Fricken fracken flippin flounder fudpucker ricken bocker mother piss bucket jazzy jam jam flippin reiterative fracken fricken flip-top safety seal burp the lid twice.
Here’s how it goes: Every too often I stop doing anything in an attempt to frack up my life to some unrecoverable state at which point I’ll have no solution except to believe I should kill myself at which point I will not kill myself and then try to pull the plane out of the dive, end up in a flat tail spin, and be saved by some really unlikely event, possibly of supernatural genesis (if I don’t look too well for a reason).
Yes, I know I’m late for the child support debt payment. DHS, just take my driver’s license. That sounds like a great solution. I’m not using it anyway. And, I wasn’t planning on getting a passport.
I’m way too busy being bored and not working which is really a pain in the ass of the people depending on the work and the money it brings in.
I sincerely believe doing things just not to be uncomfortable is a sad reason to have to do anything.
Giving up my delusions (or rather reconsidering them delusions) has not helped because if you cannot find real reasons to live, then imaginary ones are surely just as good, unless you think you’re being conned by the Universe… which… now that I write it… perhaps is a delusion itself — that the universe really cares.
The Universe is certainly the one thing that could say, “I’ve made billions a lot like you, and I can make billions more… If you don’t like it, just step off.”
Being unhappy is just an excuse for being unhappy, probably… yet, I cannot help it.
I’ve been hiding in my room for days listening to children yell at each other from time to time…
I’m pretty sure depression is contagious… if courtesy is contagious, then demonstrating unhappiness surely is.
So if the cycle repeats then I’ll work for a time and waste any extra money in some stupid way… pretending sushi makes it all better, or some shit like that.
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