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BULLSHIT

RANTS, RAVES, & BLATANT CRIES FOR HELP


SKATEBOARD NEWS: still bad at it. haven't really touched it since that ill-fated day with that guy from college, and the weather's been straight dookie ever since. perhaps i'll give it a shot when my sister's fucked off back to uni, and can move the kitchen furniture around to practise in there during these wintersome months. frankly, I just wanna be able to cruise around, but even that's kind of a stupid idea, as there's nowhere to cruise in my vicinity. I hate cars.


my tenure at ye old CHARITY SHOP has come to a boring, boring end. I told one of the assmans that i'd be coming back to college this week, and due to the new rotating schedule, wouldn't have a consistent free day to come volunteer at. many (0) tears were shed. nothing ever came of the cafe idea: I did a couple weeks where i'd come in on wednesday, and all I did was wash dishes for five hours solid. maybe i'll return to the life of a dishwasher when there's money in it, but until that day, I think i'll give that kinda shit a rest. at the start of the summer, I had so many ideas on how fun it'd be to hang out up in the stock room, or take orders at the cafe, and none of that came to fruition. it was simply just O.K., and perhaps when I have time, i'll go back and sort clothes for them again.


ANOTHER NEW VEGAS EXCLUSIVE POST: mr house is my preferred choice for the mojave, if only because I know that i'd fucking hate having to run vegas by myself in a yes man ending, and I do quite like the idea of being the man's trophy courier, living my life in luxury. most people object to house's ending due to the austerity he enforces duirng the ending slides, but I refuse to believe that the courier, after singlehandedly winning the war for the guy, would just sit back and let house take the wheel after that without any objections. especially if house were to be gently reminded that you could just walk into his containment chamber and crack that bitch open, should the corpse man get too zesty.


CHARITY SHOP UPDATE: a whiteboard has sprung up in the break room labelled "trends 2021". it's the saddest thing I think i've seen all summer, and I love it. pasted onto said whiteboard are a bunch of catwalk "casual" looks. somebody's scrawled "crop tops ?" on one of the photos. I really ought to step in and tell one of the assistant managers (as there are, in deed, no actual managers as of late,) what the youngsters and the youthsters and the youngunsters are really into these days or whatever, but they'd take my word as gospel, and I really can't resist fucking with people when they really want to believe me. in recent weeks, the assitant managers (or the assmans, as it'd be funnier to call them,) have been hellbent on having me work the cafe. their line of reasoning is that, upon seeing a fellow hip and trendy coolkid serving up coffees, that those inscrutable youths will come flooding in, knowing the shop is totally for them. I would love to do it, personally, but only because it would mostly be me standing around looking pretty, occasionally making an awful coffee, and hopefully drawing grotesque charicatures of all the old people i'm serving. oh, what a life that'd be!


discussion for what everyone wants to do for my birthday is springing up again. every suggestion seems to exclusively function as a way for everyone else not to be bummed out on the day. this year i'm not going to humour their need for validation in the form of false excitement: i'll just go to birmingham alone for the day. they'll protest, insist I have a birthday meal in the house, insist they escort me there, insist that I conjure up friends to go with me, but all three of these concepts are grotesque and simply not fucking fit for my birthday. i'd like to feel genuine anticipation for my birthday this year, for once.


if you peek inside my mind it's just that bit from metalocalypse where knubbler has some pop rocks n coke on repeat (until I die)


holy shit, italy just scored or some crazy business, everyone's gonna go nuclear. spectating the sheer lengths of bullshit footie fans go through on match day is infinitely more entertaining itself, honest to god. aside from this statement possibly aging horribly tomorrow morning, where news will break of at least one football-related death, the only downside I can imagine is having to deal with the inane conversations tomorrow where every middle-aged woman is gonna be tutting & tching about how nobody was wearing masks during the ensuing terrible riots. football's coming home maybe, who cares, I hope something funny happens. cam on engerland. scor. sam. facking. goals. (as I type this, I can hear the constant low murmur of spectators from the streets. an ambulance has sounded off in the distance. my proximity to the city center is a blessing.) (ADDENDUM: children have already been punched. this entry ages by the second.)


