explanations to the blind

okay, i've got half an hour, i might as well see how much i can get typed up. people seem to still be needing these explanations about me, that i don't have time to offer and repeat, i wish i could wear them on my shirt with a doctor's signature under them. but here goes as much as i can spit out in half an hour.

i fucking hate people. i have people issues. i don't like you fuckers. i have social issues. i'm antisocial. i don't get what you fuckers are doing. i look around and see cellphones and sweaters on poodles, and i have studied you fuckers, and i do not understand what the fuck you're doing. you could explain it to me a billion times, i won't get it. fuck it. too much facebook, too much arguing and explaining, and i'm out of time. fuck you assholes. six billion of you fuckers. i hate every single one of you. i truly do. you're a disease.

the cold. when it gets too cold, or too wet, my body locks up, it will not move, it's just extreme pain, red alert, alarms going off, everything is red, i can't move, and... okay... do i need to repeat that again. extreme pain. locks up. freezes. won't move. hurts. do i have to explain that again. i need a doctor to diagnose it, and write it on a tshirt name card, because people think they're fucking doctors who can get away with judging a book by its cover. if my body gets too cold, it will lock up and not move. and it fucking hurts. if you want to know how much it hurts to see if it's worthy of your record books, i'll get michio kaku to find some way to implant a digital chip in your brain that lets you feel what it feels like, asshole. if you think you're that important. fuck you.

and i forget what else there was to explain at this point. so much lost, my mind's a fragment. i fucking hate you all. you've caused the worst thing this earth has ever seen, but you claim no responsibility for it, and therein lie the entire stage show conundrum.