Takes her time when it's time to get ready
Always has her way
Always leaves me waiting by the phone
She told me more than once to take it slow
And I said "Ok"
But lately I've been sleeping all alone

I'm not breaking up inside
I'm much to proud to moan
Baby, please come home

And I feel a little lucky so I try to play it cool
I think she laughs inside
With words that burn like fire in my mouth
Try to be the man like I got the master plan
Night out on the town
Drinking, dancing, we can turn it out

Maybe it's how your body moves
I just don't know
Maybe it's just the way you move so slow.

Ask me why I play myself, play myself for the fool
Swear that I would do most anything, hey
Walk a mile just to see her smile,
Walk for a mile just to rock for a while
Babe, I'm thinking with my dingaling.

But sitting on the verge of tears
Does not become my 24 years
You took my shame
And you took my pride
Now you're going to take me for a slow ride.

I'm not going crazy,
But I just don't know
Maybe it's the way you move so slow

I am depressed. And have nothing to write.

I've been sitting in the tub for hours, and still those two things persist.

If he thinks that he
Is gonna take you from me
Gotta be a crazy, crazy, crazy
Foolish fool

My love for you is soo strong
We went together for oh so long
Now I'm down, in this misery
Is that the way love's supposed to be?
(Supposed to be, yeah)

I told my mama
My sister too
Is this the way it's got to be?
(Got to be, yeah)

Usually, writing out whatever diddy is stuck in my skull will get some words flowing, but today, I have nothing but meaningless reggae beats, mon.

Nothing except the same old, I guess.

I remember when I was a kid and I used to be so angry all the time. Eventually I realized that there isn't much point in always being pissed off, because the world is how it is.

So now I'm older, and instead of being mad, I'm bored, and depressed, and wondering why I even bother to go through the motions.

There is nothing left to do, and nothing left that really interests me. I spend most of my time locked away inside of my head, thinking about anything that isn't this exact moment.

It's always about getting out of this exact moment, whenever that may be. I don't know why. Maybe it's a hope that the next moment will bring something fresh and interesting and exciting. Or maybe just a very sly sort of inertia. I don't know.

I want a drink, yes I do. I want a drink, how about you?

It's not that the world is this terrible place with nothing to do. It's that it's a pretty mediocre place with nothing left to do that I haven't already done.

I have travelled two continents. I can speak two languages with reasonably fluency, play several instruments with proficiency, and am a capable if untalented painter of space landscapes. I've written enough to be counted as a "book" several times over, though it admittedly would not make a good one. I have a pool of knowledge far beyond that of anyone I think I've ever met, and am generally intelligent enough to put that knowledge to reasonably good use. I've worked in lots of industries, and am usually pretty good at accomplishing whatever I put my mind to. I have recognized and dealt with most of my more negative traits, at least those that are not intentional. I've killed stuff, and cared for stuff, and have had far, far more "grand life experiences" than I think anyone I know really realizes and than I think someone of my age should have had.

And in the sense of the more minor things, I've built working submarines out of legos. I've obtained a 2.5 KTD ration in Black Ops 2, and conquered the world several dozen times in the name of various historical empires in myriad Total War video games. I have built two Dwarf Forts that have made it into the archive favorites. I helped design the Nationstates WA, founded possibly the most successful survivor group in the history of Urban Dead, and am an amateur "expert" in both small arm design and naval engineering on several RPG design forums. I don't usually PLAY RPG games, but have those like Skyrim or (using a loose definition) GTA V down to a science to the extent that they are no longer fun - killing an Ice Dragon with a single uppercut is only fun the first two or eighteen times.

I can cook, very well, though will not usually admit it because I hate making food for other people. I can surf. Well. Probably better than you can, anyway. I grow the second or third best weed ever. The summation here is that I've done lots, seen lots, and have even been good at some of it. There is LOTS to do in life, just nothing I at all really want to do, or at least that I can ever realistically do.

