Quote of the Week

Take a shower, shine your shoes/ You got no time to lose/ You are young men you must be living/ So go now you are forgiven.
-The General, Dispatch

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Update On Why My Life Sucks

Hello world.

I realize 'world' equals about three people, and for that I'm grateful, because honestly no one else listens to me spout shit. My pet rock grew legs and walked away from me. What an evil piece of igneous rock. Honestly. Save him from a fucking volcano, and what thanks do you get?

Anyway, I haven't slept in nearly twenty-four hours, so I feel like I'm high. Not that I've ever been high. I'm too smart for that. I have gotten drunk once, and that was by accident and I was 8. I'm going to let three of you stew over that one and blame my alcoholic parents for neglecting me as a young chap.

Not really.

Okay, not going to lie. I don't really know how to do this bloggy thing (If someone, anyone, could email me and help explain this whole funtime bonanza to me that would be amazing. And I would give you a cookie for being amazing). The whole sort of wholesome thing wasn't really working for me, so now I'm going to try to be more like me, if that makes sense. Which means that I'm about to complain like a fucking donkey giving birth to a for a few paragraphs. And you will all listen because I spout diamonds and roses from this gob. That and if you're reading this you probably have no life and are reading this and whacking off or something. Just don't get cum on the computer screen. Stuff's a bitch to clean off electronics.

Hokay, here we go.

Update #1.

I changed the name of my blog twice in the past three minutes. Once to [Insert Witty Name Here]. But then I Googled said name and about thirty million blogs have the name [Insert Witty Name Here], so I scrapped that. Side note, once more than one person uses [Insert Witty Name Here], doesn't it lose the wittiness of such a hipster idea of a name. I'm too cool for labels! Yeah fucking right, hipsters. Go and complain that no one understands you and about how your favorite band is selling out and scratch that dead animal superglued to your chin. That thing on your face is compensating for something, and we all know it starts with p and ends with ubes. Or a complete lack of testosterone passed on to you when you were gestating in the womb. Anyway, back to whatever I was saying. Oh yeah, so I came up with the amazing witty title [I Am Unimaginative], which on some level is more true than I would ever like to admit to anyone, least of all myself.

Update #2.

Unless you are completely oblivious, my blog looks a little different as well. Just a smidge, yeah? Maybe, I don't know. I just went to the template thing, closed my eyes and clicked 'sure'. That's how I picked my blow up doll boyfriend. His name is Fred. He is currently chained to my bed. Hehehe.

Update #3.

I'm going to be really annoying and finally pull the 'tell your friends' shit because I can't tell my friends because honestly I'm sort of sick of them and the other reason is that I'm shit at self-whatchacallit. Advertisement. Yeah. That's it.

Update #4.

I am currently learning hebrew. Brownie points to anyone who figures out what the comment thing I put up says. It's not too hard people. You type the words into Google or Yahoo or Bing and click send. And then when Yahoo and Bing fail miserably to do what you want you club a seal and go type the words into Google and find the answer. Easy as a slut after ten Long Island Iced Teas.

Update #5.

I realize that I sound like every other blogger on the face of this pathetic spinning rock that we call home for 100 years, give or take a few scares of certain death involving lack of judgement and tequila, and I know that I really don't have a lot to offer in the humor department because I like my humor like I like my men - dark, slightly scary, and willing to rape me in a dark alley.

So I realize that I didn't whine like a donkey giving birth, but believe me, while you were reading, I was crying softly into Fred's inflateable pecs.

Oy, vey es mir. True fact, man.

Anyway, I have to go reinflate Fred. He's getting a sunken chest, which just won't do.

Parting joke:

What is the difference between kinky and perverted?

Kinky is when you use a feather; perverted is when you use the whole chicken.

Peace out girl scouts.

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