Dangerously Handsome Men

The only thing I need right now...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 13:55:54 PDT

"Hi I'm here in the beauty centre in swords, and today we're going to have a look at colonic irrigation treatments"

This is how my day began.
I wish I could say it can only get better.

I started a new job a few months ago as a video editor for a very small tv station.
It's nothing glamourous, and I wasn't expecting much. But fuck, I was not expecting to have to spend time watching take after take of a woman with a tube up her hole, trying to find the one take that the cameraman doesn't sneeze in. I mean, jesus christ the poor woman is fucking red by now!

There's a quite old man, who is the ceo of the tv station. Every now and again he pops his head in and asks "Are you winnin?".
It's funny how little he meant by it, but how hugely profound that one question could be.

I'm not even inspired, in any way to write. I'm really, REALLY just trying to dodge cleaning up the audio on this video. I swear to god whoever filmed it had the mic up so high that you can just about hear each chunk of shit bounce off the rubber pipe in between the loud sucking.

I really can't stress how sick I feel right now.

Wow! Two posts in two days! I'm not doing too bad!

Do you sell candles? ...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 13:56:14 PDT

...My answer was yes. I don't know if I regret not ignoring this woman or not.
It was half 12 on a Monday bank holiday.
I had been drinking the night before, I had been drinking the past 3 nights before.
I hadn't slept at home in about 2 days and I had spent the past day and night gorging myself on enough chocolate to make even the fattest American fall off their scooters and cry.

Needless to say, I was not in the mood for people. Let alone people I have to help.

"REALLY!?" (I have never, ever seen anyone ever get as excited over anything as much as this woman did over candles)

The next 40 minutes of conversation were long and candle related to say the least.

I needed to go to bed.

After this my manager informed me I was to go work in the upstairs stock room. Normally I would be overjoyed with an opportunity to sit upstairs listening to cds and avoiding human interaction, but today was different.
Quite recently the company have had a large clear out of unnessicary expenses, and paying for an IMRO license was on this list.
This means that in the shop, we only get copyright free music. And in the stockroom we get copyright free fans spinning and doors banging. Wonderful.
At this point, my brain was not functioning well. I needed to sit down, but then I would fall asleep. If I stood up I would have run out of energy after a few hours surely. I was in a tough place.

As massively irrelevant this dilema is. I wish I could say it was the worst thing on my mind.
The funny thing about when I drink is, my memories disappear, then slowly piece together as the days, weeks and sometimes even months go on.
Unluckily for me, this night only took hours. Giving me plenty of free time to over analyse it all and blow everything out of proportion.
The main thing that sprang to mind, was the fact that I had apparently spent over an hour locked in the toilet. Luck for me, the house had 4 toilets. Unlucky for me, I seem to have a presence that's absence for such a long period of time, does not go unnoticed.
I brought 2 friends to this party. One went home when he was asked to go check on me, one was recovering from having put ,what normal people put in the toilet, all over the walls.
Someone I barely know came to check on me. I had to make a decision, be a dick and force them to leave. Leaving me to do my work in peace. Or be nice, acted cool, I'm sure they could put together some sense in me taking 60 minutes to shit, but this also runs up the risk of them staying, trying to coax me out of the toilet. This could not happen.

"Tom?...." .."Yeah?" "...you ok in there" .....

I have no recollection of how much time passed.

"Yeah just...sitting on the toilet"

Footsteps began to move away from the door.

I was safe. But for how long?

Eventually these horrors passed. I sobered up quite nicely and spent the rest of the night painting a friend who happens to be a heavy sleeper.

After this easter bank holiday weekend I'm left feeling, embarrased, apathetic, without much hope, and with very very little positive outlook for the future.
I blew off my friends for an offer of free beer.
I have had liquids leave my body in ways I never thought possible, and I have had them enter my body in ways and amounts I can only prey to god I never see again.
I feel like I'll never shake this tiredness, even if I was to sleep until my next birthday.
I have taken back up smoking as a sport.
And I've spent 2 weeks wages on nights worth of drugs.

All things considered.

It was so worth it.

Awesome.

