Ahhh, fuckit

I was going to write an update, got all the way to here, and decided on the title.



That pretty much sums it up.

Maybe tomorrow.

Alright.

This has been a while coming. I haven't had any lengthy posts in quite some time, and to be frankly honest (like a hotdog of sainthood) I've got some shit on the brain. Water bottles. How come you can never get the last of the water out of the water bottle. I bet Nazis designed water bottle tops or some shit. Who else but the Nazis wouldn't want you to have a the liquid you placed in the receptacle. You obviously put it there because you wished to consume it, not watch it swish around at the bottom and have no way to get at it. I lie though, you can get at it if you take the top off. But that requires effort, and lets be frankly honest again, I'm goddamn lazy. But that only proves my conclusion, water bottle tops were designed by Nazis. Speaking of Nazis, I have five fingers on my left hand. I think that's quite an accomplishment at this point in my life. I'm pretty dumb, not gonna lie, and the fact that I still have all my fingers is pretty cool. I'm pretty sure 2 out of my 10 fingers were broken and incorrectly healed. I blame alcohol, but who doesn't. I blame alcohol for a lot of things. I blame alcohol for the constantly decreasing balance of my bank account. I blame it on multiple permanent bodily injuries. I also blame the holocaust on it. Or wait... Who's fault was that again? Whatever. Where was I... rollercoaster of love? Not likely. Hard to segway into the rollercoaster of love from the holocaust. Segways are excellent. I was recently informed that there is such thing as aftermarket parts for a segway to make it go faster. I'm waiting for someone to rice one out now. "Check out my new Segway bodykit, along with 18 stickers, and an exhaust that makes the dogs barking in my head sound quiet." I recently added that last portion to that quote. And by recently I mean now. And by now I mean, why wont the people upstairs die already. I don't understand why they feel the need to make as much noise as the gorramn children from my old apartment. For old readers of this, you know about the midget trackmeet that ran 24/fucking/7 above my old apartment. Well apparently it's someone on the same level, except now these people are all collecting social security, and feel the constant need to move their furniture. I've narrowed it down to either furniture or bodies. Their age makes them ineligible for the professional killer department, so I'm going to go with furniture. Maybe they're really sick, and it is bodies. The bodies theory is going in the back of my brain, where shit like the name of the 3rd shooter of the Kennedy assassination is. Damn, I forgot I still have to dump those pictures... Where's my cable. Zapruder fucked me on that one. Speaking of getting fucked, gah, I have to take my water bottle top off to get the last of the water. SERIOUSLY, UNACCEPTABLE. CD-R's are out of control. I went to buy some at a retailer that I choose to not name. Rhymes with Wal-Mart. Anyways. SHIT, I was interpreted by an AIM conversation. WHERE THE FUCK WAS I. CD-R's. OK. They come in all these insanely effeminate colors. Where's the hardcore colors like black, or dark green, or um, blood red. Yeah, that's pretty hardcore. Put Conan the Barbarian on the front. All I had to choose from was Unicorn Purple, My Little Pony Pink, Fairy Dust Yellow, and some other color that I assure you was equally as metro and equally as unacceptable for my burning needs. This is unacceptable. P.S. I don't mean like burning pee needs. More like, burning data needs. I do not having burning pee. Just wanted to clear that up. I gotta rummage around, I know there's more shit in my head that needs to get out. Ahh yes... Some friendly advice. If you're ever looking for a parking space and the only one available is directly in front of a strip club... It's in your best interest to avoid it. I saw someone's car get fucked up cause some drunk guy got thrown into it by a bouncer the other night. There's more to the story and it's long. And like I've said a million times before, I am re-goddamn-lazy. I'm pretty sure that's not a word. But as far as the story goes, lets just say I got to watch a whole episode of cops in person, with a beer in my hand. Cheers to Daytona Beach, you've taught me so much. Due to the amount of effort required to segway into another talking point. This is where I hit the Publish Post button.

Don't do it you say?

You're not my fucking boss.

New kicks.

Don't hate me, hate the fact that women get weak in the knees when they see me rock these bad boys.

Who wants to go to hell with me?

The second one hits close to home... Makes me swoon.

I am ten ninjas.

I tell no lies.

Ahhh, horseshit

It's that time of year again in Daytona. The goddamn Daytona 500. I can feel it starting already. Drove out to the store today just to pick up some damn milk, and already there's a ridiculous amount of white trash driving around with Nascar flags hanging out their windows. Speaking of those things, those are goddamn retarded. If you honestly thing a large dangly flag crammed into your window with whatever sports logo on it is a positive addition to the aesthetics of your automobile, then it's time to shave your mullet, sell your trailer, kiss your sister-wife goodbye, and kill yourself.

Just my personal opinion.

The point of this being, by this time next week there will be enough rednecks in this town to fill 100 Kenny Loggins concerts. I think that's a country singer, I could be wrong. And depending on Kenny's bookings and venue size, I think that could be measured to a small metric buttload. Which, for the uninformed, is quite a sizable difference from an English buttload.

I really don't feel like talking about Nascar rednecks anymore. They make my brain hurt. And I submit as proof, this photo.



I rest my goddamn case.

Robots in Disguise

I'd apologise for not writing lately, but frankly I don't care.

And guess what, I'm not going to write now either.

I'm real real gone.

Going to Atlanta for the weekend for the Kennesaw Elite 8 Hockey Tournament.

Be back either late Saturday night, or by some miracle of God, Sunday.

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