GOODBYES

Alright. I think we can safely agree that it's all over. July 25th. Been a while since then.
Sure, it's been fun (or bloody awful, depends on perspective I guess). But I just don't have it in me. Irrational anger? Hate, even? No, that's still there. Except now, its a resting beast who lays pulsing in the some deep chambers. Broken, and battered, sad in a scary sort of way.
I just don't care any more. Some dumb motherfucker cuts me off? It pisses me off. Sure. A few minutes later I've already reminded myself again that the world is just that. Who cares? Who can be bothered caring? Sure, you think you care. Maybe about this, maybe about me, maybe about your bank account. And you might. But if you don't now; you never did.
This all started with me looking for a way to practice writing (I don't think it's called practice when it's the only writing you do, but whatever), and to that end it did serve its purpose. Just read older posts, and newer stuff. I cringe when I read anything over a year old. And to vent. But venting has to be about exceptions to the norm. Eventually it wears thin when the same things keep bothering you.
Look at the progression (progress? That's rich. Mutation sounds better). One of my first posts was about shaving gel (the non foaming gel, the foaming gel is what I use now. Who fucking cares? I sure don't) versus straight up old fashioned shaving cream. Look at this year's stuff. It sounds like I think I'm from some sort of advanced species. Or, you know, a sociopath.
Anyway, a reason to finish also begs the question why not earlier. I have come close to quitting, mostly from the same thing, but eventually something that could be generously called inspiration would hit me and off I go. I wont pretend I ever had much of a readership. Very few of the people who have at one point or another read this regularly were not people I knew personally. Some of them seemed to enjoy it. I kept going, as a form of communication to some of these people.

Ok. So, this is done. Thank you all for coming, to what I can only compare to a funeral in poor weather.
Have fun.

REPENT

Sorry is a funny word. Really, what does it mean? It seems to have been watered down to the point of meaningless. People say they're sorry at so many different junctions it is hard to tell what it really means.
If you were to ask the little cynic in me (Ok, so it isn't that little) I would say that when most people say sorry, they really just mean "I'm sorry it affected you and that I feel mildly guilty" or worse yet "I'm sorry that my headlong charge through life affected you in some way, but I don't actually care and I just want to pretend I'm not a total asshole".
Think about it- most of the times someone apologises to you for something reasonably big (read: emotional, not like you accidentally knocked over their favourite shrub), it seems like they're just saying "Whoops, I'm too much of a self-centered fuck to have considered your feelings before doing whatever the fuck I wanted to make myself happy. In the hopes that you don't think I'm a total dick, I am apologising to ensure that I can continue to do whatever I want.". Essentially, I think that if you're genuinely sorry then you wouldn't have done it in the first place. Actions mean more than words here, and then it's a tough fucking job- if it is something severe, then it needs a lot of fixing and frankly, people don't really change. Pretty much the same principle. If they were capable of change, they wouldn't have waited until critical mass to stop being an asshat.
People do the same shit. Like a friend of mine last year blasted me and tried to pump me up with guilt because I didn't say happy birthday or anything. Well, lucky for her I have a brain and am about as emotional as a carrot. I felt guilty for about a second when I realised, "Hang the fuck on, you didn't do shit for my birthday, and you've been cold and distant, to the point of pretending not to see me, unless you were having a bad fucking day, or you were worried about your boyfriend. Fuck that shit". Naturally she apologised and felt like shit, fan-fucking-tastic, but that doesn't mean squat if you don't make an effort. Apart from saying "Thanks for pulling me up, I was being a real bitch", there was no evidence of actually realigning her shit.
And sometimes saying sorry isn't enough. Being sorry isn't enough. Some things are just that bad or wrong that being sorry doesn't count for shit. People seem to assume that saying sorry entitles them to be reinstated as normal, or at least on probation. Imagine the justice system worked like this. Showing remorse is a big part of parole and stuff, but if you rape and murder 18 people, it doesn't matter how sorry you are. You're in gaol forever. Or, with any luck, you're going to get shivved in the shower. If you fuck people over, once in while expect to say I'm sorry, and having it thrown in your face. And if you are on the other end, well, expect the words "I forgive you" to be mashed in your face like so much metaphorical gravel.
I'm not saying apologies should be abolished. I'm saying cut the fucking bullshit, or see through it. We aren't all good people at heart, I think we are all fuckups at heart, but most of us try hard. Others don't give a shit. Figure out which you are.