I hate tarot reading, because I hate deluding myself into believing the cards are actually telling me dick about the future. they're right too often.


I feel like i've swallowed glass. further updates to come.


finally got out on the skateboard with a character I knew from college. went kind of shit, never gonna skate with other people again. too much minding his pace and keeping out of his way. I feel like i'm at a definite crossroads here, where I can either continue my foolhardy pursuit of other people, or completely regress into the isolated nutjob who's just chilling within me. bodes poorly for the future.


FUUUUUUCK ME. jesus christ, I haven't had a nightmare in time, and last night I had a dream that I was pregnant and throwing up the baby. fucking wretched. repulsive. rancid. I kept repeating the whole time "I don't want this baby"- NO SHIT.


this is a reminder to myself to wake up before my sister and blast my own music before she gets a chance to play HER music out loud and shit up the air. I tend not to play my shit aloud, i'm too self aware that not everyone's gonna appreciate Your Favorite Martian's greatest hits and all that other crap I listen to, but drastic measures must be taken in such dire times. if I hear any more harry styles indie-derivative non-problematic gnc-pandering softboy aesthetic folk pop followed up by that one song about the midnight toker i'm gonna dig my own grave, and wait for god to smite me down for my hubris.


so i'm volunteering at a local charity-type shop this summer, which is all fine dandy right, but all of the older staff seem convinced that i'm very much in the loop with what the youth demographic wants. no matter how much I try and convince them that I my finger is very much off the pulse, and only on the pulse when I want to make fun of the latest flavour of the month, they insist that i'm some sort of wild trendy kid who knows what's what, and that my mere presence and knowhow will attract other fellow trendoids or something. the problem is as follows: 1- the teenagers who thrift are already thrifting. you'll scarcely convince anyone who isn't already in this circle to join it as soon as they have their own idea of what archetype they oughta be falling into, and are aware that they can buy their social group's uniform off the internet for slave labour prices. 2- at least 80% of the gains that get brought in are from dieting middle-aged women. nowhere is there a teen who wants to dress like a dieting middle-aged woman. 3- even if we suddenly recieved an influx of the trendiest duds to fall out of the local tiktok scene, I sure as hell wouldn't be able to tell what would be considered good wearin's. if ever there were a situation that doesn't bode well, it's this one.


THIS POST IS FOR FALLOUT NEW VEGAS PLAYERS ONLY. IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED IT, FAIR ENOUGH, BUT THIS SHIT IS ABOUT TO BE NIGH INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO THE COMMON MAN. so why the fuck does everyone sleep on our lord & saviour raul alfonso tejada, huh??? why does everyone all but shit themselves over how much they'd fuck charon & hancock, and yet the superior ghoul companion is suspiciously absent from their thirst. (this question is highly rhetorical, we all know why he gets ignored. we truly do indeed live in a society.) cannot for the life of me believe that joshua "filibuster" graham is more recognised as waifu material than raul is. sure, my man's quest is fucking busted, but have you also considered that you're, perhaps, a little bitch and everything he says is solid gold? this man has been through some fucking TIMES, and through your adventures with him you can convince the guy that he has unconditional value no matter what he chooses to make of himself. heart. goddamn. warming.


i'd like to form a coalition of all the red & black themed sites here, for the pure reason that I think it'd be funny if we all competed to see who was the edgiest cunt knocking about. I would get knocked out in the low tiers, because I have an affinity for hearts and love that lacks some sort of dark psychological undertone. one black heart does not yandere make. it would be doubly funny if I were to have some sort of horrible mental breakdown down the line, and the shrinks or doctors or whatever began citing this site as evidence that my issues were far more deep-seated than they thought. (naturally, this would put me right back in the edgy competition, bringing shit full-circle.)


