Oh My God Y'all!
Like, Oh My God! Oh My God! Oh My God! Oh My God!
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Want My Number? Call 0917-EATSHIT
Call me bitchy, misanthropic, cynical, whatthefuckever, but I SERIOUSLY have had enough of all these bullshit.
Just recently, some distant friend I’ve met only once talked to me on Yahoo! Messenger. Now let me clear this first: I don’t fancy exchanging IMs with people I don’t really know well, resulting in my monosyllabic replies and shit like that. I may be friendly at times but when it comes to total strangers in the net, I don’t entertain them at all.
So yeah, this distant I’ve-met-only-once friend said “Hi, how are you, whacha doing” blah di blah blah and I was being in my usual “Hi, fine, doing nothing” kinda mood. THEN HE ASKED FOR MY NUMBER. I do not give my number to distant I’ve-met-only-once friends so I shrugged him off. He got all pissed and started throwing mindless accusations at me, saying how surprised he was of my change, how I’m not like my other friends, how I should be more humble, and all sorts of preachy stuff. When I tried to explain, he whatever’d me, and went off just like that. Ah, what an immature exit. I bet he’s going to tell all his friends how he knows this very arrogant douche and rumors will start spreading around and people will soon know me as an ax murderer.
Since I didn’t have the chance to explain to him, I’ll moan and complain here. First of all, I just met him once and he doesn’t even know me that much, so what fucking gives? Now that we got that, let’s proceed to second of all, which is I really am friendly in real life. BUT I don’t entertain people I don’t like e.g. jologs types. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends like that but they are nice to me and so am I to them. I have jologs friends, super duper rich ones, smart nerds, band people, the whole nine yards. But if it’s a total stranger or a distant friend, why would I want to give out my number? Ah, don’t even get me started on those freaks who stalk me by calling/miss-calling me at least 20 times a day. So this is what being friendly and humble brings? Tell me about it.
I really don’t know what these people want. I’ve got my life, I live it. I try not to care that people look at me in disdain sometimes, ‘cause I just so happen not to talk to unknown people who only want my number. C’mon, don’t tell me that I shouldn’t care. How can I live peacefully when even my own friends think I’m too arrogant? Hey, I’m sorry I’m busy sometimes ‘cause I prefer reading over partying. I’m sorry I prefer blogging and being online rather than hanging out now. I’M SORRY THAT I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR ORGIES BECAUSE I’D RATHER DO SOMETHING ELSE LIKE PICKING MY NOSE FOR INSTANCE.
Sometimes, it’s better not to care. To shut down completely. I wish there’s a device which I can use to shut down my ear or mouth or better yet, my brain completely so I can live my life the way I want, devoid of mindless expectations.
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The sudden interest in my love life is very disturbing
I mean, why the fuck is everyone suddenly perking up and taking notice of one date? Come on, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve been out with someone.
Are you people that desperate to know how it went because you’re some sick voyeur, hoping to live the date gregariously through my stories? Or maybe you’re just envious because you’ve been sitting home furiously masturbating by the phone, waiting for someone, ANYONE, to call you out.
Don’t you dare say you’re just being politely curious, wanting to know so you can feel happy for me. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo, let’s hold hands and sing songs! JOY! O_o And the things you retards have been saying: “Maybe you didn’t like the movie because your mind was elsewhere? Hehehehe!”
Jesus! Fucking! Christ!
Immature, overly inquisitive retards. Guys are intrinsic exhibitionists, but there are times when I’d prefer some privacy. My life is none of your goddamn business unless I decide on a story-telling session. Grow fucking up.
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MY GOD, WHAT IS YOUR CHILDHOOD TRAUMA?
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Come and get one in the yarbles, you eunuch jelly, thou!
Fucking amazing! The patriarchal censorship board of this shit-hole country has yet again decided to flex its muscles, every single muscle except its most important one: its brain.
See, around two months back, I went to look for Adolf Hitler’s “Mein Kampf”. I couldn’t find it, so the nice bookstore lady offered to place an order for me. Fast forward to now, the scene being the same store (the name I will withhold), and I stood at the counter again asking if they had any copies of the book. She keyed in some numbers, made some calls, and told me to please wait, they would be fetching me a copy soon, so kindly step aside while I wait for it. Minutes later, her phone rings, and she proceeds to tell me: “I’m sorry, we have it but since it’s apparently banned, we’re not allowed to sell it.”
What the hell! Mein Kampf! One of the books I’ve been dying to get for ages, and they can’t sell me a copy because some idiot wielding a stamp with REJECT carved on its bottom decided “Whee! Wouldn’t it be fun if I deprived some literary minds of a historical classic because a book by Hitler would cause social unrest, the overthrowing of the government and result in World War III, and all because I’m a Filipino and I can’t understand a single word in this book, not even the words written across the cover!”
This wasn’t the first time. I got to order a copy of “The Satanic Bible” for me, and it never did arrive because they told me it got held at customs. In that case, it was perfectly understandable, almost everyone misperceives Satanism as devil worship, but this is historical literature at its meanest best!
I digress. All was not lost though, for I finally got my very own copy of “A Clockwork Orange”! Yes, the original book upon which the magnificent film was based. If you haven’t watched the movie, do so thou poor baboochka! I’ve actually read the e-book version a very long time ago. However, quoting Giles of “Buffy The Vampire Slayer”:
“Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower or a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences long forgotten. Books smell. Musty and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer, is, uh, it has no texture, no context. It’s there and then it’s gone. If it’s to last, then the getting of knowledge should be, uh, tangible. It should be, um, smelly.”
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Lights Out: Yoko Ono at MoMA performing her conceptual poem “Voice Piece for Soprano” — basically a really long orgasm.
