(no subject)
lockedinaroom86 (3:52:09 AM): i'm on an apple right now
lockedinaroom86 (3:52:13 AM): it's very annoying
lockedinaroom86 (3:52:24 AM): everytime i recieve an instant message, it tells me so
lockedinaroom86 (3:52:36 AM): in a really creepy voice
JeffIsAnIrish (3:56:00 AM): awesome
JeffIsAnIrish (3:56:06 AM): what does it tell you when you download porn
lockedinaroom86 (3:56:21 AM): it tells me that i'm going to hell
lockedinaroom86 (3:56:31 AM): and that what i'm doing is a sin
lockedinaroom86 (3:56:54 AM): but that that shouldn't stop me from expressing myself
lockedinaroom86 (3:57:07 AM): all over the keyboard
JeffIsAnIrish (3:57:23 AM): hahahahaha
Oh, mindless narcissist exhibitionism. So much of the internet.
The sight of the voice's owner quickly convinced me that he was no relation of mine. His hair was gray and stuck out in various directions; he looked a little a deciduous tree in winter wearing a baseball cap.
"Hey brother!" he continued as he extended what appeared to be a knarled and relatively clean hand. "Why're you so down?"
"Who, me?" He shook my own hand vigorously in the manner that is customary to our society.
"Yeah, you sir! You're walkin' along, staring at the ground like it's the end of the world comin'! What's so great about that there sidewalk beneath your feet! Look at the what's around you, man!"
Generally I don't like to make judgments about people's appearance; it strikes me as a bit shallow. But judging by this man's appearance--his tattered Van Halen sweatshirt, his bedraggled Burkenstocks, his jeans that would've sold for a lot more money if they'd been initially manufactured in the their current state--I thought I knew where this was going. Nonetheless, I decided to see just what I was missing by keeping my cigarette dry. Crumbling buildings stood stolidly over cracked sidewalks and housed the occaisonal beauty salon, music store, bar, coffee house, or pub. Small businesses stared at each other and into the haphazardly-painted empty shells of their former neighbors. Clouds hung low and suggested that the falling competitions held regularly by its watery denizens was regaining its popularity. Cars slid by and whispered loudly on the wet streets. Somehow I didn't feel like I was missing much.
"It's all right, I guess. But I wasn't feeling really down at all; I was just trying to keep my cigarette dry." I wondered if he'd heard the semicolon.
"Oh I see there." He looked at the brown and white stick of burning leaves in my hand. Then his eyes lit up. "Hey brother," he said again. "You want a real cigarette? I got 'em right here. And I'm good, you know."
I thought about asking him what it was he was good at, but then I thought I might not like the answer. "No, thanks. This one's treating me just fine. I--"
"Nah, brother, nah!" He nudged me more times than was necessary. "I'm good, y'see." Rolling up his sleeve, he quickly revealed a detailed tattoo of a leaf with which I am all too familiar.
Uhh. Yeah. Enjoy, I guess.
lockedinaroom86 (3:52:13 AM): it's very annoying
lockedinaroom86 (3:52:24 AM): everytime i recieve an instant message, it tells me so
lockedinaroom86 (3:52:36 AM): in a really creepy voice
JeffIsAnIrish (3:56:00 AM): awesome
JeffIsAnIrish (3:56:06 AM): what does it tell you when you download porn
lockedinaroom86 (3:56:21 AM): it tells me that i'm going to hell
lockedinaroom86 (3:56:31 AM): and that what i'm doing is a sin
lockedinaroom86 (3:56:54 AM): but that that shouldn't stop me from expressing myself
lockedinaroom86 (3:57:07 AM): all over the keyboard
JeffIsAnIrish (3:57:23 AM): hahahahaha
Oh, mindless narcissist exhibitionism. So much of the internet.
The sight of the voice's owner quickly convinced me that he was no relation of mine. His hair was gray and stuck out in various directions; he looked a little a deciduous tree in winter wearing a baseball cap.
"Hey brother!" he continued as he extended what appeared to be a knarled and relatively clean hand. "Why're you so down?"
"Who, me?" He shook my own hand vigorously in the manner that is customary to our society.
"Yeah, you sir! You're walkin' along, staring at the ground like it's the end of the world comin'! What's so great about that there sidewalk beneath your feet! Look at the what's around you, man!"
Generally I don't like to make judgments about people's appearance; it strikes me as a bit shallow. But judging by this man's appearance--his tattered Van Halen sweatshirt, his bedraggled Burkenstocks, his jeans that would've sold for a lot more money if they'd been initially manufactured in the their current state--I thought I knew where this was going. Nonetheless, I decided to see just what I was missing by keeping my cigarette dry. Crumbling buildings stood stolidly over cracked sidewalks and housed the occaisonal beauty salon, music store, bar, coffee house, or pub. Small businesses stared at each other and into the haphazardly-painted empty shells of their former neighbors. Clouds hung low and suggested that the falling competitions held regularly by its watery denizens was regaining its popularity. Cars slid by and whispered loudly on the wet streets. Somehow I didn't feel like I was missing much.
"It's all right, I guess. But I wasn't feeling really down at all; I was just trying to keep my cigarette dry." I wondered if he'd heard the semicolon.
"Oh I see there." He looked at the brown and white stick of burning leaves in my hand. Then his eyes lit up. "Hey brother," he said again. "You want a real cigarette? I got 'em right here. And I'm good, you know."
I thought about asking him what it was he was good at, but then I thought I might not like the answer. "No, thanks. This one's treating me just fine. I--"
"Nah, brother, nah!" He nudged me more times than was necessary. "I'm good, y'see." Rolling up his sleeve, he quickly revealed a detailed tattoo of a leaf with which I am all too familiar.
Uhh. Yeah. Enjoy, I guess.