jesus fucking christ, I wish people knew how to dress. before you get all riled up like "bro august that's not cool man some people can't AFFORD to dress nice :\\\", shut up. i'm broke as shit, and yet I leave the house every day looking like god's gift to aesthetic. it's like everyone's forgotten that secondhand clothes exist outside of the grotesque art student realm, and instantly assume that if you're buying second hand, it's from some dope on depop who's selling charity shop picks at an outrageous price. fuuuuuuck that. you simply gotta outfox those bastards and beat them at their own foul game. learn to do some basic sewing, too: simple adjustments to your shit can take a shirt you hate to a shirt you'd date. even if you don't have a machine, it's worth knowing how to ladder stitch by hand to help fix busted seams. godspeed.


last year, my friend dee mailed me a skateboard all the way from america, and ever since, it's been sitting in the corner of my room, mocking me, like the wooden bastard it is. it's not like I haven't TRIED to learn how to skate, it's more that falling on your ass is super depressing if you're alone and just out in the middle of the street. truly, I am cursed to not live anywhere near some suitable flat-top to practice on, or near some suitabe friend-type to practice with.


so if you're observant, you'll notice that all of the images used in this little pile are hosted on imgur. I have no fucking clue if that's kosher by imgur's terms, and thus, I am sorting my pictures out and making sure I have all of my horseshit backed up in case imgur decides to crack down on this possibly ilicit operation i'm running. seriously, I have no idea if they're cool with hotlinking or not, there are alot of conlficting sources about this shit. god forbid they confiscate all of my precious, precious blinkies. (UPDATE: DEAR FUCKING GOD WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY BLINKIES. THE 300 ON THE PAGE IS, APPARENTLY, JUST THE TIP OF THE FUCKING ICEBERG. THE CREME DE LA CREME OF THE APPARENTLY HUNDREDS OF BLINKIES I'VE HOARDED ON THIS MACHINE)


keep having a recurring dream where I notice one of my teeth are loose, so I push it backwards to help pull it out of my mouth, breaking it. in the dream, I keep feeling the empty space where the tooth used to be, and can feel the remnants of the root jutting out. I then pull a few more teeth out and wake up thinking "aw shit, i'm missing one of my teeth! everyone's gonna take the piss", before I realise it was just another wacky teeth dream. good times.


everyone's fucking alternative, these days. it's become such a nothing word, so devoid of meaning, that next time I hear somebody call themselves "alt", i'll just assume that they're sorta boring and wear black. it's full-on marketing language used to reel in anybody who has aspirations of dyed hair, and listens to any music that the big radio stations doesn't play, which is basically fucking everyone. quit labeling yourself and just let shit happen, lads.


on the topic of music, I also avoid listening to new albums by punk bands who were prominent in the 80s & 90s, because i've been betrayed too many times by that kind of business. lagwagon did a pretty alright album a year or two ago, mind, but that gets cancelled out when I remember screeching weasel dropped an album last year where all they did was whinge about SJWs and special snowflakes, as if it's 2014 and they're not pushing 60. descendents got way into being all "haha take that orange man" for a minute there, but since that's almost totally irrelevant now, maybe this kind of half-assery won't leak into their upcoming album.


when I listen to music, I avoid learning about the artist as much as possible. too many people who play instruments also happen to get into insane degenerate bullshit when they're off the clock, and i'd prefer not to know about it, frankly.


