This is a blog about nothing important. I'm one of those people who knows a little bit about lots of things, but not in any way that I could be called an expert on anything. Jackoff all trades, masturbate none, etc...
So, a metaphor, if you will...
Some people stop to smell the roses (for the purposes of this metaphor, all the interesting minutiae in life that one never has quite the right app for), and then go on with their merry/miserable days.
But, in this momentous blog, I'm not just gonna stop to smell the roses. I intend to get down and straight up huff the pollen out of those bitches. I will dry out the petals, cut them into a fine powder, and snort them up in a public park in full view of parents and children, without any modicum of shame or clothing. I will stumble through alleys, hiding in the dumpsters of floral shops, lying in eager wait like a cougar-hobo hybrid. Graveyards, weddings, and stereotypical teenage dates will all know my rapacity for the fine red flower and its alternately hued variants. And at last, when all the world's roses have been integrated into my bloodstream, when thorns cover my face like the whiskers of a thousand bewhiskered cats, when my last dollar is a solid crimson hue, then, then shall I wander the streets*, penniless**, friendless***, and alone****, braying stridently at the cruelty of God and man^.
In keeping with this theme, here are some fun facts about myself, but none of the important ones:
- I descend from the times of the ancient Internet: Which is to say, I signed onto AOL back in 1994, back when you could run up $600 internet bills in a month, and then have your parents angrily pay for it. In those halcyon days, before the widespread availability of porn converted the unwashed masses into screen-molesting facetweeters, we humble internet folk would sit in our nerd forums and chat rooms, debating whether or not it was appropriate to compare Darth Vader to Hitler (or at least Goebbels). Such conversations were typed in perfect English, replete with proper spelling, grammar, and (now extinct) comma usage. Ah, to go back to those times and once again believe that I would never kiss a girl. (This was before I knew you could just pay 'em.)
- I despise euphemism: That doesn't mean I won't employ them occasionally, and on those occasions, usually by accident. But lawd, I got me some words and phrases that I intend to complain heartily about, even if there's already an army of word nerds and grammar nazis on the job. Stay with me, young reader, and you'll learn why phrases like "You deserve to be pampered!" and "My aunt passed on in a very unique way" make me want to collapse the Sun using only the power of my buttcheeks.
- I know too much about video games. Even though they are not important, they will also not be discussed here, because I'm gonna have to start a whole new blog for that: Ok, I lied when I said I don't know a lot about any particular subject. I know way too much about video games. One day I'd like to be, like, the host of a video game show, but it would be more like Masterpiece Theater than whatever garbage that "gamer" channel excretes. You know, like a James Lipton of video games, in a future where classic games are like classic movies - classy. But that is not today, and this is not that blog.
- I believe Teen Wolf may be the last best thing to ever happen to humanity: The Michael J. Fox movie, not that fucking TV show. I don't really plan on talking about movies a whole lot, but Teen Wolf isn't just a movie. No mere movie can contain Jerry Levine's scrumtrulescent turn as Stiles. This will be the subject of more than a few updates.
That right about thur' sums 'er up fer now. I will conclude, as I've just decided I will do with all my posts, with something awesome:
Keep it Stankin'
* of faaaaaabulous New York City, of course! I mean, Helloooo!
** well, except for that dollar I mentioned earlier. But, like, nobody will take it because of the rosedust.
*** can't be friends with roses.
**** roses don't count as company, either.
^ five asterisks seemed a bit much.
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