I'm going to force this blog upon myself, so prepare for shit!

Bob's Burgers is a show I got into.  I had to force myself to watch it because I can't even make myself watch really good shows like Breaking bad.  I like that there's not in the way of gross-out humor unlike some  cartoons (Really obnoxious cough that sounds exactly like the show I'm ripping on, "Family Guy", followed by another really obnoxious cough, just in case whoever I'm standing next to didn't get the message).  I think out of all the characters, I can relate to Tina the most for the exact reasons you're thinking of.  I also may have done at least half of the stupid things she's done in an attempt to fit in.

I'm mega paranoid of my parents returning home.  I'm not sure why, maybe it stems from my strong desire not to do things other than writing whatever comes to mind.  That said, I should probably consider getting my own apartment, so I can come home to an empty house that stays empty for a prolonged stretch of time.  It's my job's fault that I want a twenty-four hour people free cycle.   I have to be nice to humanity en mass all week.  I can barely handle that shit for a day.

My friend is working for a company called sonic as seen below,

So I decided to make my own original company!

I drew that.  I'm so good at drawing intentionally shitty things that other people have drawn, I could publish a shitty things art book, and people would hand me out crazy awards for it!  In fact, they'd make up a new award called the Blonic award for the shiterary excellence.

Do you see this thing?  That's a bear!  You're welcome!  That reminds me, I haven't drawn anything bear related in a while.  How did I even draw this one?  Maybe it was conjured up in my sleep.  What a mystery!

While we're off topic, I hate college applications.  I hate online applications in general so much, that I want to put a USB cord in my butt so I can shit all over these online applications.

It just occurred to me that I might actually suck at this whole blogging thing.  I think that's just my brain being an ass again.  He's kind of a jerk, but I need him to operate important organs such as my heart and taste buds.  I don't really have a good analogy for his function and apparent lack of courtesy.  I'm just typing a bunch of crap without cause or actual inspiration.  It's kind of fun though.  It's funner than a gorilla with an eating disorder, vomiting neutron star plasma all over your plasma screen TV, forming a plasma within a plasma next to a gorilla.  It's plasception.  Ignore that last part.  I'm sure Inception jokes long ago ran their course.

 Come to think of it, I never found Inception jokes funny to begin with.  I never really saw the movie, but I watched the episode of South Park where they were doing that weird Inception molestation thing (hey, that almost rhymes!), deciding that after watching that, I knew everything there was to know about Inception.  I was an Inception master with a major in deception ever since my conception, where I gave a confession that it was my profession, and I got good reception, which gave me a sensation that I could commit to mental retention- that I was a master of interpretations of nations.

I don't think that last part made sense, but I was running out of "tions"

Oh my God, I could've fit procrastination in there.  I just realized that's exactly what I'm doing, posting random thoughts, that won't see the light of day, but certainly the light of my monitor. I'm thinking that in the time it took me to complain about fixing a mistake, I could amend these faults to make a streamlined segment of words that go together.  I won't.  Instead, here's a delightful picture of butts I took pictures of in the art museum.  Behold these butts as the shit hour is up.

Life Letters.

I feel that there are a number of issues that my life needs to hammer out, but has been too busy making sure I exist to deal with them.  Therefore, I have taken the liberty of pointing out a few issues that we need to go over, possibly over coffee?  I love coffee, but you already know that.  I'm going to warn you right now, life; the fonts may be slightly inconsistent.  Try to ignore that.

Dear computer,

0x77775j something is not an adequate description of the thing that is wrong with you.  If you’re looking for help beyond being ignored until you crash please tell me the name of the program in English and what it does so I can google how to fix it.

Dear Body,

Due to a number of events that can be solely blamed on the brain, the frequency at which you receive good meals/ meals in general may diminish.  You’re pretty good at adapting though, right?  Until I get things straight with the boss, you’ll just have to find a way to subsist on coffee and snacks.  Some of those snacks might even be dried fruit, with real nutritional value!  As far as showering on a regular basis goes, you may be disappointed to hear that I will continue to have trouble keeping up with the schedule.  The same goes for all other forms of hygiene as well.

