They Call Me Turd Sandwich

Last night I wrote what many would consider the perfect blog. It was informative, personal, funny and full of hate. I spent about an hour at the computer just letting random thought after random thought come pouring out on the page (I know, there's no page, but it sounds way cooler than saying "pouring out on the screen") and somehow all of these random thoughts pieced together. It was amazing. I was actually going to be proud of a blog. Blogs are fucking lame. We all know this. This one, though, was different. I'm not even sure what it was, but it was so pure somehow. I don't know. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the pain killers flowing thru my veins. Maybe it was just a perfect storm of depression, anger, hope and humor all coming together for me in that hour. Luckily, no one will ever read it because when I went to finally post it, MySpace decided to time itselt out. Doing so, it erased every letter I had written. Oddly enough, though, it seems pretty poetic now that I look back on it. That doesn't mean that I'm not pissed as hell, though. God, I just wish I still had that text. If you could read it, you would see just how poetic it was that it was erased. The vitriol that spewed forth from my fingertips was perfect in everyway. That's why it had to be destroyed.

It's a lot like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The one where the guy hates the world and all he wants to do is read and be left alone. He gets his wish when an all out atomic war happens. He comes out of a bunker to realize that he's the last man left on the planet. He ends up in the library and he starts to scream for joy. He has his books. He can live his life in bliss. Then he breaks his glasses.

That's what losing that blog is like. It's like I broke my glasses. I know that writing that stupid blog is far from me finding my ultimate happiness, but for a moment I had found my perfect outpouring of thought. Then in an instant, I broke my glasses.

Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk. I'll just have to move on.

Speaking of moving on, my bloody gash is slowly healing itself up. I'm only leaking a lot of blood instead of a shitload. That's uplifting news, right? I'm only in a lot of pain instead of a mind numbing amount. Luckily, everyone's lack of outpourting of concern for me seemed to help me heal up faster. It's amazing how people's indifference to my condition seems to make me want to survive just a little more. When I have people actually giving a shit about me, I tend to not mind if I live or die. I can't believe I'm actually that bitter that I would survive out of spite. Then again, I would almost just as easily kill myself out of spite. Gotta love that spite.

The funny thing is that I know that people are far worse off than me, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to stop thinking that I have the worst life ever. It's my right as a human being. Maybe it's just because I'm getting seriously close to asking my family to let me borrow some money to pay some bills. Not working for three weeks will seriously kill your bank account. I bought some groceries to last me the next week and I'm literally down to my last dollar. It really sucks. Since I've left home, I've never had to borrow money. Well, I have, but it's always been for a day or two until pay day. I'm not going to be getting a pay day for nearly a month. That's a long time to have to borrow money for. That's the main reason that I'm not so bummed about having to miss the NOFX show tomorrow. I can't afford to go away for the weekend. Luckily, I have a friend who's going to buy my ticket. That little bit of money will come in very handy.

Did I mention how broke I am?

Fuck VolksWagen. Fuck them to hell. Have you seen their newest shitty commercials? Some faggity fag-fag with a horribly lame German accent tries to sound all ghetto and then they destroy a shitty ghetto cruiser. Those commercials are fucking annoying. Almost as annoying as the "You're getting a Dell" commercials, but not quite. Everytime I see one of those commercials, the small hippy that lives deep in my soul that wants to own an old school VW Beetle dies a little. I want nothing to do with that company. Shitty commercials will turn me off of a company very quickly. Kick ass commercials will make me want to keep buying their product in hopes that they will make more commercials. I'm just like everyone else except I willingly let myself get brainwashed into being a consumer whore.

So, I'm giving serious thought to trying one of those online matchmaker services. Not so much because I want to find my soulmate. I don't. Granted, I want to have someone, but I don't want to be told whose perfect for me and then feel obligated to believe it. I mostly want to see if they could find a girl desperate enough to think I'm her soulmate. I think it would actually be funny.

Of course, I'm the guy that wants to make porn that stars guys with small cocks. Think about it. You're watching a porn with your wife or girlfriend and you're both getting all turned on and you whip your average size dick out and it looks HUGE in comparison to the dick on tv. How awesome of an ego boost would that be? I think it would work. I mean, who wants to pull out their tiny pud after watching a girl get split in half by a battering ram? Not me. When I watch porn I just start crying because I'm so damn small. I think my porn idea would work. Any ladies want to be in my first film? I didn't think so.

Well, I'm going to leave now. My wrists are starting to hurt. Hopefully I'll get carpal tunnel syndrome so I'll have yet another thing that's wrong with me. Should be fun.

Fuck Me. Fuck You.