whiskey bottle in a broken down bar in an abandoned town, it’s the truth.
The older replace the younger, and while the Elders ways work for the time being, the older will eventually replace the younger and so the cycle will simply continue.
it’s the same thing with evolving content trends and what the consumer wants to consume. After all, nobody loved Flaming Hot Cheetos, and now suddenly, everyone loves them.
much like Logan Paul, or Fortnite. Or even the understanding of Keemstar’s almost Sex Kink levels of adoration for slices of ham.
It’s something that no one understands, no one ever will, but we’ll just keep going along with it because that’s what’s “In” at the moment, and we just don’t want to be one of the people left “Out”
Left out of what?
The Untidied Mental States of Idiocracy, a sub level country that’s almost been around as long as the good ‘ol USA, or whatever your preferred homeland is. Patriotism is patriotism. The UMSI isn’t a physical country, its a cultural one, and there are far more states and and rules to abide by in regards to which one you currently reside in. Don’t believe me?
Here’s a great example:
The denizens of Trumpland will simply believe anything and everything that donald trump says is real, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, this isn’t a slam, it’s simply a well known observation, and it ties into the rest of this blog, why?
Because, much like Trumpland, Paul Logan’s supporters will support him, despite overwhelming evidence as to why they shouldn’t.

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?

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?

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.

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….

Of Mice and Mentality, or, screw that noise, I wanna watch Spongebob!

Okay, this past week has been a bit of a blur for me, so let’s start off with a topic everyone can agree to:


They’re arguing about sandwich shops. Please god, let them be arguing about sandwich shops!

so, everyone’s still bugging out about Ben Affleck being a horrible, nightmare inducing, more terrifying than a flying bottle to Justin Beiber’s head, rage terror inducing choice for the next Batman. Because if anyone is more suited to play the Dark Knight, it’s the dude who starred in Giggli… giggly… WTf the movie is.


Say it with me, “I am the night! I am justice… I… Am… Affleckman!”

So, outside of that trauma inducing choice, because you and I both know that with Affleckman cast in the new Affleckman v Supergigli Movie, there will be blood!


Sparkly, sparkly blood!

But… More subjects of conversatin’ await than just the horrid nightmare’s of Cinema, I’ve gotta talk about what the hell is going on in my own life, because Society can kiss my hairy red Haduken:


Or… Just, y’know, whatever the hell screaming nightmare this came from.

Lately, things have been super crazeh:

MY EYES! DEAR GOD, MY EYES!

Because the (Yes, let that image sink in.) semester is quickly wrapping up in more ways than one, I’ve yet to do any actual work for the class outside of hoping beyond hope that our groups presentation is good, if not better then an Avengers movie with all the worst possible actors being cast as all of the characters in the next Avengers movie… Or y’know… a My Little Po-


WHICH ONE IS THOR!? WHICH MOTHERFUCKING ONE!? IS THE MIDDLE ONE APPLEJACK!?

Not surprisingly, me finding my blogging spirit again has been a pretty awesome experience, getting in touch with my inner Internet fueled Rage Demon has given me a bit of a new view point on everything, from class schedules, dating, avoiding trouble, and of course, venting whatever pent up frustratins I have against whatever is ticking me off at the moment. which, considering all possibilities, I’ve been pretty calm in regards to socializing, as well as just getting the presentation done.

However, there are a few gripes I’ve got to take care of-


I-I-I… My inner child is screaming bloody murder and cookies. Yes, that’s a real recipe.

However, thanks to previously mentioned Prayer Circle, things are looking up, mostly because I’ve just been not looking for dates/girlfriends/Slash Cosplayers:

It’s a TRAP, I mean, Chimichanga!

but we’ll see how everything starts to pan out. I need to get my classes organized for next semeser, and I’m actually looking forward to it. My folks are slowly hinting that I need to get a steady paycheck going, and for the most part I agree. Though the author gig is awesome…


I sometimes need to hit the writers block with a Hammer and scream, “Run, damn it!!! Just run away!”

Anyways, I feel I’ve got things in the bag now, though I’m feeling a little like-


AAAUUUUGH, MY EYES!


MAKE THE BLEEDING STOP! MAKE IT STOP, FOR GOD’S SAKE!


WHY DOES THIS NOT HELP ANYTHING!?

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