Monthly Archive for July, 2009

Eskimo

Published on July 7, 2009 in Whatever. 0 Comments

Edit: I’m leaving the fucking typos intact. Go fuck a slug.

Don’t ask me why it’s titled this, it’s the first word I could think of.

I’m going to sit here and empty my brain of things because right now it’s full of them. Most of it will not make sense and I’m quite sure that when I find this months later I will mock myself repeatedly for doing it. Quite frankly, I do not care.

Just so everyone understands how this is working right now: I’m writing with my eyes shut. It’s the closest thing I can do to removing all distractions. I’m a fucking ADD kid, I really am. I see something shiny or blue or blinking or curious and I will click on it and explore for hours on end while absolutely forgetting what I was here to do. This process becomes absolutely tiresome after awhile and I wind up yeling at myself for 20 minutes as if I were some kind of boss and I was also the employee. That sentence made little sense. I know.

I took a few minutes to open my eyes. What I saw was pretty dull. The door’s open because there’s no air conditioning in the tiny bedroom that I happen to live in, so I have to stick multiple fans in my door. It’s an annoying loss of privacy. Not that it matters much, i figure that anyone who happens to see me in this state will suffer far more than I will. I’m not the type to get embarrassed easily.

I just had a thought: I talk about myself a lot. I was going to go on a tirade on how annoying that is but then I remembered: this is my fucking website, I’m supposed to talk about myself. I mean yeah, I can ramble on about random technology I find, but I established a different website for that that’s even less read than this one is.

Talking about myself is pretty much all I do here. I do this thing where I flipflop between “lol angry” and “I’m going to get all weird and introspective.”

The door handle just fell off the bathroom door. That’s just wonderful.

I’m not about to prattle on about how I’m “oh so interesting and deep” because I happen to get introspective. I’m not. I’m the farthest thing from a truly interesting person. I figure interesting people are people who’ve climbed a mountain or killed a buffalo with their bare hands or something. What the fuck do I have to talk about? The fact that I stubbed my toe while avoiding Daisy? I like a girl? I ate a hamburger today that almost made me vomit uncontrollably? I find rape jokes funny?

Wait, I’ve said that twice in a week. I need to not do that.

Subtlety is key and I suck at it. Don’t ask me why I said that line. I haven’t the foggiest clue.

Now here’s a big question: do I bother publishing this? Do I bother explaining why I wrote this complete and utter mess? Hell, I’m not nearly satisfied, I’m not done emptying my head. The problem is if I sat around and -truly- tried to empty my head I’d be sitting here all night. I’d look like a fat zombie from 28 Days Later, except without the annoying British accent and broken buck-teeth.

Yeah, I threw in a zombie reference. It was unwarranted and didn’t flow with the rest of the sentence. It was also about as funny as one of the rape jokes I find humorous.

I’m going to hit ‘publish’ now.

I was an arrogant douchebag.

Published on July 6, 2009 in Whatever. 0 Comments

I’ll keep this introduction short and sweet.

I found a blurb I wrote in like the 9th grade. It was a “rant” about ranting. Or more specifically, these little things I write to this day that have generally no point and usually end with me insulting any various racial or social group that I don’t happen to like at that particular moment (watch out blacks and gays!)

It makes me so angry that I actually want to find a Delorean and punch myself in the face. Hard. With brass knuckles. I was so full of myself! Seriously, when I was 14 fucking years old or however I was, I thought I knew everything and my shit didn’t stink. Turns out it smelled like death and I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground.

Let’s read.

Ranting is a form of writing that many do not bother to consider.

What the fuck does that even mean? A form of writing that who doesn’t bother to what? Seriously faggot make sense.

Many believe that it’s totally lacking substance or form. There’s a thing behind rants, though, that seems to go beyond writing essays, or papers: you’re free to say whatever you want, at any time. I can’t be censored – I write for myself. The only ones who can censor what I say are those who read what I say, and simply decide for themselves what they want, or do not want to hear. Other than that, it’s really rather free.

Oh holy fuck—you self-righteous fat sack of crap. “I can’t be censored” – sure you can, someone can dislike what you say and stuff their fist into your jaw. Not only are you then censored but bleeding from the mouth and crying like a pussy. I don’t know where you were for the past 20 years but “being able to say what you want” really means “being able to say what you want as long as nobody’s offended to a reasonable degree.” Asshole.

But there’s more than just blabbing down totally pointless stuff onto a peice of paper. There is an underlying substance to rants – a substance that takes an avid reader to decipher. For, beneath under all the pointless rambling, there is a train of thought, a train of will, even.

An avid reader. An avid reader has to decipher what the fuck you’re saying? NO, STUPID, THE AVID READER WOULD MOCK YOU FOR THIS DRIVEL. You’re not deep for writing some indecipherable bullshit; you’re incapable of writing something that anyone can understand without cocking their head, then immediately cocking a pistol and blowing half their skull off!

A peice of the person is put down onto that sheet of paper – part of their mind, their spirit. It’s not simply a bunch of rambling, but it is an assortment of words and odd thought, straight from that person’s mind. It shows the world what the writer is thinking, or how it looks upon the world… or simply the chain of events that person experienced in that day.

So you’re describing LiveJournal and aren’t able to spell “piece.” Yep.

Take this certain rant, for example. This is my chain of thought, right now, as I write. I became bored by simply listening to my extensive music collection, and decided that I needed to write.

Your extensive music collection, huh? You were BORED by your extensive amount of music? Any other status symbols you’d like to throw in there? You had a $50 in your pocket, the rims of your car that you couldn’t drive were made of gold?

This peice of paper is yet another part of me – another part of my mind. As you sit here and read, just comtemplate that fact for a minute. You’re holding a peice of a person’s mind. The one object that propels a human to do the things he or she does, or live the way he or she lives. You hold a peice of the control center of a human… perhaps, even, a fundamental part of that center.

SPELL PIECE RIGHT YOU DIPSHIT. I can’t believe I actually spit this drivel out, I really can’t. “You hold a ‘peice’ of the control center of a human” – yeah, we fucking figured that out when you said they’re holding their mind. You’re so arrogant that you actually felt the need to dumb down an already bad analogy. I cannot believe I was you. If I could perform a post-birth abortion in the past, you’d be it. Yes, I realize the horrible paradox here, but I’m hoping that the whole “alternate timeline” theory holds and I actually -can- go kill myself in the past.

Rants can take any shape or form that the writer may aspire it to. This particular rant, in fact, was meant to be partially enlightening, and partially educational. The simple fact that there are no constraining rules to a rant gives both the reader and the writer many freedoms. You could take this rant as an educational paper, or it could simply be just something stupid you bothered to glance at. It, quite simply, does not matter

There are no words to describe how viscerally infuriating this finale is. I actually had the gall to say that the complete and utter bullshit I spewed out was supposed to be EDUCATIONAL. Who would be educated by that, monkeys? Retards? Senior citizens?

There you have it. Proof that, while I still think I’m an ego-maniac douchebag who is full of himself, life kicked me in the balls and made me at least SOMEWHAT humble. If that isn’t enough at least at this point I can make rape jokes and spell piece right.

Wait, that should be enough. Fuck you if you don’t like it. Go find a Garfield comic and diddle yourself in the bathroom.