[vulture.]
this rattles me so much. THIS is the woman that helped ruin the beatles. THIS piece of shit artist. sure you can take the angle and say oh wow what a different tpe of performance art, its so far out. but you, you are fucking high. what the hec.
NARROW-MINDED IDIOTS LIKE YOURSELF MAKE ME FUCKING RETCH.
Yoko Ono has been creating experimental vocal art even before you were conceived and by giving her flak, you might as well insult those Japanese kabuki practitioners where she clearly obtained her chops from. You’d likewise do that to all the other artists she’s had an impact on, including alternative musicians such as Björk, PJ Harvey, and Meredith Monk, to current thrashers like L7 and Courtney Love of Hole.
If you can’t comprehend the talent this woman possesses, you shouldn’t at all listen to any form of rock, be it indie, post-rock, goth, acid folk, shoegaze, etc. Shit, even riot grrrl for that matter! That’s how goddamn extensive her influence is. GO LISTEN TO SOME JONAS BROTHERS INSTEAD. AND PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP BECAUSE YOU SERIOUSLY DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT THE TUMULTUOUS WORLD OF AVANT-GARDE MUSIC.
Well, you think you do but you just don’t. -
Can - Aumgn
I’m pretty positive someone got ritually sacrificed when this was being recorded LOL
FUCK YES.
I hate it when people say this and Peking O ruin Tago Mago. They MAKE Tago Mago.
My god, are they deaf? I concur, those super lengthy tracks of gargantuan proportions are what actually make the album revolutionary! Shame on these people! -
You know what ranks up there with unshaved female pits and Pinoy Big Brother on my “Things that literally disgust me with the human race” list? Giving stuff to people out of the bloody goodness of your heart and have the thing spoilt! Not the receiver himself but the bloody act of lending people my stuff. The thing is that you can vow never to lend anyone anything again but when someone approaches you for something, you don’t have the heart to say no.
MY BLOODY “FULL METAL JACKET” DVD! I don’t blame anybody but my fucking self. ARGH! I’m so bloody livid! Yeah, it’s a 50-Peso DVD. Yeah, it’s a cheap knockoff but I was looking for that movie for so damn long only to find it this year when I was in Pangasinan. FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK!
Anybody who can advise me of what to do, please do so. The glossy part of the DVD is riddled with dusty-web-looking stains, for lack of better description, that is not or minimally detectable by touch and could not be washed away with water. Anybody who knows the cause also, please tell me.
I have the worst luck with people using my stuff. DVD totaled. CD player rendered useless. Hell, even my bedroom table as well! Somebody sat on it and broke the bloody damned wheels! Is it my karma? Do I do this to other people? I’m fucking sorry if I ever did that to your things, mmmkay! Bloody hell, now I know how it feels.
Oh, and one more thing, don’t fucking give me the chill/I know how you feel/it’s just a DVD/get over it routine. It’s just a fucking DVD to you but this is a part of my life, my bloody passion that is broken. And I haven’t even started on my original set of the Lord of the Rings and other films that I lent out and just vanished, like American History X. Bloody fucking hell.
Phew! That’s a bucketful of anger! Self-therapy, my friends, self-therapy. Blogging is cheaper than hiring a shrink wtf
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UGH. I have this horrendous headache, the result of a Manhattan cocktail gone awry. Two glasses of foul-tasting alka seltzer water later, it is still not fucking off.
I just don’t get me. No matter how much or how many times I drink, I will never get used to it, I will always end up
in another person’s bedpuking or aching all over the next day. And those Koreans I met last night who kept saying “Toast!” and thus making me oblige to take sip after sip, how do they do it? I wonder why I can’t!As if the headache isn’t enough, my entire body hurts too because of the gym! The gym! The bloody fucking gym! Oh, did I tell you about the gym? No I did not tell you about the gym! On Saturday morning, I followed my friend who will remain unnamed to a cheap-ish gym as part of my pathetic attempt to look like a Chippendale man whore WTF
So that morning, I woke up at 6 just to get ready. Said friend came at about 8! But I still wasn’t prepared and I had no choice but to leave without a change of clothes, nor water, nor towel. I am so damn brilliant! So when we got there, we went for this thingie called “cardio dance” which is sort of modern dance-cum-workout so it wasn’t that bad since I’m a great terpsichorean and all, save for the fact that I and my friend were the only people below the age of one hundred. And the instructor, a man, was… err… transexual. Uh-huh.
After that, I was so fucking pooped and about to get ready to go home, when my friend’s mum goes, “Go for the body step!” I thought it was maybe half an hour later so I agreed, then only when it was too late that I realized it was right away! I didn’t get any break after the cardio dance! And body step was so horrible! It was lame techno music for a whole hour with unbelievably boring steps that went on and on and on, going and going and going, like the bunny in that Energizer ad. And the instructor, a woman this time, was pretty manly.
WHAT THE FUCK IS IT WITH THIS GYM AND GIRLY GUYS AND MANLY WOMEN?!?
Anyway, so after the body step, we went to work out (actually just sit on the machine) at some leg-toning equipment thingie, when this instructor came up and went, “What would you like to achieve with your body?” I was all like, BWAHAHAHAHA!!! Yeah, I just burst out laughing. Couldn’t help it. We went home shortly after that.
And now, two days later, every joint in my body aches like mad, especially my super weak back. You know what? I’m pretty happy with my manorexic bod. No more work-out-torture-yourself-at-the-gym crap for me!
I FUCKING HATE THE GYM!!!
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Please tell me I did NOT just hear autoplay music…
…on some fucking nincompoop’s god-forsaken tumblog! COME ON WHAT IS THIS THE 20TH CENTURY???
"Thirdy". Perpetually 19. Corporeally 15. Emotionally 7. Mentally 1. I wanna go out and explore the world!
