Pruney Hands

Ohaio. Konichiwa. Konbanwa.

There is nothing I like more than washing dishes. Piles and piles of pots and pans and utensils and knives that could cut me. More oil and grease than that-thing-on-Donald-Trump’s-head could ever eat. More water than feline-like-me would ever care to go near willingly. Dear Gob, save us all.

Pool. Billiards. Snooker. I want to get good at it. What good is having a pool table in the house if no one is good at it? No good, that’s what. And I mean good like pro. Like those chicks that you see on ESPN late at night because they don’t have a sport that they care less about to show at that time.

Well, there’s a priest in Florida that doesn’t want to be a priest anymore. And for love, no less. I love it. Do it, mang! Go for that shit. I never heard anything so awesome in my entire life. Not since they ended “You’re the One That I Want”, anyway. The thing I don’t understand is all the fuss. Sure, he’s a TV doctor AND an actual priest, but that doesn’t make it right to tear him apart in the eyes of the public… Oh wait… it does. Being on TV on a daily basis signs over all your rights to an outside life. A private outside life, that is.

Bored. So Bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. Maybe I should have just hung out with my little brother before he passed out from yet another night of partying and money-making. Maybe I should have played another game of Pool. Or maybe I should just Stumble something interesting…

Rawr. StumbleUpon, you dissapoint me almost as much as TV. Almost. You’re a close second.

Cripes, all of the cute animals in the world couldn’t stop my extistential funk. Music. Need… Music… *gasp*

… Better. But only by measurements too small to measure with the naked eye. I hate being like this. I hate being blank like this. I hate not being able to do a damned thing past look out the window and sigh. I don’t belong out there. I don’t belong anywhere.

I should make things. To sell. Earrings, necklaces, jewelery. Something girly. Soemthing simple. No. Never mind. I am all but girly, and I am all but simple. And I don’t even wear earrings. What the hell would that look like?

Him'sa no feel good.

Well, there goes a bright spot. The apple in the mouth is a nice touch, too. Sometimes the concept of Fandom lets you down. And sometimes it puts a delirious grin on your face. This is definitely latter.

I feel like a bratty kid that doesn’t want to do anything. I should toss a bowl at a wall. Kick a chair down. I draw the line at spitting up food though. And now I’m cold. Meh, be right back.

I’m just striking flat today. It’s alright. I can deal with that.

Thank you, and have a nice day.


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