Ah, that Otis Redding. You kids can have your dang punk music. I've got oldies! I guess that's apt. I was born old, I'm living old, and I'll die, guess how, old. For some reason I can't relax and let things flow. I'm impatient, I want control and for things to happen when I want them. It's easier when you know that's impossible, you can resign yourself to waiting. But when there seems to be a possibility of immediate results, not obtaining them makes me anxious and uncomfortable. My mother blames TV and the internet, since we're so accustomed to instant "gratification." I dunno. I guess I just need to slow down my thoughts and desires. Let the current carry me instead of worrying "What's Around the Riverbend." Dear fake lord, I just quoted Pochahontas. It's time for bed. Cheers!
Friday, January 7
Monday, January 3
Hmph.
I watched Garden State today. For some reason, most movies, especially those that aren't simplistic action/romance, seem to start me thinking. I dunno. For instance, with Garden State I initially hated it. I guess because it was existentialistic in the "nothing matters, my life is despair and empty hedonism." Then, as the movie progressed, it took on a Romantic twinge that seemed more superficial than anything else. The movie itself wasn't too bad after I got used to it, but a lot of that had to do with my enjoyment of things with "purpose"; any sort of adventure that seems to have meaning is endearing to me. Perhaps because I lack that sense of purpose myself. Other than that, the other thought-provoking issue directly related to the movie was the "home" phenomenom. And I guess I'd noticed it too. Home has a sense of "belonging" that is hard to replace. It's not necessarily good or bad, I just feel "grounded" when I'm home. Like there's nowhere else I should be. I can stay here indefinetly without imposing. It's going to be odd losing that. Not as dramatic as the movie made it, but still... different.
At any rate, I also got started on a tangent on reality. I thought my first impression of the movie was so poor because it was "real." And I must say, much of the script was. There were many "awkward silences" that just aren't included in most forms of entertainment because no one likes them. I guess that was the director's intent, to create a "real" feeling despite the somewhat fantastical nature of the characters. Anyway, I started thinking about my inability to stand "reality." I suppose I define reality as boring, undramatic, purposeless; generally existential. Then I started thinking about all of our escapes: movies, TV, books, sports. But are they really escapes or just aspects of a larger reality that includes the imagination? I guess they're escapes from emotion, from the "self" in lieu of reality. But there certainly are a lot out there. Without food, media, or action it's disturbing how little there appears to do that wouldn't qualify as "work." Basically, if you remove escapes, the highlights are work, other people, and love. I'm not particularly sure if that's good or bad. I decry my escapes, saying they dull my mind and emotion, but without them I recall a great deal of angst and purposelessness. Reality seeping in. Oh, it's all too complex.
Wouldn't my journal entries be easier to follow if they simply recounted my day? They certainly wouldn't be as verbose. But there are so many days their individual contents sort of become unimportant. It's the undercurrents that matter. And perhaps I'd rather deal with those. To each their own...
At any rate, I also got started on a tangent on reality. I thought my first impression of the movie was so poor because it was "real." And I must say, much of the script was. There were many "awkward silences" that just aren't included in most forms of entertainment because no one likes them. I guess that was the director's intent, to create a "real" feeling despite the somewhat fantastical nature of the characters. Anyway, I started thinking about my inability to stand "reality." I suppose I define reality as boring, undramatic, purposeless; generally existential. Then I started thinking about all of our escapes: movies, TV, books, sports. But are they really escapes or just aspects of a larger reality that includes the imagination? I guess they're escapes from emotion, from the "self" in lieu of reality. But there certainly are a lot out there. Without food, media, or action it's disturbing how little there appears to do that wouldn't qualify as "work." Basically, if you remove escapes, the highlights are work, other people, and love. I'm not particularly sure if that's good or bad. I decry my escapes, saying they dull my mind and emotion, but without them I recall a great deal of angst and purposelessness. Reality seeping in. Oh, it's all too complex.
Wouldn't my journal entries be easier to follow if they simply recounted my day? They certainly wouldn't be as verbose. But there are so many days their individual contents sort of become unimportant. It's the undercurrents that matter. And perhaps I'd rather deal with those. To each their own...
