Someone Ate My Parking Ticket!
You know what?
No?
Good, because I don't either!
What?
Nothing has changed... well... a lot of things have probably changed in the time it takes to type this sentence, including the odds of my getting a decent night's sleep, but the point is that I still don't know!
Folks, this is what citizen journalism is all about! It's about completely unprofessional people telling you important stuff! I think within the last two
sentences I've proven myself unprofessional enough to make up for a lot of less interesting people, and I definitely have important stuff to tell you.
Like what? I think I've been brainwashed. Spending all of last night frantically finishing that 1800 word essay I only started, um, yesterday… yeah, I can see the looks on your faces. That can't have been good for me.
But assignments are easy, really, if you approach them journalistically. "Press home your point," they say. "Make sure the audience, which consists mostly of unbelievably stupid people, knows what you're talking about. Keep it simple." Oh, and make sure you don't end up trying to write the thing in 24 hours, it really doesn't work all that well.
Unbelievably stupid? Hmmm, that doesn't say much for citizen journalism, does it. In fact, it doesn't really say much for me, either, as leaving such a crucially important piece of assessment to the last day really is just as unbelievably stupid as everyone thinks it is, even when you're believably unstupid like me.
... Not that I was really trying to say much for citizen journalism, or anything. I mean, come on! I've only been a blogger for three years. It's an excellent way to avoid things I know I really should be doing. As for my own unstupidity, that's probably debatable, but we'll leave that for later.
I should probably be a bit careful about what I say here, especially when it comes to journalism, as I seem to be advertising this blog quite
a lot as proof that I'm actually capable of doing something. What form of something this is I'm not entirely sure. Entries like this do not help my situation.
They do not make me look clever. A blog whose latest post has the word ejaculate in it, used completely out of context, is probably not good for my resume. Oh, wait, I haven't said that yet? Damn, now it's there twice, and it's even less relevant the first time… or was it the second? I don't know! Wow, I can't even count backward; I am officially not going to make a very good prostitute… just in case you hadn't already figured that out.
Is this really important?
It's not depressing. Anything that doesn't make people miserable is important. Journalism has this irritating habit of making life seem like a bit of a lost cause.
I think I'm too trivial and petty to be journalistic. This is important... to me.
But I'm supposed to be trying anyway. Uh… to be journalistic, that is.
Facts. to be journalistic, I need facts. Where do I get facts? I quote people! Important people! Right, right, ok, here we go.
"Snoopy is a dog, and so is my face... Eat about it!" (Aacacia Rose, sometime or other)
That was new, and definitely interesting. What she has to say is important to her, and she would seem to know what she's talking about...
Hmm. I don't think I know what I'm talking about.
Can I sleep now? For a very long time? Please?
Hide your government in a spoonful of sugar, watch the cows come by as the dish transmits power to the people. Because right now, the world is asleep, and quietly snoring at the stars. Humanity will never achieve its full potential, for sleep dreams you to happiness, and happiness is an unfortunate result of humanity's unbelievable stupidity. Happiness generates energy and energy generates creativity, thus happiness is necessary, as is the ignorance and selfishness that spawns it. Happiness is a catalyst for creativity; creativity is a by-product of intelligence. Thus all the most unique and useful capacities of which we are so proud are the ones that limit us most, make us dreamers rather than achievers. Really, we're just a bunch of shiny happy selfish stupid… mammals. Holding hands. And none of us are going to get anywhere. Ever!
What?
I don't know!
No, really! What? I think I just said something interesting, but I was stoned and I missed it.
This is getting… somewhat scrambled.
A bit like my laptop. Aah, the tragic tragedy of it all. Poor K9. Digital Schizophrenia is much more fun!
One could postulate, of course, that if said K9 were a cleverer laptop it would probably associate what it is currently going through with some form of mental disorder.
Aah, but if it were a cleverer machine, it wouldn't be so stupid as to allow the accidental loss of very important faculties, such as userinit.exe and rundll32.exe. Even people who don't know anything should know that those are very necessary. Why doesn't it realize that? Why?
Well, I guess it does now. I guess humans suffer from mental disorders too, because the entire problem was actually my fault, for running far too ruthless a scan.
What's that called? Unbelievable stupidity or humanity?
Both. But I still maintain that if I had set K9 up myself then this whole thing wouldn't have happened in the first place.
In other words, it's still my fault, because I didn't.
…But that's beside the point. Let's move on.
What point?
That Thursdays are bad for you, because I have nothing more profound to say.