I want to have kids, but don't feel like I will ever feel truly satisfied enough to ever actually do so and be capable of raising them right, not to mention having now met enough of my real siblings (like my half-brother, Steven) to know that I should not be spreading whatever vileness is in my genetics around. I kind of want to be an old man for a while, because I think I'd take to it well. I just don't want to deal with the 40 years in between and my body slowly falling apart. I'd like to spend at least some of those 40 years in a monastery, or maybe as a priest, or maybe just living by myself in the forest or on an island somewhere, but while I have self awareness, I have no self discipline, and while I love yelling and lying to strangers, I'm pretty certain I'd get bored after about two sermons and run out of shit to say, and while I can see nothing more appealing than having my own island to think on or a hermit's life in the woods, my current physical shape and survival skillset are maybe a little more suited to writing massive run on sentences in the bathtub than solitary, longterm survival in a harsh environment.

The other stuff that I guess is kind of an expected part of life just doesn't interest me.

I don't want to get married, ever, because the ceremony seems like it would likely be one of the most awkward and uncomfortable days of my life. I want to be somewhere nice with the person I love on a nice sunny day, just a nice breeze in the background, and as few sentient creatures present as possible, ideally a witch doctor who doesn't speak a lick of english to perform the ceremony, and some dolphins for witnesses.

Did you know that dolphins show signs of being able to use tools?

http://www.livescience.com/21989-dolphin-sponge-tools-culture.html

The sentence "Sponges are filter-feeding invertebrates that come in all shapes and sizes but tend to look like sponges, as they are porous" is excellently dumb.

Anyway. I am likely going to get married in a very grand, Roman Catholic way, because the girls I date always have massive, roads-and-suburbs-named-after-them, buy-some-condom sized Roman Catholic families, and because even someone like Lisa, likely the one of the people who makes the best effort at getting me of anyone I've ever met, would not allow me to deny her girly wedding dreams. So rather than something nice and small and personal, I'm going to end up having to act all serious and put on fake poses for a million pictures and deal with two whole sets of family that I neither relate to or am really comfortable being around. Yay.

I don't want to work anymore, either. There is no point. At one time, I was a stock-monkey who put bananas on a produce shelf so that other monkeys could come buy them at an inflated price. And it all went downhill from there. I was a spy-monkey, who was paid to sit in a chair and watch other monkeys ruin their lives and get shot in parking lots and abandon their kids in their cars while they spun away the last of their welfare cheques and ensure they were smiling through all of it. I was a very unskilled baker-monkey, who flipped sugary death in a fryer and watched a real life soap opera starring other baker-mafia-monkeys. I was a dealer-monkey, keeping other monkeys sedated and happy. I was a guide-monkey, who made up stories about my little village to tell old monkeys. I have had a lot of job titles, and in the end, I'm just a hairless monkey wasting my life scamming, sucking up to, or selling to other hairless monkeys. It's all very meaningless and horrendously inescapable, because our world is set up on the concept of wanting things. I happen to have all the things I want, thank you very much.

I don't want to not work. It gets crushingly dull after the fourth or fifth day.

I don't know. I am now tired and sad and unable to complete thoughts in an interesting manner.

On the plus side, I guess I wasn't out of stuff to write after all.



I wanna be that guy.

I should probably blog, but have to go do some laundry and stuffs. I don't really know what to blog about either.

I learned how to play a new diddy on piano.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Run,_Nigger,_Run

Yay, fun!

Yup. Nothing to see here.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2574594/Teenager-18-downed-ten-Jagerbombs-nightclub-two-one-offer-three-heart-attacks-DIED-brought-life-defibrillator.html


And the problem here is really not at all related to drinking ten Jagerbombs in rapid succession? Really?

Mr. Wright

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We should have just killed you when we had the chance.

Someone, anyone, needs to slap you. Hard. And then maybe give you a bit of a reality check.

Causes like yours, while nominally for a "good" one, are not all that good when they are supported by people like you.

And people like you only support such causes so vehemently because they, like you, are unpopular and against the norm, and give "depth" and meaning to your useless existence. You have no personality, and a shitty life, so you cling on to stuff like this in an effort to bully others in a politically correct way so that you can feel better about being completely average and uninteresting.

It fucking disgusts me, and in the end, it just leaves me and I'm sure many people like me with nothing but resentment for the otherwise reasonably good ideals your little bullshit factory is based around.

And I feel a little lucky, so I try to play it cool. I think she laughs inside.

People are pretty goofy sometimes.

On a somewhat related note, I.E. goofiness:

http://www.sunnewsnetwork.ca/video/3272438235001#3237878836001

Watch that.

It's times like these I wish I had a wider audience, so I could ask

"What's your thoughts?"

and get more than one reply.