Dear Artistic Ability,

Stop fucking leaving me!  If I want to draw something as simple as an oval head, you damn well better be up to the task!  I know I don’t give you the best accommodations, but all I ask of you is to get off you lazy ass to help me get the perspective on these hands right!

Dear Passions,

I know your heart is in the right place with you trying to get excited about things.  Just try to show a bit more self-control.  Yes, Dota 2 awesome in spite of the number of times you’ve been told to kill yourself by other players.  Yes, candy is especially good, but why can’t you get obsessive over more productive matters?  Artistic Ability would love to get to know you past asking you for help to keep me from hating myself.  You may be an abstraction, but the shit you do has endearing consequences in the more concrete areas of existence.  Just keep that in mind the next time you think we need to go bar-hopping.

Dear work,

I’m willing to commend you a bit because you allow the above resident to indulge in beer and various teeth-melting snacks.  However, I don’t think I’m comfortable taking orders from people with the same look in their eyes as caged animals.  If I wanted to look into a glassy veil of shameful defeat, I’d visit a nursing home.  If I have to tolerate that sort of thing, I expect to be paid more.  You should grant me the privilege to draw faces on all the lemons as well, or have me throw them into a burning building named “Life”.

Dear dog(s),

You are probably the most ill-equipped out of my recipients to be receiving letters considering that your thoughts revolve around snacks, belly rubs, and humping inanimate objects without their consent.  Somewhere in that kibble-coated brain of yours though, you managed to reserve a spot for unconditionally loving the bi-pedal meat bags that you would totally be capable of eating with the help of your adorably predatory pals. 

Somehow, despite not taking you on all the walks you deserve, you spend every waking hour expressing your endearing love for me while simultaneously nudging your nose closer to my half-eaten sandwich.  I could do without you trying for my food every time I put it down to shovel chips in my mouth.  Also, I know that you really hate to be alone, but there are times when I actually don’t want you shoving your face into my crotch.  That is not for nuzzling anyway.  If you knew that we have a system of parts similar to yours in that area, you would not be sniffing it so hard.

Another thing you should probably take note of is that spicy foods work the same way no matter how many times you try them.  That goes for all the other things you shouldn’t eat.  Remember that time you tried to eat a toad?  Neurotoxin isn’t very palatable, is it?  You just had to be certain, so I decided after the twelve time, you would learn that you can’t eat this thing without feeling awful.  I’m just going to assume that you can’t work out how not to put this thing in your mouth.

Dear Internet, 

In the three years that I’ve had to live you, you have brought me gifts of videos, comics, blogs, porn, even shopping.  Some of these things even occur at the same time!  However, where I once found a world of innovation has now become the same place over and over again.  Don’t get me wrong now, I still love all that stuff, but now I have to put actual effort into finding new and exciting things.  This must be how oil barons felt after all the surface oil was gone.  Unlike the oil barons though, I don’t really have time to go digging through you on my own.  When the task is presented, I just stare blankly at you until I decide to visit tumblr again.  We should probably reassess our relationship, and here’s what I think.  Since I don’t want to put the effort towards putting words side-by-side in the search bar to look for new things, I want you to do that for me.  It’s an easy enough job for someone who claims to have all the world’s information.  Now, don’t fret over that, I’m willing to carry my weight too.  You present me with your findings, and I’ll click on them.  This way, I can maximize the amount of time I spend not doing anything while you keep doing the smart things that you have time for.  Time means nothing to you, really.  Therefore you need to start putting effort into this relationship, otherwise, you can expect my continued support because I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Dear Coffee,

You crafty motherfucker!  You have got to be one of the most expensive things I put into my body other than mix drinks at a night club, but unlike those tasty, fruity, feel-good, confidence boosters I get at the bar, I come crawling out of my mattress covers to you every morning!  How do you do it?  How do you have such a stranglehold on my life that you can dictate my daily routines just by sitting in a bag?  It’s not like I have anyone else to make you for me.  I have to get up, grind you to the specifications of whatever I’m using to brew you with, and spend half an hour turning you into drippy black stuff I can consume.  You are such a process to make properly, yet here I am, making another press.  You and I are one in the worst way possible- like a guinea worm inching its way out into the world.  I can’t get rid of you in any way that’s quick or pain free.  You’re just there.  You can leave any time you want.  It’s me who gets stuck with the consequences.  I’m just going to treat this as a form of Stockholm syndrome, saying to you how much I love you only because I know how much it hurts when you leave.

