disclaimer: the following entry is not happy. i am, in no way, responsible for you getting depressed, wet, or stupid. what's the direct opposite of "enjoy?"

over and over again, there is this depressing cycle of mediocrity that i go through. just when i think i'm about to come up, i hit a wall of laziness that looks at me and flips me the bird.

god, it is so easy to complain about my stupid lack of effort. it is so easy to pick apart and analyze my troubles. it is so easy to just sit here, and do nothing.

i spent about two hours and a half rearranging the sidebar on this weblog, trying to get it just right. i might as well just make a whole new layout, but whatever. fuck it.

i like to fuck it, so i can cum buckets. - wasn't it buck 65 who said/rapped that? i don't know, i never actually heard the song, but i remember the hip hop enforcers of my freshman year chanting it, like a fucking christmas carol.

joy to the world, my head is dead.

i give up on a lot of things very easily. i could TRY and make everyone like me, but it's just so goddamn easy to be myself, and piss people off. it's natural. i'd rather write about jumping people, than actually getting stepped on myself.

is this a defense mechanism? i don't know, and whatever it may be, for all the freudisms and mind-reeling and self-exploratory papers written about the human brain, i pretty much get the fact that i'm a circle freak. i'm circuited into the routine of underachievement, and by golly, as much as i seem to get used to it, i fear for my future.

i'm really counting on our country getting nuked by some pissed off nation, or aliens coming down on us and burning everything in sight with their green lasers, or some sort of book of revelations/nastrodamos-esque rapture - because the world would be so much easier for me, if it was this way.

i figure, i'd live on the meat of stray dogs, and journey from city to city, in some sort of rough-fucked-up vehicle, armed with a sword, a shotgun, and a handgun.

actually, that would be pretty gay. it's just one of an infinitessimal amount escapisms that i think of, when i see that i'm failing to be the dreamed-up success of a scholar that i should be. in this capitalist society, I NEED SHIT. i need to eat well. i need to have a big fucking house when i grow up. i need the minimum of a three car garage. i need the gourmet kitchen.

all of these "when i grow up's" that i won't get to fulfill are most likely the reasons for this early, per say, clairvoyant and seemingly nonsensical display of gayness, making me seem so dissappointed in myself.

all i want to do is make lots of cash, just so me and my friends can party all night long. that's the dream, isn't it?

i need an excorcist for this starving artist bullshit.