Like People, But If You Fall In Love With Yourself…
You fall in a pool. At least that’s what I am told by what little I know about Greek myths. Some of you may have read them; that would be everyone seeing this, now wouldn’t it?
What you fucking people need to learn is that those books aren’t there for your fucking bathroom. Last I checked, I paid a fuck of a lot of money for books I barely read.
Which means I paid for that. I paid the price of not reading them quickly enough. That is how you fucking idiots got a B and not a C. I tire endlessly of people who bitch about shit they get and then they don’t use it. That is why you get a lousy poster on corkboard telling you it is Black History Month, and then you go to class having not talked for a month about it.As a former B student, I can tell you this is true. This thing they call “goal-setting” for your children is making them stupid, by the way. No parent reacts to a two. It is a number. That is not a grade. Grades get parental attention, and any of you who has come home with a D knows this. Your parents generally fuck your life up for two weeks straight if you dared to bring home that thing. I will address this later. Do NOT come here and tell me I do not have to use quotation marks; because you will hurt your poor little self when I send you YOUR quote without the extra apostrophe.
This is why recycling exists; to use something your dumb ass doesn’t know how to use. Any Boy Scout will remind you that he can start a fire with one match, some badass showoffs can do it with flint.
It is very late, and I am very tired. Hear me quickly: when you are tired, you make mistakes. If you catch one, see me, and I will explain it to you. I do not shy away from words easily, because I am addicted to them.
This can make you or me have a bad day with each other. I do not like to be mean. So, what I am saying before I finish this, is be nice. If you have been following this blog for a minute or two, you will find mistakes.
These are called “typographic errors”, which is fancy talk for “my keyboard fucking sucks and I would like to throw it out my kitchen window”.
I can figure out a way to end this story, though.
When you make a mistake, you say at the very least “excuse me”, or “my bad” or whatever the fuck stupid colloquial bullshit you call an argot you want to use, because quite frankly, you can’t fucking read, so that means that you cannot talk.
Well, whoever has pissed me off today, will talk soon, and it will not be here. You know why? Because I am not on Facebook, that is why. When you are famous on Facebook, you are generally nice to people.
When you are an asshole and a little shitbird on Facebook is when someone’s head comes up.
That is when mine comes up, and you will be the reason I am up so late to tell you that you suck.
The end…for now. Stories don’t end.
But if yours does, it will be your sick mother’s story to tell, and that is why you will not be able to sleep as I tell this story.