Sometimes I wish the tournament from Street Fighter was real. I have reason to believe it would shatter any and all Pay Per View records that the UFC or WWE hold. I thought I had more on that but other than a quick blurb about people being able to tap into projectile throwing abilities through training like Ryu I got nothing. Oh well.
I believe when I write sometimes it's like I vomit a series of letters and half sentences and it is my job to then sift through the vomit and try to make full sentences and ideas. I believe this is totally one of those times.
Hey, you all are smart. Settle a bet. What would you consider an appropriate length for a mix disc, 10 songs or 15? My gut wants to say 10 and my brain says 15. They've been dueling it out all week and my body feels like hell. Please end my suffering and decide a number for me.
Speaking of bodily harm and other such, do any of you ever feel the need to pop your sternum like you would crack your knuckles or crack your neck? Over the past few weeks I've been needing to do it every now and again. It feels weird. On second thought I hope I am popping my sternum and not somehow snapping ribs all willy-nilly though you'd figure I'd feel that ten-fold. I dunno. I think this is the second entry I have written in a row to contain the phrase "willy-nilly". Upon further review it's actually not. In fact it's the only entry that contains "willy-nilly" written anywhere. I find that to be a shame. It's a good pair of words and it needs to be spoken more often much like the phrase "hully-gully". Say it right now, you'll feel better afterwards. I'll wait...
..See? It's like an Oni has been cast off your shoulders and you can live life to its fullest. It's almost refreshing not unlike an ice cold can of Squirt. You ever had that shit? In the pantheon of grapefruit flavored soda drinks it truly is king. Hail King Squirt. When I was a small child my grandfather used to drink that shit in spades, along with Old Milwaukee and I believe Windsor Canadian. When I would spend time out there it was my drink of choice also, along with straight tonic water which I will still drink on occasion. Somewhere buried in my house is an old Matchbox Squirt race car that my grandpa ordered for me. If I know me and how I treated most toy cars it is beat to holy shit.
When you boil it down, live Metallica isn't really all that great.
All day today I have felt like complete shit. All based around one dream. I had this dream I was with a female friend of mine of whom I had some deep rooted feelings for and for reasons I am not sure we decided to take a trip to California. Now throughout the dream our conversations are like those conversations that are loaded with flirtations and innuendos and all that happy shit. Do people who have friends of the opposite sex even have conversations like that or is that just some other dopey dip-shit thing that only I do? Can't say I would be surprised if I were in the minority.
Anyway we were in a canoe (I have no idea why. I hate canoes and water. It makes me melty.) and I chose this close encounter to blurt out feelings and intentions only for her to tell me that she has a boyfriend and has had this guy around for quite some time. I replied with, "Oh. Well now I will turn around awkwardly and look the other way". It's the only line from the dream I remember verbatim.
After the worst canoe ride in the history of time we then decided to venture to Target which was pretty much more of the same as the canoe ride except for I think there was an argument of some kind. Next thing I knew she went home and I was left stranded. In Target. In California.
Then I woke up. I gathered two key elements from this experience. One, I find it interesting that even in dream form I fail and end up heartbroken. You'd figure that since it was my dream I would have had the upper hand. Of course I'm also the same person who has dreams about falling and doesn't wake up until after hitting the pavement. Two, and this one I find most important, I prolly should never go to sleep with a head full of fine hash. It seems like its for the greater good.
Yes. The greater good.
I drew this two days ago at work.
Everyone needs to go to bed so I can fulfill my goal of getting relentlessly high so I can forget or at the very best ignore the past few hours.
Work sucked. It didn't start out that way but by the end of it I didn't want to look at or say shit to anybody after it was all said and done. My co-workers suck for a myriad of reasons ranging from they touch my shit all the way down to "the cute new girl has a fucking boyfriend". It's annoying. What is even more annoying is I don't give a fuck about writing any of this. I thought it would be good but I'm just losing steam. It's like the entry I wrote this morning and the ones I have tried to write in the past few days. I don't care. I just don't fucking care anymore. I'm trying but I am so annoyed with myself I just want me to shut the fuck up.
So last night I had this splendid idea for something to write about and the night before that I had this great idea for something to write and so on and so forth.
I keep losing ideas. Either that or I am too bored to write. I know that is kind of the idea with writing but I've never been good with writing just to do it. It all comes out forced. Like apologizing to your sister for ruining her Thanksgiving display. My fingernails are lop-sided. I don't know how to feel about that. I'm going to go look for food. Not really to eat it but to verify that food is hidden in the places I believe it to be hidden in.
Today I woke up with my head in a pool of blood.
When I got up I felt a booger lodged in my nose and when I fished it out I noticed it was red. I turned and looked at my pillow and indeed there was a decent puddle dead center. It looked sort of cool. I have a Spider-Man pillow and when you look at it it looks like someone shot Spidey in the head but I digress. I went into the bathroom to get a look at myself and I had blood all over hell. All across my face, all in my beard, my hair, etc. From what I gather I ended up having a nose bleed in my sleep. More than likely because I was picking my nose too much..or perhaps not enough. The moral of the story is I bleed a lot.
I'll chew your meat for you and pass it back and forth in a passionate kiss from my mouth to yours because I like you.Real Name:
Mar 10 1984
Suburbia, Minnesota, America.
They made me into a male.