Archive for the ‘Hurting Myself’ Category

1. Your profile. BAM!

2. cryptic Status Updates That Look For Attention
“Lex Windows WISHES YOU WOULD STOP CALLING ME FFS”
“OMG Whoos callin u dude?”
“They know who they are, I’m not going to say anything”

WHAT? YOU JUST FUCKING DID, YOU FANTASTIC DICKHEAD.

3. See Who Your Biggest Stalker Is apps.
Firstly, none of these things work. Facebook isn’t a list of information that can be manipulated into any combination of teenage neo-faggot apps that deliver the news that the hottest chick in your Facebook Friends list has been secretly checking out your ugly ass photos taken from your mobile phone in your bathroom. It’s Not. Gunna. Happen.

If you think you have no chance on god’s earth with someone, thennnnn ya don’t. OK?

Secondly, if you’re a chick and you have heaps of photos of you flouncing about in undies/nude/duck face poses in your bathroom then you don’t don’t need an app to tell you who’s stalking you, you just need me: EVERY FUCKING DUDE IN YOUR FRIEND LIST. THEY ARE CHECKING OUT YOUR FINE ASS AND BANGING TITTIES. Don’t like it? TAKE DOWN THE SLUT PICS THEN.

4. Serial Likers and Serial Pokers.
Scotty AssassinMc thinks everything is shit and fuck everyone
Puppy Fart *likes this*
FUCK OFF

5. Saliva Dripping Sleeze Balls That Add Hot Chicks They Don’t Know.
Almost every one of my female mates are drop dead gorgeous. Some of them so much that they are models, which means they put up a lot of their modelling pics. Good for them, I reckon. But then each of the photos they post comes this under it, from people you have never seen or heard of before:

Tom Dickenharry: Helloooo!
Harry Muffdiver: Woah girl! SO HOT lol
Barry Dumbcunt: Man if I was only 50 years younger lol!
John Isreallysmall: Sexy sexy sexy. Wish u wer on my beach! LOL
Random Fuckwit: Hey are those metal earrings? I love metal! We shud cach up and talk metal (meaning I want to rape your ass)

HELLO, SLEEZE BAGS… CAN I HAVE A SECOND PLEASE?

Rule 1: Chicks don’t choose a suitor from Facebook Comments, nor does it turn them on
Rule 2: Chicks like to have sex with a) People they know, and b) PEOPLE WHO AREN’T OLD FAT SLEEZY GREASEBALLS
Rule 3: Chicks that are STEAMING HOT in BIKINIS while MODELLING ON A BEACH, how can I put this, er, YOU DON’T HAVE A CHANCE IN LIONFUCK OF GETTING.

So look, take your hand off it, do some laps of a pool or find thrity by anything but walking to KFC, buy clothes from somewhere besides Target, get a personality and go out and talk to ACTUAL REAL WOMEN. You might get laid if you’re lucky.

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It’s Friday and I already know that Monday morning at work will feel like it arrives in 10 mins from now. I have possibly the most conentrated weekend I’ve had since my Hong Kong Teebee & Assassin “Cloud Nine” Tour which involved 3 events, 4 flights, 3 countries in 2 days.

It’s 6:30am and here is my weekend schedule:

FRIDAY
7:30 am – Gym
10:30 am – Work
7:00 pm – Super Party Begin

SATURDAY
11:30 am – Super Paty End
12:30 pm – Home & Pack for gig
2:15 pm – Airport, Plane, Sleep
9:00 pm – On Stage

SUNDAY
2:00 am – Off Stage
2:10 am – After Party
1:00 pm – Airport, Plane, Sleep
8:00 pm – Sleep

FUCKING MONDAY
6:00 BAM!

Should be fun tho, I hear these guys seriously party

ktown

I’ve had a sore tooth for about two weeks now, excluding being drunk because I don’t feel it, which taken into account would probably make it more like five weeks in total. The tooth began aching more and more until my jaw felt left out and, due to peer group pressure I would guess, it, along with my right glands and neck, oh and the base of my skull, plus some surrounding teeth oh and my gum all decided to join in. Much like the commas in the last sentence.

At the risk of baffling you all with technical medical vocabulary, it is what the remedial fraternity call a “spreading infection”. This “spreading infection” seemed to be in layman’s terms, as I understood it, some kind of infection in my tooth that was spreading throughout my head. I thought it a good idea, once the entire right side of my face began an eternal throb, to go see a dentist.

The one I chose was for lack of better words, a good one. Straight below my building and specialising in reconstructive and cosmetic dental procedures meant to me they could easily reconstruct for me a pain-free face and at the same time, make me handsome. A brilliant combination. I made my appointment which ended up being the only one left this year, they must be good, although there was only four weeks left of the year.

So to cut to the chase, my highly capable drill-wielding specialist went on to explain to me that had I not lived in the 21st century, an obvious choice I made as the other centuries seemed just plain dull, I would have been dead by my birthday next year via this “spreading infection” reaching my brain and degenerating pretty much anything of use in my head. I thought the alcohol had already taken care of that, but apparently not.

So, what was done, I hear you ask? Well, I imagine the more carnivorous readers might anyway. Because of the infection I could not have the tooth removed, it is a wisdom tooth. I do not understand the intricacies of the human mouth structure enough to explain it correctly so let me try in simpler terms. Imagine my mouth is made of Leggo. Now imagine my mouth was made of Leggo in a structure far too complex for me to explain it correctly and could not be put in simple terms.

Now imagine a man with lots of whirring, buzzing, shiny and sharp weapons and a blue ninja-style face mask. Now imagine the magic blue and highly qualified ninja using those weapons for good, on my face, in what he called a minor root canal. That’s pretty much the way it went down.

So now I sit here after my face surgery trying to eat a blueberry muffin with a face full of procaine and it is similar in complexity to trying to solve a Rubik’s cube made of jelly with someone else’s mouth using thought and will power alone. I have absolutely no control over my saliva management so I need three napkins, one for my collar, one for my lap, and one for the ceiling.

The best part about it is that I can’t talk and I am dribbling lots, both of which make me unemployable for at least the afternoon. So yeah, saggy mouth and luscious, teasing muffin, in front of my girlfriend’s laptop at her house telling you my adventure. I have to prepare for my “sooky, spoil me, I’m in pain” act for when she gets home so until then, l8tr alig8trz.