i hate to keep saying this

i fucking hate people so fucking much. every goddamn human on this fucking planet. i fucking hate you all. you'll never know that, you'll never care, and that's just one more reason i fucking hate you.

i sat at starbucks till two pm. went across the street to scrape a bowl and smoke my last cigarette. but the scumbags are there, so i have to hear their ignorance the whole time i'm scraping, plus the wind blowing all my shit around, blowing dirt all over me, i fucking love that. i try to bum a cigarette on the way back in. what do you think reality says? yeah, fuck no. so i come in and try to plug in. the zz top twins, two scumbag pieces of shit i keep seeing around, they're worthless, they don't do anything. they're plugged in next to the only open seat in the corner by the door. i ask them if i can plug in. they say no. i say you can plug your phone into your laptop like i do, and save a space. but he wants to act stupid and refuse. so now i'm sitting here typing on battery power. barely stoned. josh isn't back yet, and i'm so sick of that name, and all the rest of these names, when am i finally going to stop seeing consumers, clones, people named josh, drug addicts, scumbags, credit cards, cops, concrete, when am i going to stop seeing this shit! when am i going to meet anyone like me! when, lord, when!

what the fuck is wrong with this world?
what fucking delusion did i stumble into?
and i can't blame anyone for bringing me here, nor can i kill myself?
that's a wonderful, well thought out little deal there.
and there's a god that everyone but me can pray to!
there's money that everyone but me can spend!
there's flesh that everyone but me can touch!

oh, i really belong here.
boy, i feel right at homeless.
unwanted in a world where the rich...
i'm sick of saying this shit.
it's not obvious to anyone else yet, it never fucking will be.
you human fucking pond scum make me fucking sick.
there's no excuse for you, you disgust me.
you should all be ashamed of yourselves.
walking by panhandlers and not giving.
what are you trying to be?
you ever ask yourself that?

you make me fucking sick.
all of you.
every goddamn one of you.

can't give.
can't give.
can't give.

just can't smile.
you don't look like you're enjoying life to me.
and i'm certainly not enjoying watching your life.
you could bore the fuck out of a slug.
you evolve like a fuckin' hoola hoop.

i saw the documentary about ozzy osbourne. called 'don't blame me'.

and in the documentary, that christian right wing idiot, i forget his name, is going on about how he went to an ozzy concert, and saw all the fans with the 'sign of the devil' on their fingers, and he says 'not a smile on any of them'. he has to descriptively say that.

which, first of all, you know is a lie.
if you've ever been to an ozzy concert... sea of smiles. i don't know what denial that idiot was looking at, but he was dead fuckin' wrong. he was so wrong on that, his lie smelled like republicans.

but anyway. and secondly... uh... okay, the stench of hypocrisy as well. ever look at a christian? what's the look on their face? describe it. do you see a smile? pick out a sea of christians from christian mingle dot com, and let's see what we get. cause i don't know if it's just me, or what, but whenever i see christians in church, they're not smiling. whenever i see christians in the streets, they're not smiling. whenever i ask them for money, they don't smile. whenever they're bitching at me about whatever i'm doing wrong... do you think they're smiling?

no, christians are the most delusional, negative, hateful people i've ever known. their religion is about forgiveness, but i've never been forgiven for anything. they've hated me for no reason since birth, never explained a fuckin' thing, especially intelligibly. they have so many reasons to hate you, but very few to forgive you. they preach about forgiveness, but stick people in prisons for years. is that forgiveness? their dollar bills say 'in god we trust', well, if i don't trust your god, does that mean i have to spend your money? no answer. do they even understand what i'm saying? no answer. blank stare. is anyone else having this issue here? sea of dead crickets in a fuckin' library. is this thing on? hello? god, am i dead? so yeah, that's bullshit. they're the ones frowning and complaining about shit, metalheads just look that way on their album covers. in case you're... you know... hopefully you're not judging a book by its cover, and instead looking a little deeper, but you know... just in case.

i fucking hate people. you disgust me. two legged humanoid scumfucks with credit cards and dogs on leashes, fuckin' tattoos, buying clothes that make you look like something you're not, what the fuck are you trying to be? what the fuck is wrong with you? you sick, stupid creature! when does this shit end? what's next, cause i'm already bored? are you going to ignore one of your audience members who's bored with the show? and i'm not allowed to exit? well, something needs to be done then, the complaint wall has dead gods all over it, so i can't let anyone know i'm displeased with your little idea here, hello? is anyone brave enough to listen? i know this isn't what you want to hear, but humour me for a second. don't do what everyone else is doing. jim hightower says 'swim against the current, even a dead fish can go with the flow', but los angeles only has dead fish? where are the brains? i feel like a zombie, but i know it's the opposite side of the delusion, i'm a little lost here.

i fucking hate you all.

anyway. sorry. and third, the douchebag christian on the ozzy video... someone needed to say this, i can't believe this was never said by anyone, what the fuck are you people thinking if no one could say this, why did this have to be my fucking job, anyone of you could have done this, but i really feel like this needed to be said, still needs to be pointed out and said publicly, and accepted or legally enforced or something. can we vote on it? can we protest and write it everywhere? can we get some human spirit back together? are we all completely divided at this point? is there any hope of uniting?

but this seriously needed to be asked, and it never was.

i really want to ask that guy. just to see what reaction it sparks. i know i won't get a legitimate answer. i'll get lies, denial, accusations, diagnoses, all sorts of bullshit other than an answer.

here's the question i want to ask. ready?

drum roll...

do you know how stupid you sound?

i'd love to ask that guy, and most of these idiots, in person someday, seriously inquiring, honestly begging for a legitimate answer. i know i'll never get one. oh, i know that. i've already been through this argument a billion times. i know for a fact. scientific fact. proof, evidence, work shown, mutherfucking fact. i will never get an answer that's anywhere near honest.

but if they ever asked me anything, and i got a little angry, or raised my voice in frustration at having to repeat myself, or anything like that, they would say 'he's flying off the handle, drug him'.

mature approach, sure, okay. just like you dragged me out of the hospital parking lot. these idiots are so mature, aren't they? but somehow, they can blame you for all the shit they're doing. they accuse you of being immature, they blame you for being irresponsible. but i see another truth. i see that they are the lie. they are the delusion. they are the evil, the frowning, complaining, bitching, selfish pieces of shit. am i the only one who sees this? that cannot be true. i refuse to believe that. in fact, i refuse to believe any of this horse shit, and i'm waiting for something to happen that peaks my interest again.