Blah blah blah

I had an idea for a post but then I kinda fell asleep or something.
Sorry to disappoint my regulars (all fourish? of you) which I am slowly narrowing down the identities of. Funky widescreen resolution probably means laptop, so I just gotta link up some stats with days I got comments from people and my bizarre little obsessive project will be complete!
Before you wonder, no, no I don't have anything better to do. I did start semester 2 today, but that's neither here nor there, as with my barely existent social life- if J didn't move back to this craphole recently, then I would still be spending Saturday nights being really annoyed at my sister going 'What'd he say? What's happening? I don't get it' every three seconds during a movie and generally being bored and mildly depressed.
I kept yawning today. I think I'm going die. I bet I got some new disease, where you yawn too much and get annoyed because your eyes tear up and people think you're going through fucking menopause and are being deeply moved by the plight of some poor sod selling a boring sob-story to A Current Affair. Then, when you die of the disease, by just giving one big fucking yawn that makes your lungs explode and your eyes pop, everyone goes "He was so unhappy in the end. Well, sad unhappy. He was pretty much unhappy anyway, but just not so sad. Either way it's sort of a blessing. Let's go continue our lives without being affected at all by this except we will take some time off work for the sake of it." and I'll be all in the afterlife going "Ah man that's a fucking downer" and God will be like "S'cool dude, you're here now." and I'll go "Yeah I know but like, there was so much I wanted to do. Like watch Fight Club again. Oh and walk in the rain with someone I love, and share a milkshake because it's really lame but we both like lame. Then, watch Leon again without pretending I just yawned at the end."
Sigh.

OBFUSCATION

One thing I never got was the whole 'toilet seat' thing. You know, the rehashed, reused, and recycled pool of stand-up comedy references that come around, most of them make sense (even if they are stupid, I mean, what kind of moron can't set a VCR?) but I never really understood the gripe of toilet seats.
"OMG MY HUSBAND NEVER PUTS THE SEAT DOWN"
"So?"
I mean really, oh no, you have to do the least effortful thing ever. Why can't men get angry that women never put the toilet seat up? We use the toilet without the seat down a hell of a lot more than we do with the seat up. Then the other irritating side of this stupid coin is jokes about men peeing everywhere. Well, maybe some men do put the seat down, but piss all over it to spite you, you petty stupid cow.
When I have brought this up in conversation, girls say that it's annoying to go to the toilet in the middle of the night and end up sitting in the toilet. As annoying as that may be, you have to have a certain level of awareness of your surroundings. Like, I don't know, that the motherfucking seat is down!
It reminds me of a Woody Allen quote, "How can I believe in God when just last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of an electric typewriter?". Frankly, I don't see poor Mr. Allen's unfortunate mishap of an argument against God- more likely, I see it as an argument for. How else, but through divine intervention, could the kind of mental defective who can manage to get their tongue caught in a typewriter actually survive into their twenties, let alone become insanely successful!
Anyway, you can go away now. Happy hunting or whatever it is I say.

LAFFING

Film Ratings for blogs! FANTASTIC.
Anyway, it is mighty amusing.
.
This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

* fuck (12x)
* shit (11x)
* shits (3x)
* ass (2x)
* death (1x)