 

Dear Glasses,

I was expecting you to be on top of this, considering that you’re the only object in my life right now that allows me to see more than a foot in a given direction, but since you’re reluctant even to show the common courtesy to lean on my face without slouching, I’m going to have to tell you this myself.  When I come out of the shower, there are a few things that can ruin my experience; a damp towel, butchering my face with dull razor blades, and having no clear way to avoid the latter.  Number three is almost entirely your fault.   I already know what not seeing is like.  I don’t need a simulation you put together out of the leftover water vapor from the shower, and when I wipe away the fog, that is not your queue to get more.  I really, really don’t want to bleed out through my face.  Please, just do this one thing for me.  If you do, I can forgive you for dropping your lenses on the floor at random intervals. 

I'm not sure if I can get on board with this cleaning thing

I'm fully aware that cleaning things is necessary to keep things like cockroaches and silverfish from skittering about our homes, but why do people like it so much?  My room's immaculate right now, and I feel like I'm living in a different house.  Stolen Tikki  man is on my desk to reassure me that this is in fact my house, but I still have an urge to throw all my stuff about the room to make it feel comfortable again.  Even my desk is clean.  Stop being so clean!  You're just a front to hide the lingering existential filth of the guy who's sitting at you!  You know, the one who just lost his pencil; again?

Look cleanliness, I know you mean well- hiding human problems with your sheen and laundry baskets that don't smell like a locker room.  I just really hate to put effort towards making you show up.  Maybe if you could do the work yourself, I'd be happier to see you.  I had plans today before you decided to rear your lilac-scented head.  Sure these plans involved more anti-social behavior, but they also involved drawing a cool monster girl.  Tell you what; if you can just stay shiny and neat longer, say from now until the sun explodes, I can tolerate your presence.

There's a Reason Part-time Clerks Leave After Four Hours.

In my short time as a courtesy clerk for my store, I've found that after working for about three-and a half hours, I start to direct all my thoughts toward the things that until this point, were only mild annoyances. About a minute after, those little hairs trapped in the nape of my neck transform into a super-itchy iron maiden that lingers on in spite of my manic scratching.  That cramp in my leg is now a mafia boss smashing my knee in a vice coated with rusty nails.  My managers evolve into genetic amalgamations of Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, and Genghis Khan.  Even the costumers' simple questions feel like vocalized crowbars, slowly prying away at the nails of my psyche. There's a reason the four hour mark was unanimously dubbed the time to go on an hour lunch during a full shift, or go home to shovel leftover turkey burger in my mouth on part-time days.  Once three hours and thirty minutes of unbridled altruism and kindness have passed, most people have reached their capacity for this sort of crap, and with the only methods to refuel my tolerance being a chronological crawl away, my personality inevitably spirals downward with enough angular momentum to slice open a customer's chest cavity.

I don't think this feeling is unique to me either.  A number of coworkers I get along with share the sentiment, or at the very least, don't disagree when I come into the break room announcing "I'm itchy, I hate everything!"  I do know that some employees are generally rude, but for most of us, the only reason our happy face fell off right at the moment you came asking for help is merely the result of a common phenomenon where we're trying to be nicer than evolutionarily possible.

A story about a Void, and Flipping Hundreds of People the Bird

I’m not really known for doing much out of the ordinary other than the habits that people tell me aren’t quite that normal, but that night was a bit different- a night of getting a little lost, a tad bit scared, and ultimately feeling unstoppable for going in a circle.