Quick Notes
There's a new poll up. Hopefully it'll be more successful than the last one.
Since school is coming up again, I need to get back on a sleep schedule other than "2:30AM to 10:30AM", so if those (especially a specific person) still online at the lofty hour of 12:30 could start ignoring me or whatever it takes to get me to go to sleep I'd be most grateful. You know who you are...
Heh, have a good second to last day of break everyone!
Since school is coming up again, I need to get back on a sleep schedule other than "2:30AM to 10:30AM", so if those (especially a specific person) still online at the lofty hour of 12:30 could start ignoring me or whatever it takes to get me to go to sleep I'd be most grateful. You know who you are...
Heh, have a good second to last day of break everyone!
Sunday, January 2
Saturday, January 1
Sad
Tonight I had my longest spell of depression/sadness in months. Perhaps it was because my day was spent mostly at a funeral. Or maybe it's because I didn't escape today(video game) like I've done most every day in December, thus I actually felt the progression of time, including the onset of night. Or maybe it's the new acne medicine that seems to cause depression, birth defects, inability to see in the dark, irritability, dry skin, and probably alien infestation. It's... powerful.
At any rate, it happened. I think you can divide the types of depression into two categories: One focuses on the result of an action, the other focuses on inaction. Depression caused by actions such as breakups, insults, and failures spur on thoughts of worthlessness and suicide. But depression caused by inaction just makes one... sad. They're the kind that I generally associate with the holidays, Friday nights, and the end of breaks from school. Basically, I look back and think, "Wasted... all squandered... There's so much I could do! So much I could see! So many people to meet, art to create, art to enjoy, adventures to be had, life to be lived! And yet, I waste it all at my computer, lost in some faraway, fictional realm where I have some warped sense of power and purpose. It's not real. It's baseless! I'm wasting my life... Look at me! 18 and what have I to show for it? I've done nothing, created nothing, influenced nothing! All my 'art' is either lacking or forgotten. Everyone I've tried to help will just revert back to their same problems. Every person I know will die or forsake me in favor of a new life with new people. And when I die, only distant family members who never called, never wrote, never cared until they finally realized they too had squandered the oppurtunity of my now ended existence. When I die, will I be celebrated? Or will I be literally swept under the carpet, my cremated ashes nothing but a trinket that must be 'revered' that no one really wants? I don't have a Heaven to look forward to. All I have is a flash in the pan, a few brief years before my uneventful demise. So short is this life we have, and it's wasted before we even start..."
Such is my thought process. And it's queer, because the depression spirals into sadness. Not self-pity, not cynicism, but stoic acceptance of an existentialist fate. I have an intense desire, at that moment, to create. I want to create something that emulates this exact moment, this exact feeling because in its tragic masochism, it is itself beautiful. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm trying to capture the feeling, save it for my depression shall subside, and I'll commit the folly of escape once again for I rationalize that that world is no more real than this one can claim to me. The difference is that I know the other is fake. I can only guess at this one. You can argue that knowledge is more important than happiness, but what if you knew our existence was a fraud? Don't you consider it a blessing that the ignorance of our reality is thrust upon us, never to be revealed until it ceases to hold us in its grasp? Those who argue that the knowledge of a situation is superior to a full appreciation for it don't know what this whole game is about. And yet... I see the hypocrisy. I see my earlier self with an intense desire to create, spurred on by a depression that I cling to because it is beauty. The art that I crave is beautiful. But one must consider the price the artist and his work's admirers pay. It's emotional masochism. You sacrifice your happiness, your joy, the goal that every single person should have in order to achieve power. And power corrupts. My favorite example is Mark Twain. All his life was spent in cynicism and creating art. His works are extolled even today as witty, moving, and a part of America's bloodline. Yet his end was consumed in nihilism, existentialism, and misery. He knew too much. He thought too much. He created too much, let the biting questions, the inner doubts we try to hide so deep inside us that their poison can never spread, out into the open and they consumed him. Is that the price one must pay for knowledge? Is his life any better than that of one wasted on fantasy and some form of insubstantial bliss? Many artists are miserable. Poe, O'Neil, every single drunkard and cynic who has written some masterpiece we all cherish all paid the price.