ANNEX

For some reason or another, I deigned to leave my mighty throne and enter among the commoners. My destination? A bizarre amalgamation of a shitty city filled with criminals and lowlifes and another shitty city filled with criminals and lowlifes- and shops.
Having successfully navigated my way through the throngs of unwashed denizens to Electronics Boutique, I was disgusted, surprised, and hungry (there was a nearby foodcourt and I hadn't eaten) to find that there was a sale on. So all the selfish bastards everywhere who thought they had the right to impinge on my right to not be exposed to them turned up in search of a bargain. I cast my eyes about in search of something inoffensive to look at, so people wouldn't be offended (or rather, talk to me) when I screwed my face up in antisocial revulsion- namely, I was looking for the hot girls they had hired. A devious plot, most certainly, to fool unsuspecting geeks into buying things? I do not know. Unfortunately there was only a hairy man, so I had to content myself by imagining some strippers.
After looking at some stuff and deciding that bargains are even more depressing than normal prices when you have no god damned money, I got tired of the whole thing and decided to leave. I turned, only to bump into someone- at first, I thought I had come face to face with a large angry man, judging by the size of the coat he was wearing. When I looked down, my theory was confounded. Wrapped in what looked suspiciously like black girl's jeans were two matchstick pins. I hid my surprise well, only jumping about a foot or so backwards. When I saw the guy's face, things only grew worse, as by that point I had changed my conception to that of a girl. Luckily he moved on before too long, hands stuffed into pockets and making his way out, one foot in front of the other, in supermodel runway gait.
Spurred on by my success in not looking like some kind of weirdo who lives in a cupboard, we made our move to Target. Naturally, being nearly twenty-two and twenty years old respectively, my brother and I made our move to the toy section. Looking at the various retarded Spiderman merchandise (Spiderman monopoly, what the fuck is that about?) I at one point came across the Spiderman Mr. Potato Head. This was beyond bizarre for me, so I waved my hand to it in a dramatic fashion and said "What's going on with this Spiderman crap?" to my brother. At that exact moment, a girl of about our age had walked passed us, and at hearing "What's going on-" she turned as if I was speaking to her. We made brief eye contact as I finished my rhetorical question and she looked embarrassed and moved on. My brother and I laughed, and moved on, only to walk onto the aisle from one end that the girl was coming in from the other, who quickly (trying to look nonchalant) turned tail and left. I chuckled again and knew that my day was successful if I made just one person feel stupid.
On the way home I glared at some kid in a passing car, and complained loudly about nothing in particular. All in all, a success.

COMPLAINT

I hate all this modern turned-tables sexism bullshit. Sure, it's not as prevalent now but the last decade has been saturated with this crap. You know what I'm talking about. So called female-empowerment that is actually just a mockery of men. Now, I have nothing against mocking people, but only if it is even.
Like that stupid phrase "God made men first, then he had a better idea". Fuck you, you stupid whore. Maybe if you weren't such a bitch you people wouldn't hate you, and I don't mean just men. That's right, no one likes you. No one thinks you're being funny, except other bitter, empty, cold mentally and emotionally stunted morons. If I ever hear this or read it, I always like to add something. "God made men first, then he had a better idea-
These guys need somebody to cook for them!
But unfortunately, God left the vocal cords in.
Then he needed something for the breasts to be attached to.
And when he was done, he said "Ha, major burn, wait till the guys have to listen to this thing".
And that idea was hot oil wrestling, and he needed some participants.

Bam!

STATISTICAL

Statcounter is somewhat useful (and amusing at times), it would be more useful if I got actual traffic but who gives a fuck.
Some interesting things.

No one came to my blog on Friday. Too fucking busy? HUH?

Interesting keyword activity. Well, not so much interesting as weird.
www cock fuck zoo
Uh, ok, person. I could put some porn up (though I would most likely ignore the 'zoo' part) but I'm not sure if I want to go in that direction.

Anyway whatever, this is over. Ciao

VANQUISHING

This started off as a livejournal entry, but soon spiraled out of control. So I thought it belonged here, with my more outlandish forms of insanity.

