"I look at pictures of myself as a source of inspiration, ugly fuck!"

As unfortunate as the title may sound, it speaks the truth. I was looking at pictures of myself when I finally decided to update this ancient tablet. They were, however, pictures of me as a little fat fuck baby, but they were self images regardless. Judge as harshly as you wish, but if you sit there and say you've never looked at your own baby picture and never thought to yourself,
"My god, I was beautiful. What could've possibly happened to me? I took a complete turn around!"

You're a liar.

By the way, you'll have to excuse the grammatical errors, I'm quite drunk.

Annabelle is coming home in about thirty six hours. I hope I can give her a reason to miss Cincinnati, but I think Cincinnati will give her a reason to want to leave before I can accomplish my goal.

I've been getting more and more aggressive in my behavior with each passing day. Rest easy, guys and gals, I am, by no means, on some homicidal shit, for lack of better terms. I am, however, just very aggressive. I've been feeling overly confident lately, and I think this gaudy confidence must be a cause of my overly aggressive attitude. I've never been big on fighting, and I still think it's stupid, however, lately I've been thinking that if it were to happen, I'd be way more prone to get into it. I mean, why not? I'm 22 years young and only been in a small handful of scuffles. Most of which I had no direct blame. I was just a civi! Now, I'm certainly not trying to walk down the street with my chin up, shoulders spread, and chest out looking for someone who wants to scuffle with a malnourished-esque white boy from the burbs, but I mean I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel good. I feel alive! I feel vulnerable! I feel mortal! I feel death brushing his long, thin fingertips up and down my neck and back, as if trying to comfort me into falling asleep, but I never do! I stay alert, I stay focused, but I stay aware of the constant, ever present inevitability wafting gently, closer then anyone could ever imagine. That's another thing. No matter how prepared for death you think you are, be it a relative or even your own (I assume), you can never fully equip yourself for such a venture. If I had a dollar for ever minute I spent repeating to myself,

"Be strong. You knew this was coming. This is natural. You knew this was coming. This is life. You knew this was coming. It's better this way. You knew this was coming. Think of your family. You knew this was coming. You have to be strong for them. You knew this was coming and you know how to handle it..."

I'd be a god damned millionaire... But it's just not that easy.

I'm rambling. I know that blogs are more or less THE place to ramble, it's essentially what they're made for, but I can never bring myself to believe that my ramblings are legitimate, let alone validated. So instead of fartin' around with all of this wasted rhetoric, I'll take a stab at talking about something relevant.
















Sike.







Alright, alright. Enough fun. I honestly can't believe what I've allowed myself to become. Where is my head? It's clearly not in the game. That's the easy part. The hard part is finding out where my head is, or I guess if it's the weekend, where my head has been. Heh heh, ladies. Heh heh. I'm obviously kidding. Isn't it funny that it's always the guys who never get laid who constantly talk about getting laid? I mean, I dont mean to rain on your ever-so-dry parade fellas, but when you haven't made it with a lovely woman you always tend to make it very apparent, and I feel like that's your downfall, and I'm willing to bet there's a lot of girls, who you've probably hit on, who would totally agree with me. Wanna know why? Because I'm really fucking smart.

Speaking of my intelligence, you wanna know what I would say to married couples facing a divorce? I'd sit them both down, let them know how ugly they both are, because we all know they are, and I'd tell them to grow the fuck up, recognize the qualities in your partner that you fell in love with other than their rockin' body, which obviously faded with time, and learn to appreciate it, or get ready for a long, lonely life spent with different partners who are as fickle as you and the only consistancy is the dog that you own. That's right you old fogie, you'll end up alone and dying with your boston terrier. You want that? Knock yourself out. I, however, would rather grow old and decrepit with a human than a dog any day. Not only does it remind you of just how humane you used to be, but it counts as a double pat on the back for managing to convince a broad to stick with you for as long as she did. Wear that saggy skin as a badge of honor. A badge of gross, smelly, varicose, geriatric honor. You know what Grampa Fred? You deserve not only one Medal of Honor, but you deserve two. Because despite how much I appreciate the beauty of a mature woman, I could never bring myself to do it with a codger. That is, I could never bang a real, honest to god grannie. It's just gross. It just is.


I think I've covered all bases.