i can't sit on my laptop or type without my elbows screaming in pain. my stomach won't leave me alone, constant rumbling. i'm thankful my teeth aren't hurting too much, i ran out of pain pills last night. my neck is fucked, it keeps feeling like it's going to break. and my laptop's already on low battery. i fucking hate these disgusting humanoid creatures, two legs, a credit card, and no heart.

what the fuck has happened to all of you?
who were you misled by, and for how long?
and how much are you enjoying living your life?
traveling, dining out, driving, flying, having money?

oh, i hope you're enjoying it like it won't last.

because these people truly do not know how stupid they sound. they don't want to know.

that knowledge is evil, remember?

yeah, well, it's time some of us climbed out of that playpen. i don't want to live among children anymore. children who would ignore a fellow human.

but rappers can walk down the street and talk to other rappers.

i fucking hate all of you.
and you'll refuse to think i'm justified till the day you no longer waste space on this planet. i hope to see that day. i'm praying for judgement day. i'd love for you all to be judged for how you've treated poor people this whole time. every goddamn one of you who ignored a panhandler. you think you're so much better than what? and is there a reason, an excuse? can you think of one?

do you even know where i'm going with this?
are you gonna act stupid, or act surprised?
are you going to hate me after this, or apologize?
are you even going to guess which options my money is on?

fucking lazy human shits. fuck all of you. until you stumble out of that credit card meth product haze, i will fucking hate you more than you hate me. just to keep the upper hand. don't think you can hate me more, i was raised around my grandmother. she was satan. you wannabe fucks.

so that question really needs to be asked at some point during this argument.

do they really know how stupid they fucking sound?
believing in a god that excuses them from acting like assholes, and treating people poorer than them like shit, people who don't want to work their jobs, or who would rather follow their own lives, but we're not able to do that in a monetary society, try explaining that to them! go ahead! i'll time you!

you pieces of fucking shit. hypocrites, lazy fucking human scum, i hate you. when will you know it.

your god can't even tell you how much i hate you, let alone explain the reasons to you. like you'd ever listen in the first place. and you think you're better than me. still.

i've been to an ozzy concert. i smiled. i've been to church. i didn't smile. neither did you.

go ahead. tell another lie. keep it going. you think i haven't been through this before.
you think i haven't learned what i needed to learn from this shit already.

i see it in the obviousness of hot women flocking to california. you think i don't know what you're all really doing here? you think i'm that stupid? i'd love to see a hacker hack into all your accounts someday, just to look for one little piece of information. what you're all trying to be. i'd bet two dollars for every dollar i'll ever have, that you're all trying to be the same fucking thing.

fucked.
taken care of.
spoiled.
actress.
porn star.
get a free ride through life.

all of the above. it's all the same fucking thing. the same choice. you're selling your bodies, and taking advantage of that, to live a better life than i can, and you fucking know that, you already had one twenty two year old shoot a few of you, how many more do you need before this herd of cattle wakes the fuck up and starts walking another way! you're walking through a permanent midnight of the human psyche, and you don't see anything wrong with that. and if i do, you don't have to listen. oh, but i'm being childish, uh huh, sure. yeah, keep saying the same thing, thinking it will always work. nothing could ever possibly learn from this, we've figured it out perfectly. boy, you're so smart. you must be proud. nothing ever evolves out from under your denial. if you can deny it, it's simply not there. god, you're so infallible, you're just like your god. coincidence? so perfect. well i'm sicking of looking at you all. i'd love to see all your heads on the fuckin' road. oh, let that offend you. cause the only reason you can sell your bodies right now, is because we're still in a monetary society. i'm counting days, hunny, till your undeserved free ride ends. fuckin' dollar sluts. i can't stand you. holding the arm of one man at a time, what toilet of denial did you drown in? i'm praying to see your skinny ass and your stupid fuckin' face splatter all over sunset boulevard. credit cards go flying. i'm praying to see it. let's see who's god shows up first.

cause someone needs to say this... your god sucks at judging.

keep it going. how long can this go on. how long can you enjoy life without letting every other human enjoy the same. how long can you keep excusing yourself. i'm really curious.

i've proven you wrong so many times. but my blog has four fucking views.

seems to me like you're just to lazy to get out of denial. which means the earth is going to have to find a solution. something to do with you, so we can move on already. time is ticking, i know that much.

take your doomsday clock and shove it up your ass, while you're falling into the volcano, please, so i can photograph it and put it on facebook. please? i'll pay you for that. i'll also give you this free tshirt that says 'i oppressed the poor for centuries and stumbled into a volcano and all i got was this stupid tshirt'.

all your movies.
all your pop music.
all your food products.
all your overpriced restaurant food.
all your paid security and waiters.
all your slaves preparing food for you.

you can take every godfucking bit of this unholy pyramid of yours, and shove it all up your stupid, unevolved, in denial, lying scumbag fucking ass. you fucking pieces of shit, you fucking human turds, why can't you at least be ashamed of yourselves? why is that so hard for you to admit? why are you incapable of truth? why do you smell so fucking horrible! like paris hilton's plastic credit card douche dildo, that's what you fucking smell like! drenched in perfume and denial, hiding in layers of clothing and cash, never knowing who or what the fuck you are, never having any potential for change, just spending that fucking credit card, and telling others what to do. and each time you ladies hold the arm of a rich man instead of the arm of a poor man... you're letting satan that much further into this world. i hope you know that someday. all your chatting about what products look prettier. i wish i could rape every one of those putrid fucking words back into your horrid mouths, so maybe i wouldn't feel so ashamed of all the shit i've said that was never heard. all the words and breath i've wasted in the wrong direction. the less ugly i feel... the more truth i see through your draining opacity. fucking die already. please let this offend you. let this ruin your day. get all bitchy about it. please. it's not the money i want paid back. you'll never have a fuckin' clue.

you are scum.
what the fuck is wrong with you.
and why the fuck are you still here.
i will fucking hate you like a goddamn enemy.
i am your enemy.
i am your outlaw.
i am evolution.

deny me all you want.

i exist whether you like it or not.

that concrete won't hold up forever.

misery and agony

there are so many things that have happened in this last week that i wish i could have written on here, but i don't even have the motivation for that anymore. doing this shit alone among seven billion idiots is just fucking sad. the fact that i can't make friends with a single one of you idiots. draggin' your dogs on leashes, draggin' your pants on the ground. why should i have to fit in with that?

