The Enthralling Poo Experience

A few of my neighbours are music students. Nothing wrong with that, they're usually pretty laid back people. Sometimes however they make me wish I was deaf. It's not that they're untalented and play their instruments poorly, in fact I consider some of them to be quite skilled. I do however find that they choose rather inappropriate moments to enrich my daily life with their art. My most recent encounter with their musical musings came while on the toilet. I don't want to hear a beautiful flute solo coming through the air vent when I'm taking a shit. This is not supposed to be a delightful moment for me. My asshole is being stretched out. This is not the time to get whimsical. I half expect an enchanting little pixie to come frolicking into the bathroom, tossing around pixie dust and inviting me to come along to his magical kingdom. As soon as I've wiped. Hey, I'm a polite guy. Always wanting to put my best foot forward.

Rum would help.

I rolled out of the couch today and smacked my head on the coffee table. It hurt...

...alot. On the plus side: now I'm like a sexy pirate, only with a band-aid instead of a patch. And no friends instead of a parrot. And a crippling fear of commitment instead of swag. So really, I'm the greatest pirate master that's ever lived!

Bullshit.

That's what the world looks like to me right now. A big stinking mound of pure excrement. And it just keeps piling on every day. Higher and higher until maybe, hopefully, it all tips over and drowns us in a flash flood of feces. A turd tsunami of destruction. Enough with the poop talk. Every time I think I've found a loophole it turns out to be a noose.  I used to be good at "the talking", "the talking" was my thing. My only thing really. Now I just flop around like a fish having some sort of epileptic fit. I can't believe how much time I've wasted trying to be something I'm not. I'm not a cool guy, I'm just a nice guy wearing an awesome shirt and hat. I don't know which disappoints me more; Me trying to act like someone else or me being the exact same person I've always been. I'm essentially a tall 8 year old boy holding a beer. Somewhat more hairy of course. At other times I feel like I'm doing a piss poor impersonation of myself. Honestly, I quite often wish I was gay. Or at the very least bi-sexual. Which is sort of gay-lite, I guess, I don't really know a lot about gayness. I'd imagine coming out to my family would be harsh but after that it's just clear sailing ahead! No more having to deal with women and their bullshit! Now if I can just stay clear of natural disasters involving fecal matter and I'm all set. Be quiet and let me love you. Let me love you and have some cake. 

Artist, humanitarian, hero.

Did you know I once wrestled and strangled a grizzly bear using only my thumbs in order to save some orphans? Yeah I'm great that way. Why was I only using my thumbs you ask? Well, I stumbled upon the helpless orphans while I was cleverly disguised, undercover, in a full bodycast in order to trap an evil mastermind plotting to destroy the world's cake supply. Not on my watch buddy! I haven't mentioned I'm a secret agent before? Step onto my private jet and let's discuss it further baby. Champagne?

Rough depiction of me, sans the kickass stache.

I'm flaccid with rage!

What in the hell is your problem? Our relationship was what it was. I certainly knew what I was getting into when we first hooked up. You are a manipulative passive aggressive bitch and I'm an asshole. It's as simple as that. I don't care about what little tiny thing set of your emotional roller coaster ride this time, I really don't. You had one, if not every day, at least once a week when we dated. Everything had to be so fucking dramatic. Everything was a deep black abyss of nothingness, or some such shit. Please be quiet.

Not everything that happens to you is important. In fact, I'm sure most of it isn't even slightly interesting. Life really isn't that hard. Honestly. And if you're going to continue to complain you could at the very least become some sort of Buddhist monk (do Buddhists have nuns?) and move away to some place where you won't have phone access. That way you won't bother as many people with your "life is pain" bullshit.

You hurt yourself? Oh God that is so dark! Why not just get an eating disorder and then whine about that imaginary psychological ailment. I hear there's some sort of placebo for that now. Leave the bodily abuse to those of us who know how it's done. My life didn't begin nor end with you. I've moved on and for all your posturing it seems to me you haven't. Why else would you call me up on a Saturday and deliberately try to piss me off?

My life isn't dramatically different after all of this. Here, let me give you a little example using my lifestyle.

This is an illustration of my life before we met.

And this in an actual picture from after.

Sure some of the beer is a little cheaper, but that's because I'm a cheap asshole. You should know that, seeing as how I bought you the "wrong" (i.e not 200+ dollars worth of) presents. Then again I never received a single one from you. At least now I don't have someone constantly complaining about my drinking, while that very same person is gulping down Bacardi Breezers/Smirnoff Ices and hitting on every other man that comes along. So thank you for ruining my Saturday, I'm now blocking your number.

PS. Ever contemplated suicide? It's way cool and rocks ass. All the awesome people are doing it.

xoxoxo