Well, it seems that when it rains, ladies and gentlemen, it pours. After a long drought, we're back to quench you thirsty bitches with what only be described as a juicy, balls-out, nonstop Yuck-a-thon. So you want to know what's up with it? Where have the nuggets of literary gold been that you've all come to count on from the Mister Yuck crew? I can't speak for my colleagues, but personally, I've been squandering those nuggets on that monkey on my back called Facebook. You all know it, I'm just putting it in the open. And don't act like you're better than me, with your smack cocaine and your hashish suppositories, you motherless dope-shooting hobos. I know who reads this blog. But it just became too easy once I got a droid. A picture of some new shoes here, a humorous quote there, and next thing you know I'm trying to suck the Starbucks barista's dick for five minutes of wi-fi. I know it's free, but that's just how grateful I was, y'know? So here's what's in it for me: all the sweet delicious morsels of attention I can glean from my boring-as-unsweetened-oatmeal day to day activities. I'm trading, what is essentially a constant stream of mental diarrhea for all the "likes" and "lol"s and "God you're amazing, let me have your baby"s I can get. And believe me. I get a lot. A LOT. In the words of the ever-eloquent Melleefresh, I'm a big attention whore. *Note that I admitted it, so if you're planning on putting me on intervention, you can just fuck right off, because that admission puts me officially in the "recovery zone" (not as fun as the Discovery Zone, or the Danger Zone, but fun enough to earn some pansy-ass-don't-know-JACK-about-REAL-addiction alcoholics a freakin' medallion). I wish I could tell you that in the middle of this hellish whirlwind world of fast cars, loose women and witty status updates that there's a complex case of emotional or psychological trauma, that it stems from some kind of neglect, or the fact that my mother never got me a Tamagotchi as a child (True story, actually. I don't want to say she's heartless, but she literally didn't even buy me ONE. Make your own decisions about my childhood.). But really, it stems from the fact that I'm too lazy to develop a real hobby. Think of a cool invention? Facebook it. Frustrated with the governmental system? Writing letters is for fags and old people. Facebook that shit. Hungry for a sandwich? You know, not enough to make AND eat one per se, but enough that I'd like for people to know I'm considering it, and input would be nice? Facebook's got my back, and can get the word out without a single bit of strenuous thought on my part. But ah, me, where'd the time go? Look at me, just wasting the day away, blabbing to you a-holes when my new roommates have a ferret and a kitty that cuddle, and I haven't uploaded a single pic. I know some people that would totally lol their dicks off! Shit, I might just "like" my own upload! Word to all your mothers.
-Alex
-Alex
Ayo for Facebook