i just tried to use the restroom at the library. it's bad enough that before each and every single time i want to use a 'public restroom', i have to wipe off the seat before i can use it. that's just fucking sad. that means that basically no other male on this planet knows how to use a 'public restroom' properly. do women have to deal with this shit? ladies, when you use your women's restrooms, do you have to wipe your fucking seats every single time without fail? do you think that's mature? fair? excusable? what the fuck is wrong with these idiot men? do they not grow up? do they not mature? are they standing there in the darkness aiming for the toilet like a kid playing with a star wars toy? what the fuck is wrong with these men? it doesn't matter where i am, seattle, portland, san francisco, i've been a lot of places, it's not just one town. it's... every day. every town. every bathroom. right now, there's some idiot guy, probly in his thirties, standing there purposely pissing on a toilet seat just to be an asshole, cause there's no other reason to piss on a toilet seat. is that not obvious? do we have to be potty trained again? did your mothers not smack you enough? what the fuck is going on here? every day! every fucking toilet! every restroom! every fucking time! i have to at least wipe off the seat, if not the floor underneath. what the fuck is wrong with you! how old are you? do you do that shit at home? my mother would be looking for her gun right about now.

can someone explain to me the mentality going on there. grown men pissing on toilet seats like it's a fucking ritual. what the fuck is wrong with you! you're children and i can prove it on a fucking toilet seat! i've got my proof, that's all you need to worry about. you fucking childish scrumfucks, i cannot stand any of you. the fact that i have to go through this shit because of you. you talk about responsibility. and you know the worst part? i ask the librarian lady, she says it's up to me to clean it. every time. i can't ask anyone else. ever. it's my duty to scrub down every other guy's piss on this planet off that seat, each and every time.

this time. i walked in the bathroom. observed. took a look around. you smell piss as soon as you enter the room. i looked at the floor. i always look for light reflections on moist surfaces. like when you see street lights reflecting off rainy streets, i look for those reflections. if i see shiny moisture anywhere. but i go in this time, and whoever was in there before me... my mother is shooting ghosts right about now, i can feel her ranting and doing her evil eye. whatever jackass, childish fucking moron used this restroom before me... must have pissed all over the floor. the whole floor's wet with piss, you can smell it... so i walk out and try to ask the lady, i tell her about it... she says i have to clean it. so i go back in there, reach for the toilet paper... it's dripping. what the fuck, how did he... did he have to aim upward for that? did he have to stand on his fucking knees and aim up in toward the fucking toilet paper roll? what the fuck, that defies physics, goddamnit, these children are so fucking retarded, there's no explaining the shit that they fuck up anymore!

my mother and i had my friend ben over once, and his little brother tim. tim was a fucking moron. a thirty foot tall shrek mutherfucker, a goddamn oaf at the age of fourteen. my mother and i don't know what the fuck this kid did, but whatever he had to do to get this to happen must have been fucking extraordinary, he would have had to have levitated at one point just to walk out of there, i don't understand these fucking kids these days, man. beyond destructive, to where you have to try to deduce in your head what the fuck events must have happened to get this mess you're looking at to be this particular way... you're getting chemistry sets out of the attic in your head just to figure out, i have to know what the fuck this kid just did. i'm sure no one else has experiences like these, it was just my mother and i, the only two breathing brains on this fucking planet apparently. but ben's little brother tim, walked out of our restroom into our hallway and sat down. by the time he sat down on the couch, the water was already creeping down the hallway. he fucked up that toilet so bad. my mother and i never had a clue what the fuck he could have done in there, though we theorized and hypothesized and contemplated like fuckin' scientists. what the fuck could he have done in there to get that result? was he sliding down the fucking wall? how the fuck did that happen?

what the fuck is wrong with these seemingly grown humans that walk this earth and use credit cards in starbucks, how the fuck... it's bad enough when i have to wipe the seat every time i use a public restroom, but to walk into that fiasco once in a while? that magical little surprise treat?

would that make anyone else's day, or are you all zombying off into videogame heaven already. 'oh, he's just bitchin' about stupid shit again, yawn, pass me the meth pipe, i need to focus, i got aliens to kill'.

you're children. you want my proof? walk into any public restroom, and tell me you don't see what i see. you're all fucking children. any doofus fuck on this planet with a wanger danglin' between his disgusting legs, you know you're a repulsive creature, those products don't make you a better person, they just make you look like it, and you fucking disgust me. you should all be ashamed of yourselves. i can't use a men's restroom without encountering the worst of boys and all the immaturity this planet has to offer. i fucking hate men. i haven't met a mature, responsible one yet. each one of you fucks has to have some stupid opinion that you use as an excuse to dominate me, and try to get me to do what you want. you don't see it the way i see it. i don't think even otep shamaya sees it the way i see it. i would hope someone does, but i have my doubts. but i see naked men walking this earth. every man, i see them inside my head as naked. those dangling fucking phalluses just waving around. and this is what i see. if there's something that needs to be done... that guy is certainly not going to do it. and i don't see any wallet or exchange of cash. i just see the dominant guy lean over the weaker one, waving his phallus in the smaller guy's face, and using that image, that threat, to get his way, to get what he wants, pressuring, pushing, forcing, even before the dick enters anything. just to get their way, just to get what they want, that's what i see happening. every bit of money spent, i see that image happening. the weaker man, aka the man getting paid, has to be down in a submissive position, and the guy with the money, aka the guy with the dick, has to be standing up, leaning over, with his one foot propped up on some rock or cement wall or something, so he can really dangle that cock out openly. and men just force their way around the planet with this. every building that has ever been built, every political agenda. and it's not necessarily sex they get threatened with, it's usually death. they use that phallic dominance to just barbarically kill the problem. and i picture the mentality. that neanderthal brain inside that skull, and what chemistry is going on to make what thought, i fucking study that. debate me all you want, you already know i've entered territory where you've never gone. try and tell me how to think more like you now, go ahead, fuckin' try. try to see what i'm seeing in my mind, when i look in your direction, and then try to justify whatever the fuck it is you're doing. you scrotal sack of shit. i fucking hate men, if this is all men are, then men are fucking pigs, every goddamn one of them, i fucking hate you, and i want you to know it, to feel it, you repulse me, you disgust me, you don't deserve to get to use public restrooms or wallets, you fucking children! you make me fucking sick. every fucking day of my life i have to deal with your shit. sometimes literally. creatures that shit all over this planet, yet live in some delusion that they're not. you're boys. with your fuckin' little star wars toys, and your fuckin' little...