            I started out the door for a run, hoping to find a new route in the waning sunlight.  The only thing on my mind was a collection of words from Matthew Inman’s book, “find a loop”.  I typically run here and back trails, smashing myself against the same invisible barriers for the same result, so this night I thought I’d find a loop.  The problem is that all the running trails I could’ve used for this purpose stop existing after six PM.  My loop would have to be in the city.  Nearing an intersection on the bee-line path I take from my house to the gym, I half considered abandoning the pursuit of the loop to squeeze my love handles back into my comfort zone.  

            But I just so happened to be on the side of the intersection that would require me to physically push a button to cross into the familiar monotony, so to keep from losing stride, I turned into the grassy trail on my left.  I sort of knew this side too, just not what was past the wooden end marker for the path I was on.

        The grass went on for maybe a mile.  The problem is that things are longer and infinitely scarier when you add night and blinding headlights into the mix.  Fortunately, stumbling through countless anthills along the trail eventually brought me to an intersection.  This is where I hoped my journey would loop back on itself, but between my chafing testicles and endorphin glazed mind, I decided to go a bit further, into more tall grass.  The lack of cars in this direction was a welcome surprise until I realized that having nothing is slightly worse than dozens of flash grenades careening towards my face at forty miles an hour.  I typically feel alone in large crowds, but there’s a certain sense of security that comes from knowing mountain lions and serial killers don’t attack people in groups.  Here, along this grassy strip of dirt, I was truly alone- shuffling along through the perfect spot for a lion/murderer tag team mauling.  I’ve never been able to accurately pin down what emotions I’m feeling at any given time since it seems that a good portion of them happen at once, but given the circumstances, I’m fairly sure I could describe what I was feeling as terror.  I’m assuming that’s the word for describing an overwhelming desire not to be mauled by two identical entities.  This would be cause to turn back.  It should be cause to turn back, but my logic/slash coward center simply couldn’t hold up against the desire to pierce what literally felt like the heart of darkness.  There was something else too; something a bit more real than a healthy fear of nocturnal predators.  Between heading onto the route to the left and where I eventually popped out, I was alone, but not the alone to which I was accustomed.  This time, I was the only entity that existed in that carless stretch of land I chose to travel.  This is the one time I felt separate from the universe that didn’t involve daydreaming where I wasn’t supposed to.  I found my way to a separate plane of existence, and all I wanted was to get out.  My first thought towards the solution was to turn back, but as afraid of the nothing that one part of my mind was, another wanted to see how far this void would go until death or an eventual other side made itself apparent.  I decided to make a compromise and go faster in the same direction.  Adventure brain would get what it wanted, and scared brain determined that the best course of action would be to shut up.  The agreed upon solution was the best it could hope for.  

             Fortunately, for both parties, an eventual end to this universe shone in the distance; an illuminated sign from my old high school.  I don’t recall the majority of the people or events that came from within that conglomerate of sheet-metal encased buildings.  What became truly important was that this place became the missing link in the loop I was trying to conceive.  Through the fear and sweat and second guesses, I created a loop.  I knew exactly what to do from this point, uniting my fragmented thoughts into a single amorphous blob of aimless, illusory power.  It had to be dispelled through a more effective means than by trotting back home.  The solution hit me as I approached the Mormon Church. This thing really did just hit me.  I usually reconsider and back down from things like this out of fear of someone I know judging me.  I started jogging past the in-session church, middle fingers outstretched, panting and sweating through the cloak of night like a pig being chased by starved Bengal tigers.  I had emerged from the void I created for myself.  I was all-powerful.  Better judgment couldn’t possibly hold up to the amount of fucks I felt were ready to be released.  On my last mile home, I kept my middle fingers up, thinking only of putting them down out of fear that they might stay that way- a thought put to rest when I said to myself “if my fingers get stuck like this, I’ll have legal protection to continue doing this followed by piles of disability money.  There was no counterpoint to this idiotic logic.  I was still in juggernaut land, so I went with it.

I’m fairly sure that despite the abundance of headlights, no one actually saw my proudly erect fingers on my steadily drooping arms.  Or if they did, I was immediately dismissed as a homeless man who recently acquired enough spare change to go on a crack-induced rampage.