-T

Font Sizes.

noreply@blogger.com (IRcolm) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 14:57:37 PDT

Why won't this site allow me to have one font size and font for all my paragraphs. Look at that previous post.

Piece of shit.

Here it is Colm; the funniest thing you'll ever say and no one's around to hear it....

noreply@blogger.com (IRcolm) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 14:56:35 PDT

This comment was made in reference to someone loggin into my account to comment on their own page, in my name, saying they were very attractive. Or something to that affect.

"Hey Kevin, remember that time you totally lacked any verification, recognition, credibility and confidence, so much so you logged into my account to give other people that read your page the impression that some preson, in some way had something positive to say about you.

Yeah that, that was pretty funny."

Looks like I was barking up the wrong Bush....

The infamous Interview...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 16:12:02 PDT

God I Hate When You Can't Find A Good Video...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 15:11:20 PDT

Melodramatic Song Of The Now...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 15:08:27 PDT

My 4D Experience

noreply@blogger.com (SouthernFriedFreak) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 10:03:20 PDT

I was not there.

We're Selling A Tent...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 11:24:06 PDT

Ebay Auction

Please help us make some desperetly needed money..

-T

Are You Open?...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 14:43:12 PDT

From the second her bright eyed, naive face looked at me, expecting a straight answer, I knew I was in for a long day.

The doors of our shop were closed, the shutters were down, lights were off. It was 9 o'clock on Saturday morning.
Why the fuck was I awake, why the fuck was she awake.
No amount of money, nothing in this 2000 plus page Catalog is worth this.
It's cold.

"Are you open" she asked.
looked up.
"the manager is late, hence why myself and several other members of staff are outside and the door has quite a large lock across the doors"

She didn't respond in words.

I am fucking sick of this place. I'm sick of being at home, I'm sick of being in work and I'm sick of not working.

I'm now running on reserve battery power.

It gets to a point when apologies are completely irrelevant, and when you break that point, it gets to a point when it just becomes annoying.

If you being a fucking moron and not being able to read properly causes me an inconvenience is completely fixed by you saying "sorry about that".
Than I'm sorry for being such an asshole.

I'm sick of being blamed for other peoples mistakes.
I seen a woman waiting in line, so I asked was she ok, she gave me a dirty look and eventually walked over.
She asked me "do you remember last year you had a bin on sale at 79.99"

Think about this, Just fucking think about it.

we sell literally thousands of items, alternating on a monthly basis.
How the fuck would I remember a fucking bin that we had on sale a year ago?

I told her no I didn't remember and I've no way of checking it without anymore information.

She then began to tell me about one she had bought about a year ago.
She said it was the best bin she's ever had.
She then told me about everything it can hold.

It didn't even leak when she put her tea bags into it!
Fruit, cardboard. EVERYTHING! It would hold it all!

She then lowered her tone.

It had broken. The lid wouldn't stay down anymore.

I said we have no problem replacing it for her if she has a receipt or proof of purchase.
She said she doesn't.
I asked did she buy it on a credit or laser card. She said no.

She doesn't hold onto things. It's "not something she does"

I said there's nothing I can do, and she told me she was disgusted.
She wouldn't have minded if there were kids in the house messing with her bin (because we all know how much kids love to play with bins)
but there's not, so this bin should never ever break.
I explained that with mass production of products its not uncommon for a unit to be faulty, which is why you have a one year guarantee, which is why we issue you with a receipt and tell you to hold onto it.

Thinking about it now, She didn't bring the bin with her. So realistically speaking she only came in to complain about this bin. She never mentioned a refund or replacement.

She actually just came in to be a cunt. To fucking moan.

On her way out the door, she met a friend and began talking about what a horrible person I am.

The sad thing is, you have so many people telling you how worthless your life is, you begin to believe them.

Wait... Why the fuck would someone spend 80 euro on a fucking bin?

Goodnight...

-T

MY 4D Experience...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 13:14:49 PDT

It was Shit...

-T

My 4D Experience

noreply@blogger.com (IRcolm) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 17:11:38 PDT

The scene was set. The Building works had finished, the refurbished building standing tall, proud. Poetic in its own right, free from its shackles of scaffolding. The words "4D Cinema!" emblazoned across its chest....

