I’m going to just start writing something in hopes that the mere act of typing on my computer will trick my brain into thinking I am doing something productive and/or creative. There is so much shit I need to be doing, but because I feel like a box of moldy twats*, I can’t bring myself to actually accomplish, or even attempt, any of it. I’ve been trying to write a blog for a while now, but this is the first time I’ve actually written anything that wasn’t just an idea. Lame ideas too. Shit like:

  • Why don’t they sell used wedding dresses and why does that sound so gross?
  • They should combine a slot machine and a time machine. The jackpot is traveling back in time to witness how happy your parents were before they had kids.
  • And the idea of “everyday you spend not writing is a day you spend living so you can be inspired to write about those days” is a lazy and bullshit idea/excuse I told my sister to make her feel better for not working on her novel. It’s Twilight Fan-Fic, so I deserve a medal.


God damn it, I stopped writing and started to read what I wrote. Editing is good, but not before you are done writing, especially when you feel like an old guy at a college orgy and your dick is actually a can opener so they make you open the appetizers instead of participating*. I just have to keep writing, and eventually something worth saving will flow forth from my fingers!



Well shit, that was like an hour of solid staring at a blinking cursor. I’m boss as hell at this. Well, I know that I’m supposed to go seek social support, or exercise, or engaging activity when I feel like the fat kid on the bus that accidentally sat on the poor kid’s lunch and crushed it and he starts crying because that was the last peanut butter, honey, and Baked Lays sandwich his mom made before she died of cervical cancer yesterday*. But I don’t feel like doing any of those things. The symptoms prevent the cure! It’s like if someone said, “Hey man, you want a remedy? Make the pain go away for a while?” and I’m saying, “Yeah man, I’ll do anything for it!” and he’s like, “You gotta pay me $1! That’s it! People have dollars all the time; it’s no big deal!” and then I reach into my pocket and pull out a sticky mess of Canadian pennies and a crumpled condom that I’ve been saving to since high school but never had the chance to use. Then he just smiles at me because he knew I didn’t have a dollar the whole time, but he tempted me anyway. What an ass-hat!


Yeah, maybe it’s not like that at all.


Fuck it, I’m gonna go play Lufia 2.





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