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Rambly rant thingy... just read the ********. |
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HUZZAH for imperfection. Oh how I love it so.
Gotta know I'm not perfect, though it seems to be working well enough for me so far... wait... what the ******** am I saying, I'm a wreck! (Yay, I got the complulsory ******** out of the way early... How many will follow? Stay tuned to find out.) Everyone's imperfect, but I think that I'm stretching my rights on this subject... more than a little, too...
The only problem is, I'm not sure that I possess the metaphorical crowbar large and strong enough to unpry my head from it's firm seating within my a** as of late. The only people I can think of that are capable of doing so terrify me far too much for me to actually request their help in doing so, despite knowledge that it would likely be for the best.
I'm soooo ******** sick of: ramen, girls, lack of girls, girls that say "they LUV geeks!" when what they really mean is "I want a muscular fratboy, and if he can spell his own name that's a HUGE bonus," being smuggled sandwiches to stay alive, having purple-text in a game be the highlight of my existence, not seeing enough purple-text, romantic movies, movies where the goodguy comes out without a scratch, movies where the goodguy loses miserably, the fact that I have yet to make a movie, the fact that I haven't recently made a DAMN THING creatively and that I'm quite certain my mind is dissolving within my skull due to disuse (yes, my brain is ******** atrophying. Writing it down just makes me that much more positive of the fact), crushes that will never come to fruition, happy music, sad music, peanut butter, loud computer fans, monotony, my shitty complexion, my appearance overall, how much I care about my overall appearance lately, my glasses (mostly just the fact that I need them), retarded infomercials (and worse, the people they cater to), loneliness, school, screennames that are stupidly slutty or just trying WAY too hard to be funny in too few letters, the fact that I can't connect to CowboyShare right now, people who put up some picture they found on Google Image Search and say it's them (grow the ******** up... honestly, what does that prove? That you think you're unattractive, AND you're too chickenshit and insecure to risk putting your real self on the net? If it's that bad, then don't ******** post ANYTHING. That's much better than fake pics), my current lack of moneys (and lack of motivation to change it), and people worrying about me.
I can't ******** live without: ramen, girls, being smuggled sandwiches to stay alive, romantic movies, movies where the goodguy comes out without a scratch, movies where the goodguy loses miserably, the fact that I have yet to make a movie, the fact that I haven't recently made a DAMN THING creatively and that I'm quite certain my mind is dissolving within my skull due to disuse, crushes that'll never come to fruition, happy music, sad music, peanut butter, peach jelly, the intarwebnet (the one thing keeping me sane, and the biggest thing driving me nuts), and of course the occasional power-rant-from-Hell.
Thank you for reading, this post has been brought to you by the number 5:27 and the letters F-U-C-K.
I need to get some work done on my website... damnit... I wish I could get my ******** software that I want on my machine. Curse you, Dell, why did you give me a semi-functional DVD drive? Bastards. I knew this was too good a deal to be true.
And just because it's always the best way to end a post, even though it'll be the ~first~ word most people read upon getting here:
********.
p.s. Don't expect to see much of me the next day or two, anyone.
 El_Pato · Thu Apr 06, 2006 @ 12:38pm · 1 Comments |
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