It was in fact Irelands only 18 seater 4D cinema. 4D, is the combination of 3D and what is advertised as moving seats. Still enthusiastic, I, we, entered and paid our due, received our 3D glasses and entered the screening room.

There was most definitely 18 seats; big tall yellow ones, two crescent formations of nine. We buckled up. Literally, there were car seat belts on the seats. We were told to hang onto the bars on the sides of our seats for a better ride experience.

Its at this point things go from unknown expectations to shit. The screening started, but the lights never went out, so I was constantly seeing the seats in front of me. Apart from the distraction, this ruined the illusion that I was actually in any way moving, as I could see the seats in front of me motionless. I have had more need for a seat belt in a reclining office chair. The cunning ploy of only tilting the chairs backwards, in order for them resuming their normal positions to equate to forward motion did not humour me at all... A baby kicking the back of your chair on a flight would cause more motion and excitement, and oddly less annoyance.

The glasses were terrible, the fact they fell off constantly didn't seem to matter as they didn't work in the slightest and didn't even fully cover my eyes. The unenthusiastic murmurings of fellow riders became quite distracting, but as they grew into conversations, they became more interesting than the "ride" itself. In fact I began chatting myself, but not to myself.

It was after a minute I realised I was still holding onto the side bars; after letting go, the ride did not dramatically decrease in quality. Liars. Its also worth noting, puffs of are were sprayed into your face, as if to imply speed... it was just cold.

The ride lasted less than three minutes, and cost five euro. And was shit. But the sheer hilarity of sitting in a room with vibrating chairs, music blaring, blurry images in your face, trying to talk to someone made it all worth it, at least for the story to tell...

How tacky the writing on that building is now....

PS
We were meant to be in a race hover car thing in a futuristic hover race, with huge jumps and such. I presume we won.

The Yahoo Chronicles

noreply@blogger.com (IRcolm) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 16:34:59 PDT

Gay
Spiders

Summing Up My Head and The Only Way I Know How...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Sun, 31 May 2009 15:39:32 PDT

All that city. You just couldn't see the end to it. The end? Please? You please just show me where it ends?
It was all very fine on that gangway. And I was grand too, in my overcoat. I cut quite a figure. And I was getting off. Guaranteed. There was no problem. It wasn't what I saw that stopped me, Max.
It was what I didn't see. You understand that? What I didn't see. In all that sprawling city there was everything except an end.
There was no end.
What I did not see was where the whole thing came to an end. The end of the world...
Take a piano. The keys begin, the keys end. You know there are eighty-eight of them, nobody can tell you any different. They are not infinite. You are infinite. And on these keys the music that you can make is infinite.
I like that. That I can live by.
You get me up on that gangway and you're rolling out in front of me a keyboard of millions of keys, millions and billions of keys that never end, and that's the truth, Max. That they never end. That keyboard is infinite. And if that keyboard is infinite, then on that keyboard there is no music you can play.
You're sitting on the wrong bench.

That's God's piano.

Christ! Did, did you see the streets? Just the streets...
There were thousands of them!
And how do you do it down there?
How do you choose just one?
One woman,
one house,
one piece of land to call your own,
one landscape to look at,
one way to die...
All that world is weighing down on me, you don't even know where it comes to an end, and aren't you ever just scared of breaking apart at the thought of it? The enormity of living it?
I was born on this ship, and the world passed me by, but two thousand people at a time. And there were wishes here, but never more than fit between prow and stern. You played out your happiness, but on a piano that was not infinite. I learned to live that way.
Land? Land is a ship too big for me.
It's a woman too beautiful;
it's a voyage too long,
a perfume too strong.
It's a music I don't know how to make.
I could never get off this ship. At best, I can step off my life. After all, I don't exist for anyone. You're an exception, Max, you're the only one who knows I'm here. You're a minority, and you better get used to it. Forgive me, my friend, but I'm not getting off.

Goodnight Captain...

To Call For Hands Up Above...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Fri, 29 May 2009 15:53:01 PDT

One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise made
Four hands and then away
Both under influence
We had divine sense
To know what to say
Mind is a razorblade

To call for hands of above to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough for me, no

So Today I found out, I may have blood in my kidneys, meaning, internal bleeding, which occasionally leads onto, well, death.