So I'm stuck at an impasse. As I write, I think "I've partially done it, I've partially captured the emotion I wanted. It's verbose, as usual, but if I were reading this I would say 'I want to emulate this.'" And yet, the beauty fades as it is expelled onto "paper." My mood improves, my interest flees, and I find myself... bored. The masochistic urge is past, now that my goal is accomplished. Does it take sadness to appreciate happiness? No, because there are most likely those who read this who think "Self-pitying, angsty teenage fool. Get over it." Are they incomplete? Do they lack an appreciation for joy for they know nothing to the contrary? I don't know. This ought to be my final novel, the ultimate question of which diverging path to take. A creation of art and a nurturing of suffering or an appreciation of life leaving nothing of substance behind. Action versus Inaction. Ah. How like a novel. We've come full circle. Which will it be, indeed. Two paths with the same consequence. Some people can never be happy...
At any rate, it happened. I think you can divide the types of depression into two categories: One focuses on the result of an action, the other focuses on inaction. Depression caused by actions such as breakups, insults, and failures spur on thoughts of worthlessness and suicide. But depression caused by inaction just makes one... sad. They're the kind that I generally associate with the holidays, Friday nights, and the end of breaks from school. Basically, I look back and think, "Wasted... all squandered... There's so much I could do! So much I could see! So many people to meet, art to create, art to enjoy, adventures to be had, life to be lived! And yet, I waste it all at my computer, lost in some faraway, fictional realm where I have some warped sense of power and purpose. It's not real. It's baseless! I'm wasting my life... Look at me! 18 and what have I to show for it? I've done nothing, created nothing, influenced nothing! All my 'art' is either lacking or forgotten. Everyone I've tried to help will just revert back to their same problems. Every person I know will die or forsake me in favor of a new life with new people. And when I die, only distant family members who never called, never wrote, never cared until they finally realized they too had squandered the oppurtunity of my now ended existence. When I die, will I be celebrated? Or will I be literally swept under the carpet, my cremated ashes nothing but a trinket that must be 'revered' that no one really wants? I don't have a Heaven to look forward to. All I have is a flash in the pan, a few brief years before my uneventful demise. So short is this life we have, and it's wasted before we even start..."
Such is my thought process. And it's queer, because the depression spirals into sadness. Not self-pity, not cynicism, but stoic acceptance of an existentialist fate. I have an intense desire, at that moment, to create. I want to create something that emulates this exact moment, this exact feeling because in its tragic masochism, it is itself beautiful. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm trying to capture the feeling, save it for my depression shall subside, and I'll commit the folly of escape once again for I rationalize that that world is no more real than this one can claim to me. The difference is that I know the other is fake. I can only guess at this one. You can argue that knowledge is more important than happiness, but what if you knew our existence was a fraud? Don't you consider it a blessing that the ignorance of our reality is thrust upon us, never to be revealed until it ceases to hold us in its grasp? Those who argue that the knowledge of a situation is superior to a full appreciation for it don't know what this whole game is about. And yet... I see the hypocrisy. I see my earlier self with an intense desire to create, spurred on by a depression that I cling to because it is beauty. The art that I crave is beautiful. But one must consider the price the artist and his work's admirers pay. It's emotional masochism. You sacrifice your happiness, your joy, the goal that every single person should have in order to achieve power. And power corrupts. My favorite example is Mark Twain. All his life was spent in cynicism and creating art. His works are extolled even today as witty, moving, and a part of America's bloodline. Yet his end was consumed in nihilism, existentialism, and misery. He knew too much. He thought too much. He created too much, let the biting questions, the inner doubts we try to hide so deep inside us that their poison can never spread, out into the open and they consumed him. Is that the price one must pay for knowledge? Is his life any better than that of one wasted on fantasy and some form of insubstantial bliss? Many artists are miserable. Poe, O'Neil, every single drunkard and cynic who has written some masterpiece we all cherish all paid the price.
