(no subject)
Nobody takes me seriously. Case in point.
I despise talking about serious topics as they tend to depress me. I will at all costs avoid any conversations revolving around politics, work, academics, the economy, religion and beauty products. It’s not that I’m ignorant about these topics (especially beauty products), it’s just that I’d rather get headbutted in the nuts by a midget than discuss risk management strategies. If this happens to be the topic at hand, I’ll stay mute until an opportunity presents itself for a non-sequitur, a snide comment or a crude sexual allusion. At this point, people either stop to laugh, shake their heads or punch me in the face.
The bright side is that most conversations I enter invariably sink down to my level. It amuses me to no end getting 45 year old business men in suits to start talking about anal penetration. Then my plan becomes to see how low I can actually bring the banter. If I can get them to come all the way down to DVDA, my job is done.
Obviously, there are people to whom I have to give a good impression such as potential employers, family friends and my new dominatrix. For the first couple of weeks I’m capable of maintaining a serious façade, but inevitably, one day they start talking about risk management. Of course there is never a midget around at that moment to headbutt me, so instead I’ll blurt out something retarded about augmenting a chick’s assets. It’s all downhill from there.
Did I ever tell you the one about the colon and the jar of mayo?
Eventually, people’s minds equate me with the village idiot from old Irish novels. Considering I drink during most of my free time, that association sadly isn’t too far off. As soon as I actually say something intelligent, people look at me funny, half expecting me to end my sentence with ‘cock’ in order to stay true to form.
This journal is no different. I actually have to keep up this semi-retarded, irreverent persona in order to entertain a bunch of people I don’t even know. So far in this blog, I’ve talked about tards getting stuck in toilets, walking the dog with my dick out, blow up doll river raft racing, diddling stable boys and jerking off while hung over. I don’t know how much longer I can do this shit. I just want to be respected as a normal member of society.
Cock.
I despise talking about serious topics as they tend to depress me. I will at all costs avoid any conversations revolving around politics, work, academics, the economy, religion and beauty products. It’s not that I’m ignorant about these topics (especially beauty products), it’s just that I’d rather get headbutted in the nuts by a midget than discuss risk management strategies. If this happens to be the topic at hand, I’ll stay mute until an opportunity presents itself for a non-sequitur, a snide comment or a crude sexual allusion. At this point, people either stop to laugh, shake their heads or punch me in the face.
The bright side is that most conversations I enter invariably sink down to my level. It amuses me to no end getting 45 year old business men in suits to start talking about anal penetration. Then my plan becomes to see how low I can actually bring the banter. If I can get them to come all the way down to DVDA, my job is done.
Obviously, there are people to whom I have to give a good impression such as potential employers, family friends and my new dominatrix. For the first couple of weeks I’m capable of maintaining a serious façade, but inevitably, one day they start talking about risk management. Of course there is never a midget around at that moment to headbutt me, so instead I’ll blurt out something retarded about augmenting a chick’s assets. It’s all downhill from there.
Did I ever tell you the one about the colon and the jar of mayo?
Eventually, people’s minds equate me with the village idiot from old Irish novels. Considering I drink during most of my free time, that association sadly isn’t too far off. As soon as I actually say something intelligent, people look at me funny, half expecting me to end my sentence with ‘cock’ in order to stay true to form.
This journal is no different. I actually have to keep up this semi-retarded, irreverent persona in order to entertain a bunch of people I don’t even know. So far in this blog, I’ve talked about tards getting stuck in toilets, walking the dog with my dick out, blow up doll river raft racing, diddling stable boys and jerking off while hung over. I don’t know how much longer I can do this shit. I just want to be respected as a normal member of society.
Cock.