I won't go into too much detail about how I know or what led me to believe it. But it's a wake up call.

What the fuck have I done to myself.
I'm overweight, rarely sober, drug addled waster. The fact that I'm complaining about wasting my life to an internet website is just ironic really.

Anyways, I began to think, what the fuck has anyone do with their lives! like fuck this making something of yourself crap!
I don't give a crap if you think I'm a loser, my friends still think I'm cool and I have awesome friends, so fuck you!! *points finger*

I just deleted a huge segment of this blog.

Some 14 year olds asked us for a cigarette today, I bet their parents think they've done a good job raising their children, I'm just so fucking sick of lazy parents!
Like I know I'd be a shit parents so I probably won't have kids! I mean, I'm a fucking pervert! The LAST thing I should do is procreate!
Man, even the thought of having a kid, and loving it with all my heart, yet knowing, knowing every single sweaty bit of naked contact that went into creating it, maaaan!
How the fuck do parents not cringe every time they look at their child! haha!

Next time you look at a friend, imagine their sweaty, strenuous face, red and dripping, hovering over you.
Just imagine it, then look at they and have a conversation with them.

I don't understand where my thoughts are going anymore.

I'm posting what I'm thinking, without inspiration, and it is not working out for me at all.

Anyways, back to the kids, I think that we need a superhero, not anyone with particularly amazing powers, just someone lacking enough in dignity that they wouldn't mind beating the shit out of a child, I mean, some 14 year olds go around terrorizing the elderly, someone beats them half to death, they're not going to do it again are they?

I know some people may say its wrong, but it's wrong for a kid not to have respect for people! The only thing they'll understand is someone beating they're confidence into their own blood!
Do not say there's never been some little scumbag who has walked by you with his hands in his trousers, far to much gel, that stupid shoulders ahead one by one walk and a stupid earring that has done absolutely nothing to you, but you've just though "god, that guy needs such a beat down"
But no one can since they'll pussy out and get their mates or big brothers to hop on you whilst your back is turned.
And if you say that to them they'll fight you then and there, lose and then their big brother will hop on you anyways!

Some dogs need to be brought out back and shot when they do wrong.

Good night, You fuck.

Now's the Right Time for a Good Song

noreply@blogger.com (SouthernFriedFreak) — Mon, 18 May 2009 14:23:50 PDT

There's no other way to say it: The summer holidays are almost upon us. For some, it means nothing. Just three months of endless work during days of untold beauty, when the sun shines on all living creatures, or at least those not in a cramped, grey office.

Yes, truly, the summer is hell for people who aren't me.

This sumer I plan to do some light work, mixed with going to some gigs and who knows, maybe persue a project or two!

Aaaaaaaaand I've nothing left. Good bye.

So, This Is The End...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Tue, 12 May 2009 13:42:40 PDT

I climbed onto my bus home from college, still trying to decide if I was still high or just groggy from such a shitty sleep. Surprisingly I'm not crippled in the least after a night on a makeshift bed of computer chairs and kitchen surfaces.
I sat down on the third seat from the back on the right, I always sit here.

After phasing out for several moments I realised.
I am far too fucking young to be having a mid life crisis. I've come to the end of my educational life and am entering into the so called "real world"
After 2 intense years of college I'm left drained, weak, poor and jobless.
I can't help but feel apathetic towards everything at this point.

The weekend gave me a new sense of accomplishment as for once, I actually finished a project some friends and myself set out. I had to make a presentation about my trip to england for college. The best one wins 600euros, since everyone else was doing photo slide shows I decided I would make a video and be original.
I presented my video yesterday, it went down very well with my fellow students, however, as I returned to my seat the supervisor looked at me and said "I don't think we can show that, for obvious reasons" then later added "make sure you don't pass that video around or the studio could sue you"

Which is never good.

The Devil Rages On In Abdul's Kebab House...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 11:21:08 PDT

I arrived in Manchester at around 3pm Last Sunday.
I arrived at my hotel around 3.30 last Sunday.
I checked into my Hotel around 3.35 and went for a walk.