when i was a kid, there was some children's book, where they called a boy's wiener an 'acorn'. also around those years, i found out that they used to word 'dork' to describe the same thing. when i was a kid, i remember looking down once, and not being able to formulate the words, but basically thinking in my head... i looked down once and thought, 'what the fuck am i gonna use this stupid thing for?'. i didn't want to have my mother explain it to me, and i sure as hell wasn't asking anyone else. mom, you were right. more than you knew. you cannot trust these idiots. not a goddamn human on this planet is responsible enough to be a human. they're pond scum. primordial play pen rejects. a living organism on this planet is... in this mental state? so deeply that i can not only identify it, but gauge it? measure it? is this really this sad yet? or do we still have some red line room left?

they talk about the doomsday clock being closer than ever... yeah, wonder why.

so this is what i have to deal with every time i encounter a human, pretty much. wiping down toilet seats every day of my life, being harassed by authorities every day of my life, seems to me like if i'm cleaning all your piss off all your toilets, you could at least stop harassing me, and maybe thank me. toss me a nugget of weed some time, and say 'hey, thanks for continually cleaning my piss off that toilet seat, buddy, hope you haven't sat on any, i got trouble aiming, i pissed on my glasses', something! but no. the mentality that would piss on a seat would never thank anyone for a fuckin' thing. i've seen that mentality be raised straight out of the parent's house, and they still think i don't know what i'm talking about. i challenge you, anyone reading this, if you really want to know, you can look back through all my stories, and find the story about this kid i knew when i was growing up... named alan crowder. not sure of the spelling anymore. you want to see what i'm talking about, you want me to illuminate this for you? you honestly want to open your mind to what i'm saying for once in your pathetic life? look up this story. this kid didn't know how to blow his nose. when i was in my mid to late twenties, i heard through some family member, that they heard that alan crowder is now a fucking doctor, graduated early... i'm thinking... you're talking about the same kid that couldn't blow his fucking nose? what the fuck happened? how did he find the catapult, and i can't? what the fuck? is that just how i get ripped off in this world? that happens here? seriously? you excuse that?

you want to know about the mentality that i'm talking about, be brave. do your research on me. walk into any public restroom, and look at the seats. ladies, i challenge you, too, to do the same thing. randomly walk into any men's restroom, take a quick glance at the toilet seats, the floors, and come back out, and you tell me, would you want to deal with that shit every day? would you marry the guy who did that? no? cause you're probly getting fucked by him tonight, you dumb cunt. you've been fuckin' that guy cause he showers and has a wallet, when you could have been pulling this world in another direction, a better direction, it's essentially up to you who shows up on this planet, you do know that, right? you wonder why men stare at your asses... fucking duh! it's time for you to fucking grow the fuck up and figure it the fuck out! we stare at your asses because that's where we all come from! of course it's going to look beautiful and attractive to us! it's not a bad thing that it does! you dumb fucks!

what if, just play with my brain for a second, what if... let's stretch our minds real wide here... what if... just hypothesize... what if... women planned on what spirits they spit out onto this earth?

i know, just what if. follow the thought through for a minute. don't be impatient, it takes time for that seed to take root. but theorize, what do you think you would start to see after a few generations of planned births. they use the term 'planned parenthood'. i think i just proved you have no clue what words you're spitting out of your mouths, let alone the definitions behind them, whenever those two words are anywhere near you at the same time. yeah, what if we planned on who showed up here?

i picture someday, there's a girl that gets pregnant, and she goes off and decides, 'i'm going to raise the next timothy leary'. so thirty years later, she emerges from the woods, and hey, comes driving out in a psychedelic bus with rainbows flowing around it, a shitload of hippies in the bus. i'm sure we could reincarnate half of our heroes just by having fewer sluts on this planet, not knowing where to aim those asses they're packin' around behind them. now, i know how crude this may seem, but try to see it from my perspective, and not your own selfish one. since that's obviously all you've been doing for the past twenty generations. yeah, oops. been peering through the same two eyes for too long now, and because of it, your kids have never heard the word 'clean'.

so what the fuck had to have happened to that alan kid for him to graduate fucking college? i still wonder curiously. no one ever said. did he eat his fuckin' wheaties, or what? i don't get it. if i had jumped off that same catapult as him, i would have landed flat on my face. i'm not even lucky enough to find a catapult on this planet, but that kid somehow stumbled across one, and didn't die?

was he one of tim's turds that lived? are they birthing immortal humans out of roach turds, or was that just the luck i got in this life? no one ever believes me when i talk about my body. i don't know why, what could you possibly have to doubt when it's not your life to worry about? how could it possibly hurt your ears when i talk about my pain? are you just that immature? childish? fearful?

i'm dealing with some horrible tooth pain lately, still dealing with my stupid stomach that can't leave me alone for a second of my life, can't decide if it wants to fart or not... it's worse than a little kid... it's like when you open the door to let the stupid little puppy run outside, and the puppy darts up to the door, and just before he runs far enough out the door for you to close it, he teases you by not being able to make up his feeble little mind, and he'll stop, right there on the carpet, and just sit there, staring at you, like 'are you gonna pick me up now?'... that's what my farts are acting like. i get all this rumbling going on, that interrupts whatever else i'm having to do, whether spitting or popping my neck, or the ten billion other annoying bodily emergencies i have going on at all moments of the fucking day, the rumbling will actually interrupt most of that, just to rumble around, so i go and lean away to let the fart come out, cause it ain't brave enough to come out right onto that concrete that is not conducive to gas release whatsoever, but okay, keep up with me here. i lean out to let the gas out, and it acts like that stupid little puppy. it'll just stop, like 'oh, i'm not ready to go outside just yet'.

i keep looking down at my stomach and screaming 'make up your fucking mind!', or 'shut the fuck up and leave me alone!'. still think that's normal and something you should ignore? by that rate, you won't hit mental puberty till jesus returns. nothing on this body will stop hurting long enough to let me enjoy a moment of life. never has. but doctors won't even believe me when i say that. cause that's how they're conditioned to think, but you try to tell them that, and they're so deep in denial you can smell satan's ass. and they'll just blame you for everything. cause that's how they're conditioned to think. but you can't tell them that. not even if you owned the concept.

you people make me fucking sick. if you were brave enough to read my blog, you'd see all the proof you need. but you're not brave enough, nor do you have the time, so fuck you all.

so those three pills i took earlier, to coax this three month long snake out of my ribs... irrelevant.

do i ever get to make a plan?
study my history and answer that, you get extra credit.
do i ever get a chance to make a plan and have it happen?
have i ever gotten to?

i agree with sonic syndicate...