So I'm stuck at an impasse. As I write, I think "I've partially done it, I've partially captured the emotion I wanted. It's verbose, as usual, but if I were reading this I would say 'I want to emulate this.'" And yet, the beauty fades as it is expelled onto "paper." My mood improves, my interest flees, and I find myself... bored. The masochistic urge is past, now that my goal is accomplished. Does it take sadness to appreciate happiness? No, because there are most likely those who read this who think "Self-pitying, angsty teenage fool. Get over it." Are they incomplete? Do they lack an appreciation for joy for they know nothing to the contrary? I don't know. This ought to be my final novel, the ultimate question of which diverging path to take. A creation of art and a nurturing of suffering or an appreciation of life leaving nothing of substance behind. Action versus Inaction. Ah. How like a novel. We've come full circle. Which will it be, indeed. Two paths with the same consequence. Some people can never be happy...
Thursday, December 30
A survey
Alright, we were playing a new game at Rachel's called "would you rather." Basically a prompt to that the infamous, gruesome game you play when very bored. It sounded good at first, but it seemed to argument focused. Anyway, a question (player devised) came up of "Would you rather be knowledgeable and miserable or ignorant and happy?" Now, to me, this is a no-brainer. Being an existentialist, I know the price of knowledge. I also have little, if any, pride. So happiness trumped everything. But the other four players chose knowledge and misery. Is that a sign of bad priorities? Or what? I don't know. What would you have chosen (and why)?
Wednesday, December 29
Feelin' Frivilous
- Birthplace: The Pits of Hell
- B-day Month: Dawn of Time
- Current Location: K-town
- Eye color: blue
- Hair color: brown
- Height: 7' 22" 3"'
-Righty or Lefty: Yes.
- Zodiac sign: Virgo. What? Well I am!
- Your heritage: Satan. Or Mr. Clean. I can't remember...
- Shoes you wore today: Squirrels. Unskinned.
- Your weakness: Pain.
- Your strengths: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Aren't we all just comedians?
- Your fears: Torture.
- Your perfect pizza: Cheese. Maybe pepperoni if I'm feeling risky. I'm so naughty...
- Goal you'd like to achieve: Beauty.
- Your thoughts first waking up: "I hope I wore a condom."
- Your bedtime: 3:46 PM
- Your most missed memory: Where I left my... wait. What?
- Pepsi or coke: Cocaine, all the way. Pepsi's too mainstream.
- McDonald's or Burger King: Burger King. Because clowns in yellow body suits and I have a history of "unpleasantness" and bloodshed during immense turf wars.
- Best friends: Jack Daniels, Charles Kennedy, Paddy McSatanPants (the leprechaun on my shoulder)
-Boyfriend/Girlfriend: The latter, please.
- Adidas or Nike: They're both made by starving children in third world countries. What's the diff?
- Lipton ice tea or Nestea: I have no clue who broke your stereo with that cherry bomb, Mr. Wilson.
- Chocolate or Vanilla: Vanilla. Or Chocolate. Oh how I loathe you both...
- Cappuccino or Coffee: They're both made by starving children in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Smoke: There's fire? I LIKE FIRE!!!!
- Curse: You mother teresea loving son of a socialist, I want your badge number!
- Sing: I believed it's spelled "S-O-D-O-M-Y." Stupid internet surveys...
- Take a shower everyday: Only because I care.
- Do you think you've been in love: I've been in many places. What's it to you? No, I didn't bring you a souvenir. Jerk...
- Want to go to college: "Want" is such a harsh, unforgivable word.
- Where: The belly of an Iowan fisherman.
- Like(d) high school: Yes. With a bit of ketchup, most things are pleasant enough. Hmm... Now THAT'S a kinky thought...
- Want to get married: I'm all about efficiency!
- Believe in yourself: Do I exist? Sure. Will I exist tomorrow? You be the judge.
- Get motion sickness: Yes. And I'm also sick of your fat lip!
- Think you're attractive: Would that make me gay?
- Think you're a health freak: I wouldn't say "think" so lightly.
- Get along with your parent(s): Not talking does wonders.
- Like thunderstorms: Sure.
- Play an instrument: Yes.
- Country/Place you would most like to visit: It involves pants. That's all you're getting.
I n | t h e | p a s t | m o n t h . . .
- Smoked: Oh, I think that's a given.
- Done a drug: I think Bonnie said it best: "midol"
- Had sex : Yes. I've been a male all my life.
