I’m sure at least two people will read this (thanks). One will try to comment unsuccessfully. I only have a blog thing because of the fact that I wanted to comment unsarcastically on a friend’s blog. Then the computer-machine asked me to sign up.
Topics were initially hard to come by, and I didn’t want to have a blank blog. That would be wasting space on a fast shrinking internet. I’m not tripping or being ignant (look at these hip terms I know from listening to young Indian people living under the delusion that they are African-American). The Shrinking Internet conspiracy theory is still in it’s infancy.
Being a walking encyclopedia on how to avoid success, there’s a scarily limited number of topics I could approach to relate to you. Born with a natural inclination towards the absurd, I try to bring that across to dazzle you unsuccessfully. It is a sense of madness that, under the right amount of too much alcohol, you could mistake for insight. I asked my closest friends (notice the plural) why they don’t read my blog and they responded with, “Well…y’know…it’s just you…showing off all the big words you know. It makes me feel stupid.” I resent that answer, but firstly note that I do not really have friends, just people I owe money. There are no unnecessarily big words here so shut your face.
I read a lot of personal, theme-less blogs for inspiration. Some were insightful, others narcissistic. From highly entertaining and brilliant to “Oh God, please make it stop!”.
Most of these people have something to offer though. They do research. They have strong beliefs. They have regard for grammar. On the other hand, I aim to distract you from how inadequate I am at all the above.
So, apologies are in order. I’m sorry for not engaging you enough. I’m sorry for not introducing you to some highly intellectual debate about the illusion of freewill. I’m sorry for my poor speling. I’m sorry for not being the “illest”. Nothing here is provocative, I know. I’m sorry I can’t compete with cleavage photos taken in a bathroom. I’m sorry I can’t relate to you with quotes by Drake about love and pictures of cats vomiting rainbows. I’m sorry I can’t compete with relationship advice from 15 year-olds. Please forgive me for not being able to capture your attention in a world where no one can be expected to pay attention for more than 140 characters or a picture of “justgirlthings”. Don’t make my mistake and realize too late that every time you put your opinion out there, the world is going to respond with, “Hey, u hav no swag. Kill urself lol”
Mind you, I’d rather not be @SweetLoverXXX who tweets, “Luv a gal no mater wat size she is” and who’s shamelessly shirtless in his profile picture, showing off his “V” and wearing a snapback.
(By the way, aren’t girls supposed to have the “V”?)
Thug Lovin’ is the default setting and definition of love in the 21st century. Inspired by Rihanna music videos, it is based on saying “Only God can judge me” and “All a girl needs is swag”, and complete ignorance of responsibility and good judgement.
No matter how much you tell people not to judge you, if you have 16 piercings and a tattoo that borrows from the Chinese alphabet, people will question your upbringing.
Okay okay, I got lost somewhere. Point is that in order to get attention (the most basic human need) you have to adapt. Even though you may find it ironic, it is also the reason that idiots are the ones cultivating deep, meaningful posts on Facebook. It’s different, it’s new, it’s unexpected and it’s what people want to hear to make them believe that they are, at the same time, misunderstood enough to be cool and understood enough to be popular.
So, this new year (why another one?), I’m going to try and make this place more up to date, more hip, more relate-able, no matter how stupid it is. Starting with a bold new theme soon.
Or maybe I won’t do none of that – surprise! I lied.
It’s fair to say that a blog serves the needs of the writer more than any reader. It’s a mechanism to vent your frustration. And nothing’s better at bringing people closer together than complaining. Some Intermad (Internet Nomad – clever, right?) stumbles upon your issues expressed with such fervor online, and they share your frustration with strong enough conviction that they join you in complaining and, before you know it, it’s a complain-a-palooza and somebody’s pregnant.
Either that or they immediately hate you and your ancestry because they only disagree with everything you said. They let you know by not so politely asking you to engage in certain acts involving a donkey’s privates, and address you with questionable titles like “faggot” and “spunkbucket lol”.
BORING, LONG, OVERLY-SELF-INDULGENT, GARBAGE. Blog. You get it now, right? Very nice.
Chained To A Dead Hooker 