i try not to make plans, plans are for people in control of their own lives.

i fucking hate you all. you want my proof?
you can grow up and clean it off the fucking toilet seat.
you human fucking swine.

you think yourselves to high and mighty, so above the rest.

you're just caught in a bubble of delusion at the edge of this fuckin' pond, asshole.
and the rest of us are looking at you wondering who the fuck you're talking to.

ask any psychiatrist. when you tell a delusional person that they're delusional, what reaction do you get?

get back in the fucking pond till you can piss through a straw, asshole.

that should be like a requirement for something... like taking your driving test, if you can parallel park, you get your license, if you can't parallel park, you get to try again.

you shouldn't be allowed to stand on your own two feet unless you can piss through a pineapple ring and still eat it. new rule. if only bill maher had thought of that one ten years ago, i might be able to shit like a human right about now. thanks.

so thank you, library patrons, for your responsibility and maturity, and thank you library staff for being adults and owning your own library including the adult human responsibilities that usually come with a house. something tells me, if these people honestly don't know how to clean their own restrooms... if they don't know anything you ask them... every library i walk into lately, i ask them something, doesn't matter what it is, their answer will be 'i don't know'. you're a fuckin' librarian, am i the only one here? what the fuck, you work in a library, are you saying you're underqualified for the job? are seven eleven clerks too incompetent to push a fucking button? and why are they so prejudiced toward poor people, that should be their bread and butter, it's a fuckin' seven eleven! that's poor people territory, yet they discriminate against poor people constantly. then buddy, perhaps you should have gotten a job at fucking olive garden feeding old people with dentures and diapers.

it's not my fault you chose the wrong line of work, asshole. it's not my fault you don't have that many options. it's not my fault this entire pyramid is built on the kissing of asses. it's not my fault your mother never showed you how to piss in a toilet. or father, whatever. i never needed a father, so figure that one out. pussy.

i think i've gauged your immaturity rather well. but go ahead and debate me on it, that'll definitely raise the bar. it's a clue you'll never get, and you're still not getting. are you even making an honest attempt, or are you just dreaming of your videogame at home.

my mother warned me about kids like you.
why do you think i never played videogames.

coffee.
energy drinks.
beer.

all that other horseshit you idiots pour down your gullets.

you're fucking pathetic. and my proof to back up that statement is right fuckin' here. the longer you debate it, the sooner i win.

...
side notes:

i've been sucking down ibuprofen eight hundreds like skittles.
they're doing nothing for the pain.
so i figured i'd try to call sarah today, and see if she's willing to help at all.
my teeth hurt, i can't keep my eyes open, my back is fucked, my stomach, my neck, my fucking sobriety, my constant spitting, my knuckles.

i wish i could die.
i would so love to die right fucking now.
there's no reason to stay here.
why should i help you people.
you obviously don't want my help.
you reject it at every mention.
you're children, you're not ready yet.
i'll come back in a couple hundred years.
don't be scared, the reincarnation portal works better than you.

see that roach over there?
how do you know you weren't just him?

figure it the fuck out, kids.
grow the fuck up.

i'd love to do some sort of study, and find out for fact:
how many adult males piss on toilet seats?

keep flappin' that wacker around.
i'm gonna laugh when a bus takes it.

the librarian lady, the manager just walked over to me, and told me that i spoke about the restroom earlier, and i can't be using that language... and then starts to walk away after she says her piece. i said 'can i respond?'. cause no one ever seems to want my two cents, even though i wrote the fucking high coup on it. they just spit their rules into my head, and walk away. do they not see that words are trying to come out of my mouth? do i not make it obvious enough to these complacent, apathetic fucks? so i told her the reason i just wrote in this blog, and got no response, she just walks away.

there's no excuse for this shit. if i'm acting more mature than you are, you can't keep telling me i'm not. i will fucking prove it once and for all, to end this fucking childish debate, by pointing out the real child in the fucking room! take that veil of delusion off you, and reveal what you should finally be ashamed of. now we adults can finally fucking breathe. fuck off, kid. go find a porno and grow the fuck up. don't come back till you got hair on your third eye, you pansy fuck.

they should segregate restrooms into 'adult' and 'child'.
the children's room should have the security guard.
and that kindergarten teacher from billy madison.
can we get kindergarten cop in there, too? my grammy loved him.

i won't have any faith in anyone till i start seeing dry toilet seats. fuck the rest of you.

still sober

i hate so fucking much.
i fucking hate people.

i can't find one fucking pothead in los angeles.

i hate this fucking place.

...
'i reject this fucking race
i despise this fucking place'...

i fucking hate you all.

march is grinding it corpse style

i've thought of so many things to write here...

i've tried to think of so many different ways to say the right thing to get the right person's attention. but those people are not looking in my direction, not even online.

this is making me sick.

i can't stand seeing people walking their dogs on leashes.
i can't stand seeing people enjoying their credit card consumer lifestyle while i can't.
i'm sick of being ripped off every time i try to find a friend with weed.

or hell, even just when i try to find weed. fuck the friends.

i can't wait to get to the point where i'm no longer trying to make friends...
and i can tell those people trying to be my friends to fuck off...
i can't wait till i'm at the point where i can tell people...
if you want to work with me, you need titanium balls...

people who i've pictured being my friends, are the people who don't fear a fuckin' thing.
my friends wouldn't fear a fuckin' thing.
my friends wouldn't bitch about who gets the check.
my friends wouldn't be pussies who can't decide which haircut to buy.

my friends know who the fuck they are, and no product can dress them properly.

those are my fuckin' friends. where are they. i know some are here in los angeles.

...
last night, i got ten bucks cash back from seven eleven.
this morning, i tried to buy a dime bag from a nigger named alex.
he was way too paranoid about the cops, so needless to say, i never got my weed.
i'm sure he had fun wasting my ten bucks, though.

that's what happens to me every time i try to buy weed. i get ripped off.

where are the people who don't look to rip you off?
where are the actual, legitimate humans, with organic hearts?
where are the worthwhile people on this planet?
and why can't i find any potheads in this pathetic fucking city?

there's too much concrete here...
there's too much plastic here...

i can't feel where the actual life is. and i'm at a loss for how to find it.

i've tried just about every social site there is. i don't belong there.

i can't get my voice heard online, and i can't get my voice heard in person, and i can't find where to go, to find a set of ears that might hear me. so what do i do? where do i go?

easiest step one: find someone who speaks my language. find an otep concert, something. anything. talk to metal people. find the metal people who also smoke weed. out of those, find the ones who have enough talent to play an instrument, and don't just spit out two dollar excuses like 'my job keeps me busy'. fuck your job, if you were really passionate about music, you'd do what i'm doing.

i don't make excuses.
i don't tolerate tradition.
i do not excuse superstition.
there is no excuse for fear.
there is no excusing procrastination.

stay in your little hole.

and you can see my bright mind light up the fuckin' sky from a cave where you belong.

stop telling me i don't belong here. it's you who... ain't from 'round here, are ya, boy?

you've been stumbling on this earth with no direction or purpose for long enough.

i have a purpose. and i'm headed in one direction.
get the fuck out of my way, so i can find the big brains.

