Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Fappy New Years!

Let's start the year right - with some titties. Courtesy of Strippers SA. (Feel free to fap while on this blog. Just be warned - I'm watching you through your webcam as you read my blogs. I literally have dozens of screens lining every wall surrounding me, kinda like that Architect dude in the Matrix. I'm eventually gonna release a "Reaction to Sweet Funky Freedom" article when I run out of material, so believe me, I'm tracking you right now just like the CIA. Now, should you play your cards wrong, I will also eventually be releasing a "Reaction to Sweet Funky Freedoms 'Fappy New Years'" that is just a compilation of creepy voyeur webcam videos of dudes truffle knuckle shuffling and ladies flickin' the bean that will probably end up getting me arrested / sued / laid. But I digress...here's some titties.)

Now for those of you lucky enough to start the year with actual titties in your face.....FUCK YOU! Lucky pricks. See, I'm too socially awkward to get invited to parties. And on the off chance I'm actually invited out, I end up getting too black-out drunk on a variety of different hard alcohols ingested at far too efficient a rate to drive home (which I do anyways) to ever hone in on the chicks with standards low enough to sleep with me. Social statues have never been my strong point. Even as a child I was a bold, eccentric outcast, a lone warrior blazing a path of his own, so I kind of had to jam myself into social circles, hanging around as long as I possibly could be tolerated, until the circle decided they had enough and that the stale fart of my personality had overstayed it's welcomed, at which point they would open the social window and turn on a social fan to air me socially out of their social circle. It's a viscous social cycle.

See, when you unintentionally neglect relationships due to an introverted personality, and when you dedicate all your time on solo creative efforts, you quickly lose any appeal to hang out with. Thus, when holidays like Halloween or New Years roll around, you don't have any parties to go to. (Unless you jam yourself into the party, but that's too much effort.) Now in a backlash against this gradual ostracization from society, the lone ranger decides to further immerse themselves in whatever craft it is they have chosen as their hobby that makes them so introverted in the first place.

"These assholes don't want to invite me to their Halloween party?! I won't get to see slutty girls in costumes this year?! THIS IS BULLSHIT! FUCK THEM! I'll show them all! Just wait until they hear this latest piano ballad! I'M SO FUCKING ANGRY! I'M SHOW THEM! I'LL SHOW THEM ALL!"

Be it chess, coin collecting, the performance of a musical instrument, writing, graphic design - the lone ranger now has even more "brain coal" to fuel the metaphorical train of cognitive thought that drives their creative passion forward on the tracks of the glorious loneliness of lonely glory. Negative feedback isn't a roadblock at all - it's like a boost of nitrous oxide to the lungs. It moves them forward. Gives them inspiration, drive, focus. Nothing has me firing on all cylinders more than the crippling loneliness that results from being brutally honest and sarcastically narcissistic. That void in a persons soul, a soulrifice if you will...or won't....needs to be filled. This soulrifice usually gets filled with drugs, alcohol, prostitutes from a diverse selection of backgrounds and ethnicities (and species), cheap thrills and easy kills, and adventures across the barren tundras and through the abandoned cities that exist only in their mind. All kinds of shit. Here's some more titties.


I just can't seem to integrate into society. I have a theory as to why, though - I just don't think society is ready for my ilk. I'm ahead of my time. Hell, I'm ahead of YOUR time, bitch. I'm ahead of your time specifically right behind a dope rhyme, rippin' shit up at prime time I'm Optimus Prime-time material; Imperial Wizard of vocabularic havoc I eat MC's like cereal that's soggy, milky skills like Mister Miyagi when it's foggy I release globby spits over names of rappers in the lobby as a hobby.

I mean, just look at my Facebook status from last night. It just oozes charm and charisma.

Sure, I took a risk going that far. Because now everyone on Facebook that doesn't have a sense of humor actually thinks I'm a pedophile, butt fuck them! The youngest I'd go is probably....15. So there! And besides, who wants to associate with people who lack a sense of humor anyway?

Plus, look at the charm and classiness of my Timeline and profile picture. Seriously, LOOK AT IT!

Do you see? DO YOU SEE?! That is how you do a Timeline / Profile Photo combination; understated, elegant, classy. If I ever lose an eye, I will most definitely start rocking an eye patch and look exactly like Snake Plisken (as portrayed by Kurt "Jimmie" Russell.) Maybe then I'll land a lucrative movie deal, but ultimately be ostracized and "Dave Chappelle'd" from Hollywood, just like I am from every social circle, for exposing the dark occult underbelly that dominates the industry, forcing young actors and actresses to offer up their buttholes to greasy Hollywood executives.

But for those glorious few weeks I remained the star of the "Escape From New York remake" as Snake Plisken would all be worth it. A
t that point I'd just change my ringtone to this for comedic effect:

See, not only would that ringtone be hilarious to the 3 or 4 people that understood the Metal Gear Solid / Escape From New York reference, but it would also be a way to casually let
the ladies know I'm hanging serious dong. They'll instantly realize by my new nickname, Snake, that I have a gigantic trouser snake. Then their slut senses will start tingling and they'll be dry-humping a wet spot into my leg.

It's brilliant, really - if I get an eye patch, then I wouldn't need to weave myself into social tapestries, or act a certain way to be accepted, or to wear a constant mask of false optimism and counterfeit enthusiasm to come across as an affable, adjusted human being. If I only had one eye, my badassedness would trump any sort of societal normalcy - I wouldn't need to jump into the ocean of cultural mediocrity, I wouldn't need to be a mindless drone with a cliche personality formed from a cliche mold. I don't want to copy and paste the music that is my life from some other douchebag who barely knows how to play music - I want to COMPOSE MY OWN SONG, WALK TO MY OWN BEAT, FUCK TO MY OWN PORN GROOVES.

So here's my new plan, which is an epiphany I'm watching you watch me have through hacked webcam videos:





 STEP 4: ???


  1. I have just downloaded iStripper, so I can have the best virtual strippers on my desktop.


If you should strike me down I will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.