- Gone on a date: I don't know the exact number, but over 18 x 365 + 4months
- Gone to the mall: Why you gotta treat me like that, baby? You know I love you!
- Eaten an entire box of Oreos: If by "oreos" you mean "innocent, succulent babies snatched from the clutches of their unsuspecting, sedated mothers" then no you sick freak.
- Eaten sushi: I've two words to answer this question- Freud and Oratory
- Been on stage: All the world's a stage. So... salmon?
- Been dumped: No... my corpse was cremated.
- Made homemade cookies: SWEET MOTHER OF GOD. Sort of.
- Gone skinnydipping: I wish... I had more time.
- Dyed your hair: If I had any! Dye, that is.
- Stolen anything: yeah right.
H a v e | y o u | e v e r . . .
- Been extremely trashed or extremely intoxicated: Does cows think about sex more than nuns? I'm just curious.
- Been called a tease: I tease death AND LOSE!
- Gotten beaten up: And down. And... metaphysically.
- Shoplifted: MY WATERMELON!!!!!!!!!
- Changed who you were to fit in: To fit into your pants, I'll change anything! I guess my waist is the most important part though, eh?
- Age you hope to be married: 79
- Described your dream wedding: Hmm. Something involving sacrifices, police, and citywide socialist revolts.
- Thought about how you want to die: Yeah. Something involving drama, romance, and acts of defiance. Or penguins.
I n | y o u r | l i f e . . .
# of people I could trust with my life: It's my life! I saw it first! Mine mine mine! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
# of CDs that i own: CDs meaning cocaine deposits? Hah, you wish!
# of piercings: MINE SPLEEN!
# of tattoos: Wasn't he the guy who worked for the Lone Ranger? Or maybe the midget on Fantasy Island? That jerk stole so many kidneys...
# of scars on my body: Sporks hurt more than YOU'LL ever know...
F a v o r i t e . . .
- Color: Blue. The color of... blueness, blueitude, and blueosity.
- Food: Pizza. PIZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Squirrels.
- Subject(s): I will not let you subject me to that. You'll be wearing THAT? On second thought...
- Animal(s): She's a maniac! No, seriously. Help me.
- Sport(s): I'd like to favorite YOUR sport!
H a v e | y o u | e v e r . . .
- Bungee jumped? They're all made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Made yourself throw up? Mmm. Watching Sean Hannity. Bulimia for the amputee!
- Been in love? Oh, I've been there. Bring a flak vest. And the spleen of one pure black albino
- Made yourself cry to get out of trouble? no, but i do start crying.
- Cried when someone died? my first dog. Since then, I've been the one killing, and ,like pimping, it involves lots of strippers.
- Lied? Maybe?
- Fallen for your best friend? I did not have sex with that mountain goat. Those are doctored photos. Yes. I do think I look fat in them.
- Been rejected? I hate you all.
- Rejected someone? I didn't mean it guys. Really. I love you all.
- Used someone? Ok, I'm just having fun at all your expenses. I'm sorry. Um... cheers?
- Done something you regret? See "what I think when I wake up in the morning"
R i g h t | n o w . . .
- Clothes you're wearing: Not applicable.
- Music you're listening to: Like a Rolling Stone... OF DOOM!!!
- Time where you are: 11:24... wait... 11:25...wait... 11:26... gosh darn it, how long do I keep this up?
- Smell you're... eh, smelling: I have no clue.
- Current Desktop picture: Circle:"Sometimes I wonder if there's a point to my existence." ... Square:"Sometimes I think about gravy." Genius.
- Book you're reading: An Idiot's Guide to Illiteracy
- CD in the player: No. Oh, god, no.... stop the memories, mommy. Please?
- DVD in the player: ANGUISH LIKE MELTED BUTTER!!!
L a s t | p e r s o n | y o u . . .
- Hugged: Joseph Stalin's cold dead grandmother.
- IM'd: Rudolph Giulianni
- Yelled at: You.
- Missed terribly: You.
- Felt loved by: They're both made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Spoke to: Look into my eyes... Hah! Got your wallet, sucker!
- Cried to: My pillow
W h o | d o | y o u | w a n t | t o . . .