...
that's not at all what i wanted to write here today, but... i have no weed.
i get inspired with so much hatred, that the hopelessness just takes over, and i say 'fuck it'.
i've let too much shit go recently.

i have a feeling it's all gonna come crashing back.

karma doesn't take a day off. i know that. i inherited hitler's karma, so i'll be the authority on that one.

my arsenal of information against you is pulsing and throbbing with excitement.
your fear of me gets me high. your paranoia gets me hard.

i'm into shock value as a kink.
i'm doing this just to scare you.

why?

cause you look so stupid when you get scared.
those faces you make look so fucking pathetic.
i can see the price tags in your tears.
i want to plaster those faces all over the internet.
i'd love to instagram the fuck out of your stupid mug.

doubt me.
debate me.
debunk me.
wallow in disbelief.
drown yourself in fear.

it's all making my job easier. and more fun.

and right now, i'm so sober, i could kill your god.

and i'm the best chance you've got of avoiding a global suicide.
maybe the only fuckin' chance, cause i ain't got no friends yet.

eat that, fascist.

...
i'm waiting for someone to ask me this question. or whatever question leads up to this answer.

i'm interested to see people's reaction, when i say that i've never really had a legitimate friend.

my high school friends were all a bunch of lazy, whiny little shits.

i could never find any of them to play guitar for me, let alone the music i like.

which... that's number one. i don't like music that anyone else likes, so... i'm pretty much fucked for the good social times there.

i never considered anyone a friend of mine yet. if i did for a short time, they'd quickly lose me by being some form of moron i just don't tolerate.

my stupid lazy high school friends... none of them ever had a direction in life.
and if i ever spoke of a direction in life to them, i'm sure they didn't hear it.
after high school, they all disappeared. high school was their best time.
i've never wanted to be friends with those pussies.

how come i have memories of setting foot on beaches of islands that...
i know these two feet have never touched.

how do i explain half of what's in my head, if i don't have a receptive friend?

that's been my entire life. misunderstood at best, unheard at worst.
well, no, honestly, i've seen it get worse than that, just about every day.
being dominated, talked over, authority poking its finger in my chest.
harassed, told what to do, where to go, who to be, what time to wake up.

but i'm curious to see what people think of the fact that i've been deprived of having something as simple as 'friends' my entire life, cause i haven't met anyone who could match my intellect.

'oh, so you think you're smarter than everyone else'.

no, i know for a fact that i'm smarter than everyone else, and i can prove it on a fuckin' billboard.

you see anyone from mensa talking to me?

no, i never had any highschool friends. none that even stuck around.

nannette is going to college in alaska, married with a kid, lives a basic paranoid life, never talks about anything to lively on facebook because she's scared for no intelligible reason, she hates herself and her life, and doesn't even like sex anymore, never smiles...

naomi... who the fuck knows where she is.

brad... last time i saw brad, he lost his job at klpx, and there was no personality left to him. married with a kid, and there was an empty shell of brad where the jokes used to be.

booboo... who fuckin' cares. i'm sure aaron still works at the fuckin' rent to own place.

every fuckin' pathetic one of my friends ended up having kids.
in high school, we were the misfits who thought we'd never get lucky enough to breed.
hell, one day, this jimmy hixon asshole chucked a glass bottle at a friend of dana's feet, hitting her leg, and dana said something, and the idiot says back, 'at least i'm not a breeder'.

dana and her friends were all lesbian and shit. the gay kids in school before that got too trendy.
when we were all still kind of oppressed and harassed by the society we didn't want to fit into.

after mom died, i wish i could have gotten ahold of dana, she was really the only person i wanted to tell. cause i remembered that picture of her and mom hugging and smiling in the park.

i always thought my friends liked my mom more than me.
now that she'd dead, it's become obvious.

i was just the 'misunderstood weird one' of the group of misfits.
are you paying attention? i didn't fit into a group of misfits!
how the fuck am i gonna suddenly want to fit into your plastic fuckin' world.
i think it's pathetic, and one morning, i'm just supposed to wake up, and walk to starfucks like you?
just stop bitching about how you get to live a better life than i do, but this is fair how?

there's so much hypocrisy in there, i could piss on it and sell it at ihop.

yeah, some dude named dave has never said thems words before. i'm proud of that.

i'm unique. from my perspective... you're not.

and spank. the only halfway worthwhile friend i had ever made...
i reluctantly sent him a friend request on facebook lately...
he sent back, 'not even if you were dying of cancer'.

that's fine, i didn't want to friend anyone who listens to minimum anyway.
and i can find a better satanist friend to argue with about the afterlife.

but that's the thing. i don't see any other satanists with pentagrams...
i don't see any other potheads who smoke how they dress...

if i see a slacker looking person, i'll walk up to them, and i'll ask them...
do you smoke weed?

most common answer i get: nope.
second most common answer i get: yeah, but don't got any.

is everyone in los angeles this much of a fucking loser?
is this pathetic plastic city really that fucking sad?

you'd think someone would finally get offended, and say 'hey, not everyone here sucks, come over and smoke a bowl with us, let us show you some actual humanity'.

that'll never fuckin' happen. that's how i've tested reality. if i think it, it won't happen.

anything i think, never happens. the proof is in the evidence.

so if i can't attract my type of people to me... what the fuck do i do?

where do i go?

but these half assed slacker wannabe idiots that i see dressing like potheads, and then i ask them, and they say no, they don't smoke weed, i can't help but thinking, every time...

and i'm even getting extremely tempted to start saying this, since i run through so many of these pathetic fucking clones... i keep wanting to say...

why the fuck are you dressed that way then?
why would you dress like a slacker, but not smoke weed?
smoking weed is what makes you dress that way.
the weed comes first, and then you can't afford armani.
that's the way it's been for potheads and people with hearts since the dawn of smoke.

what the fuck is wrong with you?
how against the grain are you going here?

and i'm not talking about the societal 'norm' you adhere to.
i'm talking about the grain of this earth you're standing on.

you're about as unnatural as marijuana laws.
you're about as full of excuses as the bag of dog turds in your hand.

you're children.

if you want to debate me on the fact that i'm more mature than you... i've already won.

but you won't figure that out.

and the next time i go to a doctor, i'm going to take a friend, a lawyer, and a piece of paper with me. and on the piece of paper, it's going to say...