I just culled the SHIT out of this page. the whining was too much, man. from here on out this page is for FUNNIES and shit i'd perhaps like to remember. there's really no point in making a record of every minor irrittation like i'm one of those guys on deviantart who get absurdly mad about teen titans go. aw fuck, did beast boy make a fart joke?? strike three points from the total, this episode gets a c- kinda shit. call that an animated augtrosity.


never thought i'd become an apple fanboy, but i've co-opted an old ipod that was just kinda knocking about the house, and I love it. beyond the novelty of having a specific music player in the year 2021, it's just a fine little machine. i've wanted to disconnect even harder from current pop culture & technology for a while, and I think having this little pink bitch on the backburner is a step in the right direction.


hands down, the best part of other people's blogs are always a toss up between their Shrines or their About page, but only when they get wacky with it.


good GOD I miss having a crush. I never feel complete unless I have a stupid little romance sideplot on the boiler, because it's FUN.


oh my godddd can we just shut up about the royal family already? they suck ass, we should've welded them all into buckingham like three years ago. it's wacky how people will sit there like "well I LIKE the royals, even though they've been nothing but tabloid fodder for like thirty years now, and they're racist I guess, and they've been harbouring a publically known pedophile for ages. they're good for tourism!" piss OFF. they keep putting their royal weddings on weekends, too, so a serf like me can't even wring a day off out of them. bullshit.


everyone keeps talking about when "all of this" is over. ginger joe wants to party. my sister wants to hit up that giant compton hospice that's opened in town. my classmates want to return to college. frankly, all I want is an indie-movie meet-cute and MAYBE some drinks. and to find a new plug. goddamn.


because the universe says i'm not allowed to have a drinking utensil, my sister broke my mug. this wouldn't be a big deal if not for the fact that mug was absolutely fucking perfect, a totally round stout black mug, perfect to clutch in my cold little hands during these winterous months. my other sister's ordered me a replacement mug, which is a lovely gesture, but it's also the ugliest thing I have ever laid eyes on. I will grow to love it, if only because it's so unholy nobody else in their right mind would use it.


my sister just broke my favourite glass. what the FUCK am I gonna drink out of now???? I can hear her scraping the glass shards off the floor as I type this. goddamn.


so help me god I will find a copy of that infamously terrible homestar runner fic and publicly archive it. i'm not mentioning the name in case that shit turns up in search results and throws people off the search, or alerts anybody who has the power to move it further out of my unruly grasp, but goddamn I need to read it more than anything now that people have made it a forbidden fruit.


i'm starting to finally get into the ramones and I think the fact that I now like them is the greatest sign that my mental health is plummeting


rping on miiverse was so fucking fun man. whoever created the 30-post limit, a move designed purely to rid the platform of rpers, was absolutely braindead for alienating their main userbase so hard. ditto to whoever killed off the youtube community. I don't even rp anymore, and my group moved to google hangouts shortly after that shit came into effect, but I still get unreasonably pissed off that they'd do something like that. imagine if discord announced a fucking message limit because they wanted to get rid of the weebs????


I think the only christmas present i'm giving this year is a copy of borderlands 2 for the ps3 to my boy ronan up in ireland. I should've seen this coming from the day I was born.


I read a midsummers night's dream again and now I wanna be a fairy or some shit and live a leisurely life of emotionally fuckin with people


ohhhh my GOD if I wake up at 4am again i'm going to force myself into a coma. fuck you if you purposefully stay up late because it's passe to sleep early.


for college we have to complete "mindfulness & organization" activities as part of our mandatory new-school-year induction. i'm just not gonna do them- never in my whole life has homework organization or justifying my motives ever helped dick, and i'm 90% sure these tasks are only here so the college can have deniability if a student has some kind of stress-related mental breakdown.


I think there might be no nicer feeling than that of lovesickness. you run the full gamut of human emotion in waves just by thinking of some cute shithead, and that's incredible.


whenever i'm sick i'll end up watching something that fucks me up mentally and end up transcending my illness to just become a pile buried on a mattress. I binge watched the entirety of the Angry Video Game Nerd during one of these lil moments and I only remember that he had a fucking. tiny green goblin man there once. once I watched popee the performer but completely forgot about it for another few years, and only remembered that scene where everyone slaps the shit out of that alien guy, but I assumed it was a super fucked up dream. good times.


my sister's got a pretty severe narcing problem. sometimes I wanna tell her all my wacky stories or that I hide edibles in my room but then she'll pull some rat shit and I won't trust her for a couple weeks.