Recent Irritations
Let me start off by saying this entry right now is a product of emotion and frustration. If those are really two different things, anyway. Women, your behaviors and frame of mind is wearing my patience badly. Makeup has never looked worse on girls than ever before, and it's really bugging me. The fact that you actually waste your time painting your face is enough to make me hate you. At least temporarily. This is great news for me because it's curving off my appetite for incessant, whining, and ignorant people. Not like a had a desire for them for those reasons, mind you, but it was a masked flavor with a repulsive aftertaste. Like my food analogies?
Next thing on my list is other people's business, or lack thereof. I'm really despising how programming and other revenues of entertainment for women are focused on shit. Just shit. "Becky had a new baby girl, but cannot find the real father." And then some shmuck from whogivesafuck will come play daddy. Fuck other people's business. I couldn't care less who the real father is. How about we take a look at the misshapen uterus for a change and ask a question like, "WHAT COULD POSSIBLY COMPEL YOU TO MAKE A FUCKING BABY?" Drunken women ought to bind their legs together. That way, they'll know they can't walk without having to try, and you can't pump a baby out! This could also be a great abortion pun, so let's take that extra step, shall we? You won't have to look in the mirror in the morning with that sick look in your eye like you committed a crime. It's a mound of flesh that barely has it's own heartbeat. It won't even live on it's own, so how could it be a responsibility? A very simple procedure, really. The roto rooter crawls up what looks like your bowels, sucks the cancerous tissue out of you like a farmer does his peaches, and then you're on your merry way, minus the piece of shit (I mean fleshmound). See? I fixed the abortion problem. Stop giving a fuck.
So what's ultimately bugging me are favors. The end of me will certainly involve a favor of some sort. It won't even be something cool like exploding. I'll die by doing something for someone else. What a pathetic way to go. It's time to be a little selfish and do something for myself for a damn change. Fuck humanity. Where's my cave, my bud, and my video games?
Next thing on my list is other people's business, or lack thereof. I'm really despising how programming and other revenues of entertainment for women are focused on shit. Just shit. "Becky had a new baby girl, but cannot find the real father." And then some shmuck from whogivesafuck will come play daddy. Fuck other people's business. I couldn't care less who the real father is. How about we take a look at the misshapen uterus for a change and ask a question like, "WHAT COULD POSSIBLY COMPEL YOU TO MAKE A FUCKING BABY?" Drunken women ought to bind their legs together. That way, they'll know they can't walk without having to try, and you can't pump a baby out! This could also be a great abortion pun, so let's take that extra step, shall we? You won't have to look in the mirror in the morning with that sick look in your eye like you committed a crime. It's a mound of flesh that barely has it's own heartbeat. It won't even live on it's own, so how could it be a responsibility? A very simple procedure, really. The roto rooter crawls up what looks like your bowels, sucks the cancerous tissue out of you like a farmer does his peaches, and then you're on your merry way, minus the piece of shit (I mean fleshmound). See? I fixed the abortion problem. Stop giving a fuck.
So what's ultimately bugging me are favors. The end of me will certainly involve a favor of some sort. It won't even be something cool like exploding. I'll die by doing something for someone else. What a pathetic way to go. It's time to be a little selfish and do something for myself for a damn change. Fuck humanity. Where's my cave, my bud, and my video games?