- Get really wasted with: The Dalai Llama
- Get high with: Jesse Jackson
- Look like: Fred Sanford
- Talk to face to face: Those jerks Ashley and Murphy from the Oldies station. I've a chainsaw that wants to ensure they've faces fit for radio...
- Talk to indirectly (on the phone, online etc.): The Governor of Kansas
R a n d o m . . .
- In the morning I look like: Death Incarnate if death incarnate wears dresses.
- All I need is: THE VOICES TO SHUT THE HELLO DOLLY RIDE THE TROLLEY TO THE DEPTHS OF OREGON
- Love is: Lovely.
- Flowers or candy: They're both made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?
- B-day Month: Dawn of Time
- Current Location: K-town
- Eye color: blue
- Hair color: brown
- Height: 7' 22" 3"'
-Righty or Lefty: Yes.
- Zodiac sign: Virgo. What? Well I am!
- Your heritage: Satan. Or Mr. Clean. I can't remember...
- Shoes you wore today: Squirrels. Unskinned.
- Your weakness: Pain.
- Your strengths: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Aren't we all just comedians?
- Your fears: Torture.
- Your perfect pizza: Cheese. Maybe pepperoni if I'm feeling risky. I'm so naughty...
- Goal you'd like to achieve: Beauty.
- Your thoughts first waking up: "I hope I wore a condom."
- Your bedtime: 3:46 PM
- Your most missed memory: Where I left my... wait. What?
- Pepsi or coke: Cocaine, all the way. Pepsi's too mainstream.
- McDonald's or Burger King: Burger King. Because clowns in yellow body suits and I have a history of "unpleasantness" and bloodshed during immense turf wars.
- Best friends: Jack Daniels, Charles Kennedy, Paddy McSatanPants (the leprechaun on my shoulder)
-Boyfriend/Girlfriend: The latter, please.
- Adidas or Nike: They're both made by starving children in third world countries. What's the diff?
- Lipton ice tea or Nestea: I have no clue who broke your stereo with that cherry bomb, Mr. Wilson.
- Chocolate or Vanilla: Vanilla. Or Chocolate. Oh how I loathe you both...
- Cappuccino or Coffee: They're both made by starving children in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Smoke: There's fire? I LIKE FIRE!!!!
- Curse: You mother teresea loving son of a socialist, I want your badge number!
- Sing: I believed it's spelled "S-O-D-O-M-Y." Stupid internet surveys...
- Take a shower everyday: Only because I care.
- Do you think you've been in love: I've been in many places. What's it to you? No, I didn't bring you a souvenir. Jerk...
- Want to go to college: "Want" is such a harsh, unforgivable word.
- Where: The belly of an Iowan fisherman.
- Like(d) high school: Yes. With a bit of ketchup, most things are pleasant enough. Hmm... Now THAT'S a kinky thought...
- Want to get married: I'm all about efficiency!
- Believe in yourself: Do I exist? Sure. Will I exist tomorrow? You be the judge.
- Get motion sickness: Yes. And I'm also sick of your fat lip!
- Think you're attractive: Would that make me gay?
- Think you're a health freak: I wouldn't say "think" so lightly.
- Get along with your parent(s): Not talking does wonders.
- Like thunderstorms: Sure.
- Play an instrument: Yes.
- Country/Place you would most like to visit: It involves pants. That's all you're getting.
I n | t h e | p a s t | m o n t h . . .
- Smoked: Oh, I think that's a given.
- Done a drug: I think Bonnie said it best: "midol"
- Had sex : Yes. I've been a male all my life.
- Gone on a date: I don't know the exact number, but over 18 x 365 + 4months
- Gone to the mall: Why you gotta treat me like that, baby? You know I love you!
- Eaten an entire box of Oreos: If by "oreos" you mean "innocent, succulent babies snatched from the clutches of their unsuspecting, sedated mothers" then no you sick freak.
- Eaten sushi: I've two words to answer this question- Freud and Oratory
- Been on stage: All the world's a stage. So... salmon?
- Been dumped: No... my corpse was cremated.
- Made homemade cookies: SWEET MOTHER OF GOD. Sort of.
- Gone skinnydipping: I wish... I had more time.
- Dyed your hair: If I had any! Dye, that is.