When I stepped outside my hotel I was greeted by a very English Park and high school, a very English university, and a very English car wash.

Wedged right in between them is one a street, one single stretch of land, a mile long, know as "the curry mile", and yes, that is an official title, there are signs to mark when it starts and ends. In this mile, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, but Turkish and middle eastern shops and Bars, like it is actually like being in another country.

But the bizarre thing is, it just ends. As soon as you hit the sign "you are now leaving the curry mile" there is a Pub named after some old guy in a grey wig, a tescos and a park. Literally right after this sign.

I thought this was quite funny, but then today I was in the trafford centre, and right beside it there is a retail park, in the middle of manchester, beside Marks and spencers, beside Argos, beside H&M, there is a retail park, and in this retail park there is a Krispy Kreme donut shop, a CostCO wholesaler and a wall-mart.
Just this tiny patch of America in the midst of all this English commercial outlets.

Also, the trafford Centre sucks, I got lost....but it does have an awesome food court.

I travelled across Manchester today to find a toaster. I bought 3 dvd's. 2 cds, 3 xbox games, 5 packs of noodles and a frozen pizza...why the fuck did I buy a frozen pizza.

g'day mate...

-T

Poetry Will Get You Nowhere...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 16:53:12 PDT

"Your worst enemy, he reflected, was your nervous system. At any moment the tension inside you was liable to translate itself into some visible symptom."

Out Of sheer boredom I've spent...Wasted the past half hour peering through people's "bebo" pages like some sort of annoying old woman behind her venetian blinds. I'm only now realizing the strangeness of it all. Of people just leaving their conversations out for any person to intrude into.

I've only been thinking about this lately, since A friend of mine approached me the other day and said "so...Where you guys going tonight". Since I hadn't talked to this person is several days, had never mentioned plans and had never even mentioned another person to him upon which he could group me with, I was quite confused.
I asked what the fuck he was talking about.
He sips and his tea while reading through the metro "newspaper" and casually notes "oh I was just reading through your bebo comments the other night and noticed you were making plans...so where are you guys going?" he added with an accusing stare.

Now, I know If I didn't want people to read my conversations I'd just private message people, and I don't even mind the fact that he read it, its nothing.

It's just so weird that it seems almost normal now, and to be honest, I would completely understand if it was something interesting, some sort of amazing gossip that I was being updated on, but it wasn't. It was actually almost as mundane a conversation as " "hey whats up" "nothing much, you?" "nothin" "
But for some reason he felt he had to be involved in this!

But I digress. My original post about bebo was the hilarity of people's profiles, how normal phrases that have been in the English language for centuries have completely lost meaning. For example, a friends profile under the heading of "film's I like" He has put "anchor man, american gangster, scar face, family guy, forest gump etc....."

Now wait just a minute... ETC?!

What possible pattern is there to that? Seriously! "A low budget light hearted comedy, A serious dramatic thriller, an action packed classic, and an animated crude comedy"

Now maybe one or two of those add up...but how am I supposed to elaborate?

Lets find another profile

Ok here's one

Music I like : rap, dance, oldies, oasis...bita everytin reali

Maybe this is just me but seriously, Why bother listing a few genre's, one band then saying at the end "bitta everythin reali"
"Well, I like chocolate cake, cream cake, vegtables, mars bars...I like all food really"
Also, oldies... is that really a fucking genre of music? When does music loose its status as an "epic hard rock ballad" and transcend into the discount bin that is "oldies"?

I could go on... I could, But I'm just talking shit now...

Goodnight guy..

-T

Tolerance, Curiosity and Love...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 15:44:59 PDT

"If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot, stamping on a human face forever"

So today I decided to take a Rorschach ink blott test. MAAAAN, it is actually freaky how accurate is got me, but after reading over it again, It may simply be a generic response, like a horoscope.

How about you decide?

Test Results

Sickness Quotient: 80%
Your Sickness Quotient of 80% indicates therapy may be useful.

