I’m sane, by the way
You know what? I have two or three really good posts in me, but I’m scared to write ‘em up. Because at this point, I am half expecting a Tumblrbeast to come out of the woodworks and rectally assault me for trying to inject a little content into this cess-pool of so-called creativity we call social media.
Fuck this shit. I am not sitting around, wasting valuable drops of human moisture, trying to regroup what little mental faculties I have left trying to piece together whatever made my rant about my favorite racing games, or my favorite Android apps, or my favorite varucas, or whatever the fuck …
No, listen, this is my problem: I thought this was my playground.
I thought I could let loose on this motherfucker. I thought I could rant and rave and do whatever, regardless of anything remotely resembling self-reflection, and it would always be on display, for ever and fucking ever and ever and ever again.
I fucking guess not.
Fuck.
So now I am forever cursed to tread my Tumblr-weaves with an air of trepidation, in addition to the already choking amounts of resignation, and I hope you’re all happy for it. By “you all” I mean “the crew of Tumblr,” who I hope are having sleepless nights over this. They really should. I mean, these are my half-hearted, un-concerted, ill-defined, rarely coherent, ridiculously worded, pretentiously composed bullshit stories that everyone should fucking hear.
Oh, hey. This is what I get for trying to aid this “social media” malarky on its way. I hope everyone dies. Fuck you.
I’m sane, by the way. Merry whatever.
