Not to be Critical, but...

Okay, Mister or Miss My Journal Entries, I hate to be critical, but come on. We're all glad to learn that "second after school i play Dance Dance Revolution for like 3 hours", but your journal is all cocked up. First off, all of your links just point to your main journal page. And you have them all over! Second, you start every entry saying something like, "Man, I haven't written in here in a long time!" Well boo-hoo. Start fucking writing, okay? Jeesh.

If you want us to take time out of our busy schedules, why don't you try following the damned rules.

Also, Lazycat.org, you're writing about not updating in a long time. And this trackback shit is stupid. It doesn't do anything. You should just set yourself on fire.

Hey, Dave's Online Training Journal, who gives a fuck? You suck.

Books are gone? Huh? wtf did I miss? IS THIS SOME KIND OF FUCKING JOKE? What the fuck... I have a book RIGHT FUCKING HERE on my desk. Goddamnit. Are you supposed to be chicken-little or something? You think this is funny? You're going to create a fucking worldwide panic, people will be trampled in the streets, looting will be wide-spread -- see how fucking funny it is THEN. Christ.

I'm out.

Today I've:

1) Bit my tongue when trying to sneeze
2) Bit my cheek when trying to eat

I've just had a mail from Blog central claiming they are temporarily unable to provide any punctuation because the supply mail didn't arrive today and there has been a rush on becuase of the increased reportage so i am going to keep this breif as we will all die of asphixiation if i go on too long i just thought i ought to say that i will attempting to return to sleep shortly and that for the time being this is my last post as i attempt to do battle in vain once more with the forces of insomnia which keep me from my rest and taunt me from the shadows of the bedroom in which i lie gently farting so as not to disturb the person next to me who has to get up for work in the morning i have a lung on my keyboard now

There are reports coming in tonight that various factions of the middle eastern axis of the darkly bewildered are attempting to stay open late on Thursday evenings in a last ditch attempt to kick start the economy out of its stultifying recession. Something about hens might liven this report up, although I don't really see how I could work them in as most of the shop keepers in question sell hats and middle eastern men's dresses.

Dan VanBanderdander
Live and completely covered in horse piss,
Irene/Uran border, for CNN - Heart breaking News that literally takes you by the hand around the clock.

I have a condition today that prevents sleep. It causes a vague nausea, a slight rise in skin temperature with prickley sweating and sporadic flashes of cold shivers, a mind that races through a thousand thoughts a second, arms that are not dissimilar to penguins in the way they flap incessantly about my sides as

"=============----=======-----========---
--=======-----========-----========-----=======----
-=======-----==========-----========-----=====".

Unfortunately, most of what I said there got lost in translation.

Unauthorized Transmission

-ostensibly from Spooky via Ecto Van Plasm via Kingo

Life is getting me down currently. I feel entrapped by my own decisions and destined to live a life of no significance at all. One could be forgiven for assuming that a life of no significance would be a life of little effort, yet despite the absense of raison d'etre; I still find the whole process of living to be an extremely difficult and frequently painful experience.

We are what we are, and I am what I am, and nothing more. I am ill equipped, badly constructed and poorly designed for such a task as living in this world. Despite the shortcomings in my basic construction, I utilise what I have (that which I am) in navigating my way around this place with a sense of sickening incredulity, and I shall no doubt continue to do so until the time comes to stop.

I find myself praying for that time more and more as each day passes. In the meantime, I long to return to my home town, and to play, and to care a little less about 'this season's bullshit' and 'the right way to wear a snarl'. I have long since tired of the endless production of Spring/Summer savagery, the colourful lines of Souless accesories for the young urban zombie and the revolutionary products designed to revitalise the colours of my crippled heart.

I find myself shouting lunatic rants at clients. My spittle prickling their eyelashes, and causing them to twitch and pull comically animated expressions of surprise at my sudden change of heart. My ability to maintain any interest in all of this bullshit weakens daily, and I can only maintain the facade for shorter and shorter periods of time. As a consequence, my meetings with these blind, stupid, greedy, mindless assholes have become increasingly short, allowing me grace to retire well in advance of my violent reaction to their world. My last meeting was seven minutes long, and by minute five, I could feel myself dissolving into an acidic pool of pure hatred. By minute six, I had begun to lurch and range about the place like a rabid mongrel, and by minute seven, I had the client pinned against the wall with his neatly word-processed purchase order halfway down his throat, a look of unreserved terror on his face, and his limp sweating hand forced into a businessman's handshake with my own blood rich fist of tempered brutality.

On a slightly lighter note though, I drew a lovely snowdome for Marks and Spencer's Christmas Department last week.


Yours,

Ecto Van Plasm
The House of mis-used Yo-yos,
Ilkley.