I personally believe that if I am in the midst of ripping those lacey little things off with my teeth, it is because consent has already been given, or at least is very, very much so implied. I am aware that no does indeed mean no, and I'd really like to think whoever I'm with is sensible enough to say so if they are uncomfortable.

Should I ever get down to the skivvy's and find a pair of these, I can almost assure you sex is not happening, no matter what ANYONE wants.

Other silliness:

http://io9.com/nigerian-grad-student-uses-magnets-to-prove-gay-marri-1326215449

Cause, you know, magnets are people too. Or something.

The best part about not bothering to go to work for a week is that no one can really say anything - I still have a much better attendance record than most of the people there.

Less fun is finding a convincing way to present myself as still slightly sick.

This time, I've opted to keep it simple - bags under the eyes, scratchy voice, and a bruised face.

Why the face?

Well, I've decided my recent illness is actually going to end up being some form of allergies. As of such, my face has swollen to massive proportions, which means a bruise would logically result.

There are three good ways to do this.

1. I can walk into something, very fast.

2. I can rig a bag of apples to swing from the ceiling, and hit me in the face.

3. I can get someone relatively strong, like Logan, to slap me.

The key to any of the above working well is to get ice on it right away, to bring the bruising out. Otherwise, I will simply end up with a sore face.

Should I be unable to successfully get a bruise, and, more importantly, some nice, big junkie sized bags under my eyes, I will revert to plan B.

This consists of two steps to be executed throughout the week.

Firstly, I will need to vomit at least once a day. This is pretty easy - when you spend your life drinking, you learn to puke on demand - but is quite gross, and I spend the rest of the day feeling my stomach acid eating away my teeth.

Secondly, I need one good collapse, preferably on camera, but when no one is around. I have not intentionally done this before, though there is enough significantly wrong with me healthwise that it will invariably happen after a few days without proper food. I plan to do this in the staffroom - the thump will be audible to pretty much everyone in the store, but no one will be around to instantly offer aide and fuck up my "lie down and twitch for a minute" act.

YOu might be wondering, why all this effort? Why not just say "I was sick" and leave it at that?

There is a simple answer and a complex answer.

Simply put, it's fun, almost like acting, really. I enjoy nothing more in life than always being something and someone new, and "plague victim" is a role I've been keen on for a bit. It's also much more plausible to have taken a week off when you're still a little sick at the end of that week.

Complexly put, if I can miss enough days and still seem legitimately sick, then I am likely to get "laid off", which means I will get both a good reference and a hefty severance package. This is ideal because not only does it give me a problem free way out of my shitty, hateful job, but it will also leave me with a month's pay that I did not need to work for, something which upright quitting would not do. Before this happens, I would like to take advantage of our company's dental plan, so this go around will be nothing more than a trial run. I would also like to take advantage of the fact that my predecessor had a nervous breakdown by emulating it slightly, thusly getting myself a prescription for Valium, which will cost nothing with the company's healthcare plan, and can then be sold to support me financially for at least a month, should I somehow have an issue finding new work.

And really. I am not skipping work because I am lazy - I am doing so because I work with the absolute worst fucking people I've ever met and hate being there. Sitting at home with jack shit to do for a week is really, really fucking boring. Finding creative ways to get fired, and coming up with plausible illnesses, is much more fun that just sitting here and thinking.

More than any of that, I feel my employers deserve shitty performance, because as much as they are rather nice people, they have no management skills, blame me for nearly everything that goes wrong whether I had anything to do with it or not, do not give me any days off, have not given me a raise in two years, and allow the people I work with to fuck around incessantly, to the point where I cannot do my job properly even if I wanted to. They have created a massively shitty work environment, to the point that they're kind of lucky the staff is just lazy and resentful, and not actively suing them or eachother.

Possibly more importantly, despite all the shit I get for my co-workers fuck ups, they are so oblivious to what is going on there that despite the fact I will straight up tell customers how shitty the store is and that they should buy things elsewhere, and it is well known amongst pretty much everyone who works there that I am just itching to say FUCK YOU and quit, no one has ever even remotely commented on it.

So yeah. I'd much rather put my time and effort into something I find entertaining than give it to them.

Let's see, what else is new?

Oh, that's right, nothing. Because I haven't left my house in a week!