Some extra baggage.
So the furnace is busted, leaving us no choice but to perpetually leave the oven door open for warmth. But guess what our electric bill is? $50! Hell yeah.
I figured I'd share that useless anecdote before I proceed to BITCH and MOAN and OH MY GOD JEN YOU ARE SO NEGATIVE. TSK TSK LITTLE LADY, YOU SHOULD BE JIZZING ALL OVER HOT ITALIAN PUSSY INSTEAD! BAH GAWD! JIM ROSS HAS A FAMILY, DON'T DO IT VINCE! BAH GAWD!
Cutting right to the chase. Myspace idiots. Does every dingleberry on the face of the earth have to have a "Myspace", the haven for intellectually devoid sycophants that bore Jesus to tears with their slow-lagging botched-HTML complex layouts and e-dry humping other camwhores (translation: "I call other people ugly, but I still contrast my pictures until you can't see my nose")? They're either posing awkwardly with a stiletto boot shoved up their own ass, or the camera quality is so godawful (read: webcams / cellphones) that the grainy texture masks their unsightly flab and rippling cellulite. I've noticed a peculiar pattern of euphemisms on Myspace "body types" as well.
Apparently... Fat = "More to love!"
Please, just own the word "fat". Using these hideous euphemisms just gives the original word it's demonizing power. There's nothing wrong with thicker builds, I find them more attractive. Just stop trying to be cute about it. It isn't working.
And if you've put on a few pounds from gluttony, no worries! Just select your body type as "athletic". Nobody will know the difference. Except for persnickety individuals such as myself, of course. But as long as people recieve lavish compliments from their online buddies (4 people they actually know, 106 people that they vehemently despise yet add them for more online publicity, and random industrial band-geeks with shitty logos), their ego remains sugarcoated in rainbow unicorn ejaculation.
And since we're all in agreement about Myspace idiots, can I address another sexual issue?
69. WTF.
I mean, of all the inconveniant things in practice that overhyped in fantasy. Let's face it people. You can't ejaculate to your fullest utopia without gnawwing someone's clit off in the process. Doing both at once is like driving to the store when you're trying to fill up the gas tank from a moving truck. Certainly, it may look dandy when two misshapenly augmented Swank Magazine femmes engage in feigned cunnilingus, but the resulting back and scrotul pain is really not worth the effort. Which leads me to, you guessed it, BDSM! How many dipshits you know actually engage in such a trite process? Bondage to me is leaving somebody locked in a cellar for four days without food or water, serrated pole up the ass optional, of course. From what I've gathered from these faggoths (not a typo), it's supposed to be more "psychological" than "sexual", right? Well, then, don't be a half-assed psycho dammit. That's like wanting to be black but scared to go to the ghetto! Don't follow the herd children. Especially when the herd is going straight off a cliff.
It's not a fetish unless it's psychosis. Otherwise it's some candy-coated "I'm kinky" ordeal. And lord knows that I'm disgusted with chicks that tell me to burst blood vessels in their nipples with my teeth.
One more topic. It's obvious - death is a drag. We've all been through it before. But what can you really, truly say to someone in pain? There's nothing that can undo the bandages, rewind the circumstances, and bring the solace back to their thirsty lips. The bereaved remain plateaued no matter how many words of wisdom you whisper. There is no way to make everything alright, so why bother talking? Just listen to them, stop quoting them bumper stickers.
Just makes you all the more irritated that whiney middle class kids mistake their natural hormones for being "borderline" or "mentally fucked". People build up the 'tragedy' of their situation in their own minds, negative thoughts reinforce themselves and then turn to chemicals that rarely help or give them seizures. But hey, that gives them a real problem to complain about, so praise the chemists for their delicious sense of humor. Once you realize you're in control of 95% of what goes on in your life, you worry less about such petty trivialities. I don't worry when I drive my own car, I only worry when I'm in the back seat of someone else's. Pick your battles, angst worms. Let it seep in, that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. But it still doesn't hurt to chew some valerian root.
And please, for the love of god. No matter how much you try to console someone, they always refuse and prefer to relish in their attention starved angst. So please, nimrods, instead of talking to me, go carve poetry into your ballsack instead. It'll save me another proffering of advice that you're never going to listen to anyway.