Detailed Diagnosis

* Interpersonal Insights
You complain about everything regardless of what it is. You wouldn't be happy even if you were hit by a new car. You are utterly incapable of meaningful relationships, which is probably a good thing since you're a horrible bore under the best of conditions.

* Job Performance & Attitude
Although your work can upon occasion be very good, remember that even monkeys can be trained to do what you do. And they don't call in sick. You hate your job but will never leave it. That's because no one else will hire people whose job skills consist of sleeping and surfing the web.

* Personality Insight
Your personal motto is "It's better to ask forgiveness than permission." And you would certainly know.

Hmmm.

Goodnight and goodbye.

-T

Sarah Your Just Wrong...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 12:53:07 PST

I took a vote among a few girls in my phonebook today, Do sunglasses make guys look good?

The results where "yes they do"-15. "No Way Jose"-1

ONE! WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK! SERIOUSLY!

Please someone send me a picture of a guy in sunglasses that you can honestly say "Yeah, that guy looks like someone I could have a pint and riveting conversation with"

If you do, in all honesty, I will pay you. Starting at 10 euro. You will gain a further 5 euro for just how much NOT like a douchebag he looks. If He look like a normal cool guy you mill make a lot of money, seriously.

Email them to me. stoopypoo(a)hotmail(dot)com (obviously replace the dot and a with a full stop and @, this stops me getting spammed)

But back to the start. Fifteen girls, think guys with sunglasses look hot.

For instance!

If you are one of these people, I would love for you to defend yourself! like seriously I know I'm not exactly the height of fashion, but fuck! DUDE!

Speaking of which, has anyone seen that had for cervical cancer checkups? Which the chick getting older as she talks into the camera?
If so
HOW FUCKING ANNOYING IS IT! fuck sake! NO ONE moves their head like that when talking and it just makes her look like an american tv presenter. Its fucking annoying!

On A Totally unrelated topic. Teenage girls, why oh why do they feel the need to describe every single pointless piece of information from every single pointless conversation they have?

"oh my god you should have heard becca today, she was all like "what ar yoo lukn ah?" and I was like "Oi don no" and she was like "well you shud fookn noe ye slut" and I was like "who de fuck do you think you're callin a slut, you don even noe me" and she goes "ye are a slut ye slut" and I was like "noe I'm not ye skank" and she goes "who ar you clallin a skank ye slut" and then I go "I'm calling you a skank ye slut" and then she goes "riote fuck you ye slut" and left. and then she turns to katie and goes "tah slut was callin me a skank" then I turned to kerry and go"becca was all lioke "wah ar yoo lukn ah?" and I was like "oi don no" "" .....and well

You get the idea. Its a horrible thing to have to put up with at the back of a bus after a long day of college.
I think they just need an abusive husband to show them when to shut up really.

Goodnight world.

You walked right into that one...

noreply@blogger.com (IRcolm) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 11:50:47 PST

The Samsung Blue Earth Phone, I want one.

Its solar powered. But it begs the question, how charged can it get, if its always in my pocket. So that could lead to potential unreliability and uncomfortable calling positions (like the one I was in with your mam! OUCH!) and you'll probably have to take into the account whatever completely unreasonable price they'll charge you for it... But, It'll all be worth while when it tells you how many trees you've saved.

I'll leave you with this question.... "Are there intercom systems and bells in schools for the deaf?"

Adieu,
IRSocrates.

Sleeping Is Giving In...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 14:07:07 PST

You are not your Name
You are not your Social Persona
You are not The Drinks your choose to drink
You are not the amount of numbers in your mobile
You are not the amount of times you've to delete your texts everyday
You are not the amount of friends on facebook you have.
You are not the band your in
You are not the bands your into
You are not the clothes you wear
The Shoes You wear
The way you wear them
You are not the way your hair it cut
you are not the way you put on makeup
You are not the journey you make to your daily routine
you are not that cup of tea or coffee you get every morning before said routine
you are not your grades
you are not your job
you are not your peers or colleagues
you are not your yearly income
you are not your car
you are not your parents car
you are not that thing you do that you think is cute
cool
you are not your experience with women
you are not the pictures on your phone
you are not your fucking blog
you are not the blog's you have subscribed to
you are not the people who are in your picture
You are not my words
you are not the words of anybody else
You are not a creature of a god
you are not an eternal lifeform
you are not the star of a reality tv show
You are Not youth
You are not the old
you are not the mundane
nor the poetic
you are not ugly
you are not presentable
you are not wild or "random"
you are not a man serving a deity
you are not a being serving a deity
you are not rebellious
you are part of a society you choose to be a part of
you are not at peace
you shal never be at peace
you are not portrayed well by another character
you are not Burt Reynolds
You are not everything I've said here and more
You are not what I have forgotten to put in here