Well, actually they're not entirely bad for you, in this case. This Thursday marks the birthday of one Jack (how drunk do I have to be before I can admit it) Murphy. I'll be attending his birthday bash on Saturday night, which should be quite interesting. Half of it also failed to mark the birthday of nick6489 because time zones do that to you, but the mighty cheese left a cheesy mark on his wall as it sang its cheesy song.
Thursday did, however, present the obligatory tragedies that always decide to present themselves on such non-occasions… well, at least, they do when I plan to write about them.
Maybe that's why I stopped. Seems stupid to doom a whole 24 hours for the sake of a thousand words about wild honey pie.
And yet, here I am, with an entry, on Thursday…
I think I chose to do this because I knew that this particular Thursday was going to be difficult to enjoy anyway due to my procrastination.
Procrastination is a very bad thing! Very very bad! Its bacterial presence, upon having taken possession of your common sense, is incredibly difficult to ejaculate.
What?
Oh, wow, I said ejaculate, again!
My mission is accomplished. My readers are out of their misery. Can I sleep now?
Wait. I hadn't finished talking about Thursday yet.
Thursdays aren't bad, they're just boring! I didn't get a minute of sleep all night, and from that one can get a pretty good picture of the day that resulted. I handed in the assignment that was the cause of this self-inflicted mental mutilation without anything terrible happening. In said assignment, I had to choose a "creative practitioner" to be my "dream mentor".
Like…Hugh Hefner!
Uh, no, we already covered that. I choseNeil Gaimaninstead, as despiterecent accusations,he is, as far as everyone but Mad Larry knows, ejaculatorially stable. This gave me a good excuse to procrastinate by reading Neverwhere, because it was supposedly essential to the furtherance of my education. Unfortunately the world was a lot more sensible than I, and thus a disc was damaged. This stopped me in my tracks and I was forced to… find other methods of procrastination.
Having handed in the essay about him, I decided that it was only fair that I should now get to finish the book.
But then the aliens landed and the Gods emerged and the Fairies stole all the copies of Neverwhere in Australia and fed them to C.S. Louis's reanimated corpse as it rose from its grave. And somehow, somewhere, a monkey fell out of a tree, and realized that there was some groovy stuff way down there worth checking out. In its mouth was a banana, and the caption above it said "Google".
What?
I don't know!
I really need sleep!
I can't believe I've just had this conversation with myself!
I can't either!
Oh well.
Snore!
What?
No?
Good, because I don't either!
What?
Nothing has changed... well... a lot of things have probably changed in the time it takes to type this sentence, including the odds of my getting a decent night's sleep, but the point is that I still don't know!
Folks, this is what citizen journalism is all about! It's about completely unprofessional people telling you important stuff! I think within the last two
sentences I've proven myself unprofessional enough to make up for a lot of less interesting people, and I definitely have important stuff to tell you.
Like what? I think I've been brainwashed. Spending all of last night frantically finishing that 1800 word essay I only started, um, yesterday… yeah, I can see the looks on your faces. That can't have been good for me.
But assignments are easy, really, if you approach them journalistically. "Press home your point," they say. "Make sure the audience, which consists mostly of unbelievably stupid people, knows what you're talking about. Keep it simple." Oh, and make sure you don't end up trying to write the thing in 24 hours, it really doesn't work all that well.
Unbelievably stupid? Hmmm, that doesn't say much for citizen journalism, does it. In fact, it doesn't really say much for me, either, as leaving such a crucially important piece of assessment to the last day really is just as unbelievably stupid as everyone thinks it is, even when you're believably unstupid like me.
... Not that I was really trying to say much for citizen journalism, or anything. I mean, come on! I've only been a blogger for three years. It's an excellent way to avoid things I know I really should be doing. As for my own unstupidity, that's probably debatable, but we'll leave that for later.
I should probably be a bit careful about what I say here, especially when it comes to journalism, as I seem to be advertising this blog quite
a lot as proof that I'm actually capable of doing something. What form of something this is I'm not entirely sure. Entries like this do not help my situation.
They do not make me look clever. A blog whose latest post has the word ejaculate in it, used completely out of context, is probably not good for my resume. Oh, wait, I haven't said that yet? Damn, now it's there twice, and it's even less relevant the first time… or was it the second? I don't know! Wow, I can't even count backward; I am officially not going to make a very good prostitute… just in case you hadn't already figured that out.
Is this really important?
It's not depressing. Anything that doesn't make people miserable is important. Journalism has this irritating habit of making life seem like a bit of a lost cause.
I think I'm too trivial and petty to be journalistic. This is important... to me.
But I'm supposed to be trying anyway. Uh… to be journalistic, that is.