- Stolen anything: yeah right.
H a v e | y o u | e v e r . . .
- Been extremely trashed or extremely intoxicated: Does cows think about sex more than nuns? I'm just curious.
- Been called a tease: I tease death AND LOSE!
- Gotten beaten up: And down. And... metaphysically.
- Shoplifted: MY WATERMELON!!!!!!!!!
- Changed who you were to fit in: To fit into your pants, I'll change anything! I guess my waist is the most important part though, eh?
- Age you hope to be married: 79
- Described your dream wedding: Hmm. Something involving sacrifices, police, and citywide socialist revolts.
- Thought about how you want to die: Yeah. Something involving drama, romance, and acts of defiance. Or penguins.
I n | y o u r | l i f e . . .
# of people I could trust with my life: It's my life! I saw it first! Mine mine mine! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
# of CDs that i own: CDs meaning cocaine deposits? Hah, you wish!
# of piercings: MINE SPLEEN!
# of tattoos: Wasn't he the guy who worked for the Lone Ranger? Or maybe the midget on Fantasy Island? That jerk stole so many kidneys...
# of scars on my body: Sporks hurt more than YOU'LL ever know...
F a v o r i t e . . .
- Color: Blue. The color of... blueness, blueitude, and blueosity.
- Food: Pizza. PIZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Squirrels.
- Subject(s): I will not let you subject me to that. You'll be wearing THAT? On second thought...
- Animal(s): She's a maniac! No, seriously. Help me.
- Sport(s): I'd like to favorite YOUR sport!
H a v e | y o u | e v e r . . .
- Bungee jumped? They're all made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Made yourself throw up? Mmm. Watching Sean Hannity. Bulimia for the amputee!
- Been in love? Oh, I've been there. Bring a flak vest. And the spleen of one pure black albino
- Made yourself cry to get out of trouble? no, but i do start crying.
- Cried when someone died? my first dog. Since then, I've been the one killing, and ,like pimping, it involves lots of strippers.
- Lied? Maybe?
- Fallen for your best friend? I did not have sex with that mountain goat. Those are doctored photos. Yes. I do think I look fat in them.
- Been rejected? I hate you all.
- Rejected someone? I didn't mean it guys. Really. I love you all.
- Used someone? Ok, I'm just having fun at all your expenses. I'm sorry. Um... cheers?
- Done something you regret? See "what I think when I wake up in the morning"
R i g h t | n o w . . .
- Clothes you're wearing: Not applicable.
- Music you're listening to: Like a Rolling Stone... OF DOOM!!!
- Time where you are: 11:24... wait... 11:25...wait... 11:26... gosh darn it, how long do I keep this up?
- Smell you're... eh, smelling: I have no clue.
- Current Desktop picture: Circle:"Sometimes I wonder if there's a point to my existence." ... Square:"Sometimes I think about gravy." Genius.
- Book you're reading: An Idiot's Guide to Illiteracy
- CD in the player: No. Oh, god, no.... stop the memories, mommy. Please?
- DVD in the player: ANGUISH LIKE MELTED BUTTER!!!
L a s t | p e r s o n | y o u . . .
- Hugged: Joseph Stalin's cold dead grandmother.
- IM'd: Rudolph Giulianni
- Yelled at: You.
- Missed terribly: You.
- Felt loved by: They're both made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?
- Spoke to: Look into my eyes... Hah! Got your wallet, sucker!
- Cried to: My pillow
W h o | d o | y o u | w a n t | t o . . .
- Get really wasted with: The Dalai Llama
- Get high with: Jesse Jackson
- Look like: Fred Sanford
- Talk to face to face: Those jerks Ashley and Murphy from the Oldies station. I've a chainsaw that wants to ensure they've faces fit for radio...
- Talk to indirectly (on the phone, online etc.): The Governor of Kansas
R a n d o m . . .
- In the morning I look like: Death Incarnate if death incarnate wears dresses.
- All I need is: THE VOICES TO SHUT THE HELLO DOLLY RIDE THE TROLLEY TO THE DEPTHS OF OREGON
- Love is: Lovely.
- Flowers or candy: They're both made by starving kids in third world countries, what's the diff?