'i'll bet you a billion dollars, and your license, that you're going to say the five retarded words i don't want to hear ever again, and that's 'i don't see anything wrong'.'.

because that's all i ever hear from doctors.
i know there's shit wrong with this body.
they just refuse to do anything about it.
because they've been through too many bullet wounds, bellyaches, and boys crying wolf.

so that's apparently my fault. so they take it out on me.
they laugh at me.

they use the word 'hypochondriac' like it's a skittles dispenser.

it's no different than my grandmother telling my mother it was just gas when mom had her gall bladder removed. it's one elementary school student talking to another.

that's literally all i see there. you never made it off the playground, did you?

still just the school yard bully with a pocket full of stolen lunch money.

and now you're telling me there's nothing wrong with this body. thanks, doc.

they mock me, tease me, and diagnose me in their heads.
they do all they can to come up with any excuse of why they can't do their job.

someone needs to tell these idiots, they're just excuses, and they need to stop.
this has gotten way too childish to still be excusable, you need to stop.
those who are talking need to shut their fucking mouths and learn to listen.
those who do too much listening to television need to think of something better to say.

you're a doctor. you have all the money and tools at your fingertips to help me.

and you refuse.

and i'm being childish and immature? irresponsible? haven't i already had this argument?

with clone number four thousand five hundred and sixty fuckin' two.

i can't meet any humans who give a fuck. about anything but themselves.
i can't find any potheads in los angeles. period.

they're just not here.

and by extension, all of california, there are no fuckin' potheads here. people from seattle or denver, don't fucking come here. if you're thinking about seeing what weed california has to offer, stay the fuck away from here. all there is here is the stench of sobriety, consumerism, concrete, plastic, dog shit, starfucks, hypocrisy, and whiny little bitches. plastic people.

you give me so much to hate on a daily basis...

yeah. sobriety. wow, there's a lively topic there. i see it floppin' like a fillet o' fish.

like an egg on the hood of a car.

stay the fuck away from california. as soon as i leave here with a pocket full of cash, i'm never coming back here. plasticland. i hope this turd goes in the ocean soon, it's been too long.

and i'm feeling just as bound up as the earth is right now, i'm sure these are sympathy pains.

carol told me, 'the earth doesn't need our help'.

that pissed me off and made me fucking hopeless. the night i thought of that, i was full of inspiration and motivation, sprouting these big ideas one after another. i sent her an email asking her to say this little chant with me every night around sunset...

earth, give me what i need to help you.

i guess what i said wasn't inspiring enough.
she sent back, 'the earth doesn't need our help'.

the fuck it doesn't. have you seen all this concrete? or are you in the denial hole with everyone else?

this planet is being run by ostriches who figured out how to fly on a plane. nothing more.

and if they think i can't overpower them. if they're betting on me losing.
if they're the slightest bit doubtful of my potential to evolve this planet against their will.

i'll bet you twenty bucks you'll see their faces on instagram soon enough.

life ain't that hard. swimming through an ocean of seven billion dead zombie clones and plastic mannequin rejects to find a set of ears... i could use a little help with that part.

i didn't quite do the math on seven billion, i guess. where's google translate?

fuck yourselves. this is happening with or without you. preferably for me... without.
have a wonderful day.

empty world

why am i filled with so much hatred?

why is it impossible to translate to anyone?

why is it impossible to find anyone who understands me?

why can i not break through that, and change it?

why can i not find a heart or mind in this world?

why does everything feel so numb and empty?

why am i so lost?

it seems like ever since my mother died, society stopped having a reason to understand me... if they ever did.

what delusion am i lost in?

and will there ever be an answer to this? an ending? something better? this can't be all there is to life here. this can't be all there is to my life. and this cannot possibly be the only life there is.

if i'm this smart, having trouble communicating with anyone in this world and being understood, if my iq is this much higher than the people around me, and if i'm lost in this illusion, on this planet, right now, this american dream horseshit... this can't be all there is. i couldn't possibly get ripped off that badly, and then nothing.

no god would allow shit to be that stupidly random and unexplained for this long. not even god, but consciousness, whatever energy does exist out there, is it completely chaotic and random, or does it have some sanity, some order, some function, some awareness, some logic. i can't be the inventor of logic on this fucking planet. you must be joking, surely there was someone before me. this is what year now? where are my fuckin' friends? is the bus late?

what the fuck watch or alignment do i need to look at here? what the fuck is going on?

help, god, this is a really bad joke, god, my voice is muffled in an ocean of chaos, echoed only by my dead heroes, and i can't find the living ones in this zombie videogame nightmare, god, are you there, can you hear my voice, god?

consciousness? energy? aliens? spirits? mom? michio kaku? otep shamaya? robb flynn? fuckin' maynard? anyone? hello?

half of you are in the studio right now, or just coming out of it, the other half of you are fuckin' dead...

god, this fog is dense. tool said this bog was thick and easy to get lost in, but this is dumber than it should be right now, surely a few candlelight brains have gathered somewhere, i can't see shit. i know i'm here, but where i am, i don't know. i know i just stepped back into the room, cause there's a black distance gap, but i know who i am. this soul is still here, why do i have these memories of you guys, but can't get a smoke signal. is anyone receiving me? is this translating? hello?

am i the only human who hates plastic human clones? hello? is that just the echo of my voice?

receptive ears...
dust...
i'm sure there's something to stub my toe on...

hello?

am i the only human trying to find humans with all three eyes? did someone mention that soundgarden song, or was that me? what the fuck, man, who here is not laughing at me, who here is the least bit curious, anyone?

numb...
apathetic...
staring at nothing...
videogames...
solitaire...
lord of icons...
trash...
pop music videos on youtube...
zombie clones...