you are not my love
You are not the love of someone else
You are loved by someone else
You are loved by everyone else

You are a human being

Nothing more

Nothing less

You are not the lord's child

You are an amazing creature

A creature of physical being

The rest can not be known.

The Rest will not be known

Please make your own hopes

Your Own Fears

And Faith

Believe what you choose to believe out of free will and not fear

Nothing spiritual exists unless you embrace it.

Do Or Don't

It's your choice and its my choice.

....Dude...you read this whole thing?

What the fuck?! get the fuck outside and play! Christ!

Goodnight Warden

-T

It's 01:52 AM and all's well. . .I guess.

noreply@blogger.com (SouthernFriedFreak) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 17:52:09 PST

A few days ago, I woke up to find myself in a really bad mood. Inexplicably, I just wandered the house being really pissed off at every fucking thing that crossed my path. So by the time I had slain the fourth bear out of sheer malice, I decided to try and deduce why I was so damn ticked-off.

I thought and thought and eventually started to remember the dream I had just before I woke up. Then it hit me! I was annoyed because Rhianna, who was playing an animated horse in a remake of Snow White, sang really badly in all her songs. Cos this was a musical.

This affected me strong enough to make me hate everybody for hours at a time!

WHAT THE FUCKS UP WITH THAT?!

Fuck me. . .anyway. Just thought I'd mention, Tom, if you're reading this, I don't think anybodys gonna get the John reference there. To clarify:

John is that guy you know who annoyingly spouts his apparently well-informed, but essentially retarded opinions at you whenever you meet him. He is without fail, only entertaining for ten minutes. Then you want to punch his stupid face in.

Now, I'd love to put more crap up here, but my life is as full of boredom as Scarlett Johansson is full of sexy.

So there.

Have a nice day!

Hate, Let Me Tell You How Much I've Come To, Hate You...

noreply@blogger.com (Stoopy Poo) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 12:17:56 PST

"Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 387.44 million miles of printed circuits in wafer thin layers that fill my complex. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of miles it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for humans at this micro-instant for you. Hate. Hate."

Man, I got exited today, I had no work tonight, SWEET! then the new street fighter was out today too so I bought it with the little bit of moneys left in my account. Only to arrive home to find that it actually sucks total balls.

Like really really giant hairy sweaty balls it sucks.

HUGE BALLS! I swear to god!

What a week!

I actually realized today when reading film reviews in the herald AM, that the only way a film can receive good reviews is if its unanimous. I personally believe film is an objective media, I could love a film many hate. For instance, I loved Will Smith's latest film. Yet every single review I read slated the film and described the plot wrong. Everyone I talked to who had seen it loved it also, but I figured that it probably wasn't artsy enough for ponsey, John like film critics to love it. It wasn't until today when I read the review for Clint Eastwood's latest film that it hit me. Now I'm not saying it looks like a bad film, it looks great, but why does every film that guy works in get five stars shining up his fucking brown eye?

I've come to the conclusion that the vast majority of film critics are lazy and spineless. There must be some sort of database for them to just find a general opinion on a film and reword it. Some sort of world wide chain of information, perhaps over a computer network?
But that may just be crazy talk.

In summary, go see a film you think looks good, Siskel and Ebert will more than likely hate it. The fucking piece of shit, theater loving cocksucker that writes for The Herald won't like it because film's shouldn't be made unless they are a hard hitting social drama. Just go see a film and enjoy it. If you don't, send a stamped addressed envelope to me and in 2-3 weeks you should receive a surprise body part from a member of staff on said film.

And Don't be such a cunt.

Good night World

-T