These are some things. Not a few of my favorite things, but just some things I know.
- My parents’ 18 year old orange cat took over my new guitar’s case within a time span of five seconds
- I like big butts and I can not lie
- I’m sleepy
- I wish my parents were millionaires
On that last point, had my parents been exceedingly wealthy, by this point in my life I would have crashed my 5th or 6th Ferrari around a palm tree. But NOOOO… I have to work for a living and I’m saddled with this darned “compassion for my fellow man” and this darned “conscience”.
Being a spoiled rich teenager would have been fucking SWEET. I would have had all the pussy I wanted and probably all the cocaine I could have snorted. That’s what rich kids do right? Help me out here.
Instead, I have to shop at Wal*Mart like everyone else.
Is that how you spell it? I remember when I worked at my first job counting retail inventory, the folks at 7-11 would get ÁœBER pissed if you didn’t spell it “7-Eleven”. Like it fucking matters.
“Silly customer! You can not hurt a Twinkie!”
And now to provide the answer to a question I asked in yesterday’s meaningless and dreary blog post. No, I did not go to bed early and get lots of sleep like I needed to do. Yes, I did call one of the lovely ladies on NiteFlirt and talk to her for 73 minutes as I ordered her around the robot lab and got her to show off her robotic nature and her electronic circuitry to the other fembots around her.
So I went to bed all giddy and happy and fantasizing about fembots.
Then again, that last part I do every night.
And every day.
Have I finished spilling the contents of my mind into today’s blog post?
Perhaps.
One more thing. I have a habit left over from my Commodore 64 days. When I’m typing something… anything at a computer, and I make a mistake… I rarely use the mouse or even the arrow keys to go back and fix it. No, I always go straight for the backspace key so I can delete the previous text and re-type the correct text. I’ve done it about 10 times in this paragraph alone. This is a seemingly unbreakable habit left over from when I used a word processor called “SpeedScript” for the Commodore 64.
This program was printed line-by-line in a magazine, and to “install” it on your computer, you had to enter it in line-by-line and then save it to a diskette. But it worked. And I remember printing school assignments on my Commodore MPS-801 dot matrix printer after I had typed them into SpeedScript.
You could customize the screen and text colour too, and I always preferred dark blue text on a white background.
Ah, those were the days. Actually, no they weren’t. My childhood was fucking miserable. THESE are the days, I must say.
Zoy!