Facts. to be journalistic, I need facts. Where do I get facts? I quote people! Important people! Right, right, ok, here we go.
"Snoopy is a dog, and so is my face... Eat about it!" (Aacacia Rose, sometime or other)
That was new, and definitely interesting. What she has to say is important to her, and she would seem to know what she's talking about...
Hmm. I don't think I know what I'm talking about.
Can I sleep now? For a very long time? Please?
Hide your government in a spoonful of sugar, watch the cows come by as the dish transmits power to the people. Because right now, the world is asleep, and quietly snoring at the stars. Humanity will never achieve its full potential, for sleep dreams you to happiness, and happiness is an unfortunate result of humanity's unbelievable stupidity. Happiness generates energy and energy generates creativity, thus happiness is necessary, as is the ignorance and selfishness that spawns it. Happiness is a catalyst for creativity; creativity is a by-product of intelligence. Thus all the most unique and useful capacities of which we are so proud are the ones that limit us most, make us dreamers rather than achievers. Really, we're just a bunch of shiny happy selfish stupid… mammals. Holding hands. And none of us are going to get anywhere. Ever!
What?
I don't know!
No, really! What? I think I just said something interesting, but I was stoned and I missed it.
This is getting… somewhat scrambled.
A bit like my laptop. Aah, the tragic tragedy of it all. Poor K9. Digital Schizophrenia is much more fun!
One could postulate, of course, that if said K9 were a cleverer laptop it would probably associate what it is currently going through with some form of mental disorder.
Aah, but if it were a cleverer machine, it wouldn't be so stupid as to allow the accidental loss of very important faculties, such as userinit.exe and rundll32.exe. Even people who don't know anything should know that those are very necessary. Why doesn't it realize that? Why?
Well, I guess it does now. I guess humans suffer from mental disorders too, because the entire problem was actually my fault, for running far too ruthless a scan.
What's that called? Unbelievable stupidity or humanity?
Both. But I still maintain that if I had set K9 up myself then this whole thing wouldn't have happened in the first place.
In other words, it's still my fault, because I didn't.
…But that's beside the point. Let's move on.
What point?
That Thursdays are bad for you, because I have nothing more profound to say.
Well, actually they're not entirely bad for you, in this case. This Thursday marks the birthday of one Jack (how drunk do I have to be before I can admit it) Murphy. I'll be attending his birthday bash on Saturday night, which should be quite interesting. Half of it also failed to mark the birthday of nick6489 because time zones do that to you, but the mighty cheese left a cheesy mark on his wall as it sang its cheesy song.
Thursday did, however, present the obligatory tragedies that always decide to present themselves on such non-occasions… well, at least, they do when I plan to write about them.
Maybe that's why I stopped. Seems stupid to doom a whole 24 hours for the sake of a thousand words about wild honey pie.
And yet, here I am, with an entry, on Thursday…
I think I chose to do this because I knew that this particular Thursday was going to be difficult to enjoy anyway due to my procrastination.
Procrastination is a very bad thing! Very very bad! Its bacterial presence, upon having taken possession of your common sense, is incredibly difficult to ejaculate.
What?
Oh, wow, I said ejaculate, again!
My mission is accomplished. My readers are out of their misery. Can I sleep now?
Wait. I hadn't finished talking about Thursday yet.
Thursdays aren't bad, they're just boring! I didn't get a minute of sleep all night, and from that one can get a pretty good picture of the day that resulted. I handed in the assignment that was the cause of this self-inflicted mental mutilation without anything terrible happening. In said assignment, I had to choose a "creative practitioner" to be my "dream mentor".
Like…Hugh Hefner!
Uh, no, we already covered that. I choseNeil Gaimaninstead, as despiterecent accusations,he is, as far as everyone but Mad Larry knows, ejaculatorially stable. This gave me a good excuse to procrastinate by reading Neverwhere, because it was supposedly essential to the furtherance of my education. Unfortunately the world was a lot more sensible than I, and thus a disc was damaged. This stopped me in my tracks and I was forced to… find other methods of procrastination.
Having handed in the essay about him, I decided that it was only fair that I should now get to finish the book.
But then the aliens landed and the Gods emerged and the Fairies stole all the copies of Neverwhere in Australia and fed them to C.S. Louis's reanimated corpse as it rose from its grave. And somehow, somewhere, a monkey fell out of a tree, and realized that there was some groovy stuff way down there worth checking out. In its mouth was a banana, and the caption above it said "Google".
What?
I don't know!
I really need sleep!
I can't believe I've just had this conversation with myself!
I can't either!
Oh well.
Snore!
What?