Oh christ
the words, they blur.

and I mean nobody believes me when I say I’m chattin hammy.

I just got off the aim with mark, and he was like you’re not, and I said I am.

Just cuz I got typin skillz doesn’t mean I’m teh sober.

Enough of that bullshit, let’s discuss important things.

First off, I’ve been awake for god damn ever. 50+ hours, 3 hours sleep. I don’t know what kind of college student they make movies about where all they do is party, but is sure is fuck ain’t me. No beer in the OS lab. Or fun. Or ladies.

No fucking sleep either. The words.. They blur!

Nobody, least of all me, wants to hear about my trials and or tribulations at the hands of the academic fascists that run this fiasco of a university. Let’s talk about the ladies, and how absolutely loathsome they are.

Understand I speak not from my own point of view. I am well aware that, in a very objective and third person sort of way, I’m kind of a fuckwad. I don’t pretend to care about what you have to say. I don’t buy you flowers. I don’t write you poetry. I am therefore subject to all manner of female evils, cuz I sure as shit haven’t earned the good treatment. The ladies that icecolded me and Soss at SLO brew tonight? I don’t blame you. The skinny chicks that gave me the hateglare, even though they were cute and I was gentlemanly? Do what you gotta do, honey. I understand that there are better boyfriends out there than me.


I will absolutely 100% not abide you fucking with my boys.


Equal rights means equal vengeance for interfering with my folks, be you M or F.

Do what you will to me. Lie. Cheat. Thieve. Betray.

But to my friends? The most standupest mothafuckas currently residing in this hemisphere?
God help you should you act like a frontin ass ho on them. You bitches don’t deserve mens like my boys is. Not in the least.

Bitches always be like: “I want a sensitive man with a sense of humor. Someone kind and caring who will take care of me”

Right. You just described about 34.000 of my folks.

What they mean is: “I want a guy who I can overtly mistreat and will still treat me like a queen. I want a boy who will compromise without me giving up anything. I want someone who will tolerate all manner of female horseshit with a smile on his motherfucking face.”

Guess what bitches?

Ain’t nobody standing for that while Ta-dow’s in town.

There is the theory, the algorithm if you will. Let’s discuss a practical example:

Floozy A drives many an hour into town to hang out with Homeboy B. Homeboy B is a solid dude, smart and way nicer than your exalted author, and the cutest boy in the club to boot. Floozy A, after enjoying 3 or 4 minutes of dancing with Homeboy B, bounces out to dance with Randomfuck C. Randomfuck C is a douche, some twat who thinks he can dance and who is just asking to have the proverbial smack layed down on his prick ass by Soss and Trovao. Watch it fuckward, because we might look like the harmless dudes in the corner, but we are in fact lethal weapons. Our martelos > your fake ass crip walk. Pose all you want, it’s hard to look cool with a collapsed trachea. Bitch.

Not that it’s even the dude’s fault. Dudes are dudes. He, no matter how much of a douche he is, has no idea of the situation he’s walking into. He just sees some bitch that wants to dance and is acting hoey. He’s just freakin her. Wouldn’t you?

Thus, where to place the blame… hmm…. how about HER. She connives her skanky ass into my boy’s world and then lames out to freak with some other tool at slobrew? Not OK. Not OK at all.

I am an equal opportunity asswhooper. I know for a fact that homegirl weighs more than I do. She’s heavier than me by at least 15 pounds, she’s almost as tall… She basically has no excuse. Same weightclass, same height… It’s time for a cage match, a fair fight. Sounds like a decent competition to me. My only serious advantage? A roaring inferno of hate for you slutting on my homie. This advantage makes my kicks and punches fly so much faster that your pathetic ass (and that shitfist from SB) that y’all will end up in the emergency room with the quickness.

Honestly, bitches, what is your problem.

The other side of the coin though…
the other side of the coin.

Details are not important.
The names of those involved, of those who sacrificed and manipulated and toiled are not important.
The act and the results?
Not important.

What’s important?
A) Brian is my hero.
B) Paul is the man.

Nothing else need be said.

The walk home from downtown was a long and hard one, one I haven’t experienced in what seems like an eternity. My life, as of late, has consisted of A) lab and B) rewriting things written in lab. I’ve neglected everything from eating to hygiene to writing in this damn thing for the last several days, since my every waking minute has been allocated to my god damn reports. I write now only because I feel I must retaliate while the hatred of them stupid hos is in me, and because I feel I may go to sleep for like a week.


I know it’s hard.

They’re pretty. They can act nice when they want to. They will play on your every weakness.


They are absolutely 100% no exceptions untrustworthy. Don’t trust them and you’ll be fine. Don’t believe what they have to say and you can excape unscathed. Don’t fall for their deceptions and you, too, can lead a happy life. If you treat them right they’ll destroy you. Never surrender and never make a mistake.

Ice cold.

Now I’m going to bed, to sleep off the exhaustion, the liquor, and the disdain.

I’ll be free of the first two long before the last.



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