Drunk post. So maybe sorry but not.

Random thought, but why am i so good at the things that make me hate myself?

I miss the apathy and fuck it all sense of my youth. What have I sold it for? Some paltry sense of security?

I hat myself for what I have allowed me to become. I feel like a fucking class traitor.

And here I am waxing nostalgic and whinging about the me that could have been to the wider interwebs. An audience of nothing. Fitting metaphor for what I have made of my sad sorry self.

I think I might need to cut back on the raging alcaholism.

I may be bit worried that I'm having a psychotic break. But, I'm too checked out for the existential panic to set in. This is a good thing? No?

But, Ace of Bass says 'It's a beautiful Life.' And I'm way too checked out too argue with with terribad noise.

Meat puppets. That's all we are. Bone mechs, encased in meat armor, piloted by alien squid monstrosities..

I wanna get wasted and break some shit,

I have at times on more than one occasion been accused of acting like I'm smarter than the average bear. The truth of it is that I'm dumber than a rock of boxes. It's just that so many of the meat puppets around me are that much dumber. I'm a fuckin idiot people. How 'Bob' damned dumb do you have to be that my fucked up mentalism makes you feel stupid?

The mind hates the meat hates the mind. The constant pull push of the podge and hodge.

I think I need to lay off the chemical reality enhancers but fuck it. Pour me another beer 'Bob'!

Another weekend. Another fire.

Pork steaks, seasoned diced potatoes, and carrots & Brussels sprouts.

Fuego!

Today's Menu:
-Smoked Meat Loaf
-BBQ Baked Potato
-Seasoned Cauliflower Foil Pack

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