I figured I'd share that useless anecdote before I proceed to BITCH and MOAN and OH MY GOD JEN YOU ARE SO NEGATIVE. TSK TSK LITTLE LADY, YOU SHOULD BE JIZZING ALL OVER HOT ITALIAN PUSSY INSTEAD! BAH GAWD! JIM ROSS HAS A FAMILY, DON'T DO IT VINCE! BAH GAWD!
Cutting right to the chase. Myspace idiots. Does every dingleberry on the face of the earth have to have a "Myspace", the haven for intellectually devoid sycophants that bore Jesus to tears with their slow-lagging botched-HTML complex layouts and e-dry humping other camwhores (translation: "I call other people ugly, but I still contrast my pictures until you can't see my nose")? They're either posing awkwardly with a stiletto boot shoved up their own ass, or the camera quality is so godawful (read: webcams / cellphones) that the grainy texture masks their unsightly flab and rippling cellulite. I've noticed a peculiar pattern of euphemisms on Myspace "body types" as well.
Apparently... Fat = "More to love!"
Please, just own the word "fat". Using these hideous euphemisms just gives the original word it's demonizing power. There's nothing wrong with thicker builds, I find them more attractive. Just stop trying to be cute about it. It isn't working.
And if you've put on a few pounds from gluttony, no worries! Just select your body type as "athletic". Nobody will know the difference. Except for persnickety individuals such as myself, of course. But as long as people recieve lavish compliments from their online buddies (4 people they actually know, 106 people that they vehemently despise yet add them for more online publicity, and random industrial band-geeks with shitty logos), their ego remains sugarcoated in rainbow unicorn ejaculation.
And since we're all in agreement about Myspace idiots, can I address another sexual issue?
69. WTF.
I mean, of all the inconveniant things in practice that overhyped in fantasy. Let's face it people. You can't ejaculate to your fullest utopia without gnawwing someone's clit off in the process. Doing both at once is like driving to the store when you're trying to fill up the gas tank from a moving truck. Certainly, it may look dandy when two misshapenly augmented Swank Magazine femmes engage in feigned cunnilingus, but the resulting back and scrotul pain is really not worth the effort. Which leads me to, you guessed it, BDSM! How many dipshits you know actually engage in such a trite process? Bondage to me is leaving somebody locked in a cellar for four days without food or water, serrated pole up the ass optional, of course. From what I've gathered from these faggoths (not a typo), it's supposed to be more "psychological" than "sexual", right? Well, then, don't be a half-assed psycho dammit. That's like wanting to be black but scared to go to the ghetto! Don't follow the herd children. Especially when the herd is going straight off a cliff.
It's not a fetish unless it's psychosis. Otherwise it's some candy-coated "I'm kinky" ordeal. And lord knows that I'm disgusted with chicks that tell me to burst blood vessels in their nipples with my teeth.
One more topic. It's obvious - death is a drag. We've all been through it before. But what can you really, truly say to someone in pain? There's nothing that can undo the bandages, rewind the circumstances, and bring the solace back to their thirsty lips. The bereaved remain plateaued no matter how many words of wisdom you whisper. There is no way to make everything alright, so why bother talking? Just listen to them, stop quoting them bumper stickers.
Just makes you all the more irritated that whiney middle class kids mistake their natural hormones for being "borderline" or "mentally fucked". People build up the 'tragedy' of their situation in their own minds, negative thoughts reinforce themselves and then turn to chemicals that rarely help or give them seizures. But hey, that gives them a real problem to complain about, so praise the chemists for their delicious sense of humor. Once you realize you're in control of 95% of what goes on in your life, you worry less about such petty trivialities. I don't worry when I drive my own car, I only worry when I'm in the back seat of someone else's. Pick your battles, angst worms. Let it seep in, that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. But it still doesn't hurt to chew some valerian root.
And please, for the love of god. No matter how much you try to console someone, they always refuse and prefer to relish in their attention starved angst. So please, nimrods, instead of talking to me, go carve poetry into your ballsack instead. It'll save me another proffering of advice that you're never going to listen to anyway.