am i lost in a world of my own bad imagination, or what the fuck's going on here? you guys suck, where's the cool shit? people who speak... i don't know, what the fuck language do you call it here, cause you idiots don't seem to know. you call it english, but you're american, and none of you can speak english, let alone spell, then hbo calls it 'adult language', but that offends everyone and stays in the garage, so i don't get it, where are the adults who speak poetic passion from the heart in a fluent blending of many tongues in a sharing of perspectives and debate in search of the truth... was that sentence too long, did i lose you? where do i find these people? does anyone know where the mensa building is, and how can i teleport there without paying soulstealing fishhook cashdollars to get on a packed sardine can with empty zombie humans who don't speak and listen to what the government sells them, can anyone help me? where do i how do i get to where to find the actual humans on this planet? take me to... not your leader or your dealer, but that guy, the guy who talks, looks kinda like me, where do i find me people? is this translating? are my sentences too long for you? are you on twitter? what's going on here? is this going to sound stupid if i shout it into the future? am i talking to myself or is anyone listening? where's the megaphone? is this making any sense to anyone?

why do i feel so fucking lost, i know i've been here before, i've done this before, why do i know that if i'm the only one who knows that in this world, and i can't find people i know i've talked to before, what the fuck is going on here, why am i so fucking lost, i feel like i'm shouting through a walmart with empty eyes staring at me and not saying anything, and why do i feel like i'm the only one looking for dead people? and are they supposed to be here, or not? if not, then why the fuck am i here? and why does random not play my music on random anymore? how many lives have i lost to you morons? how many lizard tales are off behind me somewhere? how long have i walked this earth with no connection? how many times have i been here without anyone knowing? and will i have to do this shit again? cause this ain't fun for a life on this planet, i'm not having fun in a monetary society, i seem to be the only one, i can't find anyone else to translate to, not even google translate understands me, where the fuck do i go, where are the big brains, i can feel them, they're here somewhere, i've talked to you before, i know i've translated, i've lived this before, but i'm lost and about twenty years late after i should have been here, if that makes any sense, but i know i've done this before, hello? is anyone there yet? i feel like i'm in chinatown again, being stared at. oddly, walmart is kinda like chinatown. empty eyes just stare at you, but oddly enough, you don't exist either. i can't believe i ever saw that. why do i feel like i should have been here two thousand years... after now? did someone hit the wrong button? what's going on? am i supposed to be here yet, or did someone shove me on stage too soon? i'm getting lost in a sea of my own echoes here, this really isn't funny, my sanity is seeing weird shit, i can feel my mind slipping through the cusp of the earth in this age, and the earth in the next age, and i can't find anyone that makes sense to, who would actually respond with a... what would you call something they haven't named or figured out, or even identified yet... unidentified... written... concept? object? objective? uh... wait... fuckin'... what's the word for a meaningful statement with multiple words... i know it's not just an 'essay', cause kids in school didn't realize the teachers were saying that word for that reason with that meaning attached... i knew that was off immediately, that was my first glimpse that something was unworldly wrong here. people don't know what the fuck a coincidence is. spit a reaction off your tongue that has some life to it, or maybe eat a steak first, see if that helps get some life out of your heart. why do so many people drink to socialize, and why am i the only one who doesn't, without having to fill that hole with a god, or some other plastic product horseshit. why, lord, why, why can i not find anyone else who hates this shit as much as i do? i know there are a few here, i hear their songs with my own ears, but no one else's, why are my people so unpopular, hidden, and hard to find? where are they? how the fuck do i find them? cause i can't find shit on google anymore. social networks are for retarded mindless clones who can't make a choice to identify any self awareness unless it's a videogame product or an opinion about another one. what the fuck is going on here, god, why... why do i say anything? why do i speak? why do i exist when all you wanted here were plastic zombie clones and walking products with credit cards for concrete cancer hearts... why, god, why!

something fucking work!

fucking come on, man!

what the fuck is this shit!

no matter what i try to search for on google, it has to be so goddamn difficult and frustrating, time consuming, and i can never find a fucking thing i'm looking for.

whatever part of my life i'm trying to track down and get back, it takes me years to find anything!

because any fucking site i search on, their search features are fucking retardedly fucked with no excuses!

i've been searching ftop.ru for two years now, trying to replace my red girl picture i love so much.
i'll never fucking see it again, i've been through that site for years, i cannot find it, there's too much fucking cheesy porn to search through to find the high class pictures. i've tried searching every fucking word i could think of, i cannot fucking find it! or the picture of the naked girl selling televisions, they're fucking gone.

i've tried searching deviantart, wincustomize, google images, fucking everything, for some old icons i used to have, or any new nice icons i might like. i like the round shiny orb icons, but damned if i can find fucking anything. all the icons i have to sort through are those stupid flat boring grey ones that everyone else loves. i cannot fucking find cool icons that i like. you idiots all like the flat boring plain grey shit, i like colourful roundy orb shiny fuckin' glossy icons with cool pictures in there, i used to have a shitload, damned if i can find them anymore!

trying to download or install updates for windowblinds, trying to get anything to work as far as windowblinds ten, any news on the updates, and if i don't have money, despite all the fucking money i've already paid them minus the complaints and inconveniences, well then i'm just fucked. there's no talking logically to these sick, stupid, selfish fucks. greed kills individuality, uniqueness, and customization tendencies, do you not fucking know that? do i have to fucking tell you that? what the fuck is wrong with you, you immature shits! let me tell you what the fuck to do, and believe me, this will all work out a little fucking better. if only so i can find an icon when i fucking search for it, and not having to spend weeks, months, years, trying to track down tiny little pieces of my shattered fucking life while i'm sitting in a library with slow wifi and socks that are way too old to be healthy for my fucking feet!

why! why the fuck can i no longer find anything on google? i used to be the king of finding free shit online! whatever you could get that you had to pay for, i guaranfuckingtee you i could get it for free, one way or another.

now i can't even fucking pay for anything and actually find it. the entire internet is a scam.

and all those fucks like firefox, saying 'working for a more open internet', and 'nonprofit organization'... yeah, fuck you, you can't convince me that you're not a bunch of corporate fucking whores just doing what the fuck you're told, you're not a fucking human, you're not working for the freedom of humanity, cause you have no fucking clue what that even is. and i know that for a fact, cause when i search google, i can't fucking find shit!

i've offered to pay people a hundred bucks just to track down my red girl picture.

money is no incentive anymore.

i can't beg anyone.
i can't convince anyone.
i can't pay anyone.
my money is worthless, useless.

i fucking hate you all.
i used to be able to use a computer.
now i'm left with your inabilities.
your handicaps.
your retardation.

and i fucking hate you for it.

when can i invent something better?
when can i find a set of ears that will care?
when can i find a heart that will help?
will it ever fucking happen?
who do i have to pay?
whose cock do i have to suck?

where the fuck are my people!
i'm sick of this shit!