I handed in my last assignment for the semester yesterday, that is SO WIN. Yeah. You heard. Win.
I still have exams (one of which is a take home essay, so you could argue that I have one more assignment to work on, but then I could argue that I am going to punch you) but they do not represent the same level of intellectual labour- writing a cogent Neuroscience essay is somewhat like building some sort of doom-machine, initially involving physically harvesting of the pure unrefined ore from some hellish pit, staring at it with dull understanding and then attempting to forge something that didn't represent mineral faecal matter. No matter your level of contentment, this hulking, unwieldy creation always feels awkward, and it always feels like failure when you hand it in. Consciously, you always know you had this elusive material of more time, hell, you knew about it for many weeks. Yet you underallocated for it. Exams, however, especially of the delightful multiple choice variety, is much more like going on a picnic- you ready yourself ahead of time, knowing it is coming, you discuss it, think about what sandwiches you would like, and make them beforehand. On the day, you arrive on the grassy hill- sunny, snowing, raining, or flooded with molten rock there is no way around it. Once you have finished your meal, not including the sandwiches and snacks you didn't think you would need, but oh yes you did, and most certainly including the somewhat suspicious casserole you made some weeks earlier. You thought it would last till now- you were sorely mistaken, yet you picked what dubious remnants of comestibles that you could. And then you leave. You are gone, there is no more responsibility. You did all within your power, you ate your God damned lunch, swallowed every bite, went hungry at some points, and came away feeling either sated or nauseous- yet satisfied.
And there is another surge of raw energy at having finished an exam. Like a mighty carnivore who has spent himself felling a behemoth beast, lying down, panting with both exhaustion and exhilaration at having conquered. And knowing, that soon, so soon, the entire herd will be defeated, and what a glorious day that will be.

SIGH IN AN ANGRY SORT OF WAY

Site redesign. I am by no means attached to the new look, but then again if I were you I wouldn't make the mistake of thinking that means that I will actually care if you don't like it. Don't let that stop you from telling me, just don't get too disappointed if I reply with the internet equivalent of an apathetic grunt, or some profanity if I'm feeling generous.
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I hate TV. Really. I loathe it. Think about it, in a whole week of broadcasting there is probably about two or three hours of content that wouldn't make me vomit with rage to watch.
Current affairs programs are the worst, and now news programs are slowly devolving into the current affairs shows' slightly less stupid brother.
My first hint of outrage came when a 'breakthrough' story about some sort of cancer treatment (if you gauged progress in cancer treatment by how many times it appears on these shows, it would be less serious than the common cold.), and naturally they were listing some of the specific cancers it could treat. So naturally the fucktard of a host, who looks like she would struggle to breathe if she wasn't reminded by a teleprompter, let alone form a cogent sentence on her own, had to show just how underqualified she was for the job- as a supposed TV journalist- by mispronouncing a reasonably common, and rather simple word, a mistake that many people make but not many literate people. She said 'prostrate cancer'. "Oh, so I have a malignant tumour of laying flat on the ground? Wow, ok, I'd better stay standing or seated. I sure dodged a bullet.". The word is 'prostate', you milk fed fuckstick.
"So what?" You say "Big deal, she made a pretty minor pronunciation mistake" First of all, it wasn't a mistake, she said a different fucking word, and second of all, we are talking about an individual who is getting paid ridiculous amounts of money to read. Yet the only part of the English language she manages to master consistently is the "sounding like a self important whorebitch" thing that seems so important. Naomi Robson must have given her a few pointers before she stepped down. What's worse is the woman isn't even attractive, so you have to wonder who the fuck is running these shows. God damn idiots, that's who.
When they're not being inaccurate they're being stupid and over emotive. Some kids 'planned' a Columbine-esque massacre, one of the students apparently emailing the (quote) "graphic lyrics to the song Let the Bodies Fall, by band Drowning Pool". First of all, the lyrics are hardly graphic. Linkitty link. Ok, obviously, it's a somewhat angry song, but it is far from graphic. you want graphic, this is graphic. Cannibal Corpse's "I Will Kill You". A small excerpt, for the "I can't be bothered reading" crowd (of which I am a proud member):

Into the throat
The scalpel slices
Warm blood sprays out
The gushing entices

Pull out your heart
And let you watch
Shove in your mouth
Then stab your crotch

I'm not saying that the lyrics aren't a little disturbing when emailed in the context of hurting people, and the intimidation factor is definitely there, but it isn't graphic. The song is almost the opposite, it is quite conceptual rather than descriptive. All I want is a little more honesty and a little less hype.
And then there's the matter of the name of the song. A 0.15 second Google search allowed me to learn that the song is indeed called "Bodies", as opposed to "Let the Bodies Fall". This may seem like pedantry, but 1. Fuck you, and 2. I want to be confident in the people who deliver news to me. If they can't get a very, very simple and highly accessible piece of information right, what hope do they have of relaying complex and reserved information to me in an accurate manner?
The media should inform us, not manipulate us, inspire confidence, not ridicule.