Don't ride what you can't eat

Sweet Freedom! ...Or it would be if I wasn't so damn bored.

I mean, seriously. When you realize you have several weeks worth of free time, the first thought you get is usually along the lines of shitfuckdamnitsaboutmormontimeyeehawozah!!1!

A few days later you find out that you don't have anything to do. You've emptied out your fathers liquor cabinet, done the laundry, aired out your stuffy room, dusted off the bookshelves and even taken your dear old bitter and hateful grandma out shopping for new curtains and now there's nothing left to occupy your time! So you're stuck at home because the one thing you hate more than a serious lack in the insane-stunts-and-stupid-ideas department is social interaction, which is clearly a redundant and unnecessary part of modern life - can't we all just live through the internet? - and thus your vacation time is being used for completely useless and inane things like peeling rotten apples and working on your blog. Your stupid, rambling, who-reads-this-shitlicker blog.

And yeah, whining about the fact that I'm safe and sound in my own home with no pressing matters to tend to seems a bit silly when you think about all the political unrest and starving children in third world countries!! etc. but frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. (I did not just use that line. There is no way I just used that line. You must be mistaken, ugly sir. I would never use that line. I don't know nuthin' about no line, so leave me be and go fish in someone else's waters with those hideous duck traps of yours! Okay, that one I did use and I am, for perhaps the second or third time in my entire life, truly and deeply sorry.)

That is why you, my imaginary reader, are now subjected to a full page of my quite humorous but often times pointless ponderings and observations. Okay, maybe not a full page. More like half a page. But it's the better half of the page. Kinda like if you took a full page of text and then just... glared at it until it rearranged itself into a more compact and to-the-pointish form. Except that since my entries are usually heavy in the "no context" and light and airy in the "has a point" compartments, it's just a long summary of boredcrazyhypedoncaffeineandbiscuits. Incidentally, I love using the cursive to make certain statements or words stand out so that you can all realize how important they are.

Oh, now I must go. I have to wake up early tomorrow 'cause I'm going to the "Mouth of the River" for some aimless wandering. So much for the whole "woe is me for I have nothing to do" thing. All this cityhopping is wreaking havoc on my poor don't-leave-your-room instincts. Oh well... But before I leave, one last piece of wisdom. Remember kiddies: always take the short route, unless you're using up someone else's time or gas in which case, feel free to dawdle to your heartz desire.

Ostrich racing

Ostriches are large enough for a small person to ride them, typically while holding on to the wings for grip, and in some areas of northern Africa and the Arabian Peninsula ostriches are trained as racing mounts. There is little possibility of the practice becoming more widespread, due to the irascible temperament and the difficulties encountered in saddling the birds. Ostrich races in the United States have been criticized by animal rights organizations.

Comrades, appreciate your fellow flight-challenged brethren. Be reborn!

Ya ain't fourteen no mo', darlin'

ZOMG!!1! I just had the single most strongest teenage moment of my life! And yes, I am counting that time we played spin the bottle, which was an embaracing display of my true age. But no, this was far worse. You see, it all started yesterday, when we were on our class field trip to Helsinki, the city of [insert witty and insulting nouns here] and all my supposed friends pretty much ditched me to go shopping or suck face with their sex-slaves(Don't think I don't know what you've been up to, you Welsh Harlequin, you) once we got through a very disappointing tour of an art gallery.

After kinda just wandering around the streets and trying to get lost - couldn't, Eris damn you all! - I decided that maybe I should start checking out the stores. This resulted in more wondering and one very unfortunate incident involving over-salted fries and loud and annoying idiots who just wouldn't let me eat in peace, but that's a story that I will have to take with me to the grave. Anywhoo, then I went to a book store where I met the <3LOVE OF MY LIFE<3!!!1!
(que girlish squeeling and glittery hearts)

Here's how it went:

I walk into the book store thoroughly bored and pissed, walk straight to the section marked 'paperbacks' and after a while of looking through the pathetic selection of horrible modern literature and romance novels(Eww...) I find something somewhat interesting. So I sit down in a nice comfy chair and start reading. After a while one of the employees comes to me and kindly asks if he can help me with something("Are you going to buy something or just read through all our merchandise?") at which point I get into a debate with him about why I should be allowed to just read in peace and that really, they should be paying me to do it because I was significantly improving the atmosphere with my godly presence. Somehow we end up discussing philosophy and the spiritual growth of tomatoes - "Nothing that goes so well with everything can't not have a soul!" - and before we know it, two hours have gone by. Good thing it was a slow day for them or he would have been in troubleee...

Sadly, I didn't even ask for his name. The love of my life slipped through my fingers like watered down ketchup... Oh the agony of heartbreak. I will now proceed to grow bitter and resentful of life. Then I'll write a book about it and it will NOT have a happy ending! So there, that should teach life to... um... not give me handsome booksellers?

Wow, that doesn't really work out for me at all, unless the book I write becomes a bestseller and I end up famous and filthy rich. I'm hoping this happens.

I should not be allowed on the Internet

You know that guy in the corner or on an empty bench or perhaps on top of a roof sitting all by herself, who you would hardly notice except that it’s kind of hard to ignore her when she's throwing eraser bits or hard pieces of stale bred or roof tiles at you? Yeah, that would be me. All three of them. Yes, at once, because I am omnipotent like God or Liechenstein. No, you idiot! I’m being sarcastic, so no need to sacrifice- wait. On second thought, yeah. Yeah, I am God. Bring me a human virgin of twenty years, preferably male. No, on second thought, scratch that. Not a virgin. Someone with a nice load of experience and enough intelligence to know how to use protection, because AIDS? Not nearly as funny when you're the one with it. Oh, and he better be attractive or else I’m calling Jesus and his gang to whoop your ass. Don’t look so incredulous. The Bible may make him out to be some kind of hippie vegan miracle-worker who surrounded himself with men, walked around in a dress and had some kind of disease fetish but make no mistake: my son is badass. He’ll beat you so bad, if you so much as even try to describe it as a beating of “biblical proportions” you’ll burst into tears and puke out your spleen from the memory of your utterly painful and humiliating defeat. Yes, you better fear Jesus. He’s Jesus-fucking-goddamn-Christ. Son of the Lord, messiah, bearer of sins, destroyer of sickness, He-Who-Can-Kill-You-With-A-Disapproving-Frown-And-Then-Bring-You-Back-To-Live-Just-To-Kill-You-Again. Wozah!

Er... Right, where was I again? Ah, yes, I am that guy. No, not Jesus, the other guy! Yes, the... Wait, what? Forget about the not-virgin for a second, would you? I need to get all this crap mapped out so you won’t be totally confused. Well, of course you will be since you lack the inherit intelligence to even understand how to peel a potato without causing harm to yourself, but I’m hoping that some of the others who might take interest in this magnificent tale will be slightly more gifted than you in that department. Hmm? Oh no, I wasn’t insulting you. Honest. Cross my heart and hope you die. Now, on with the narrating.

You see, I’ve never had an easy time fitting in with the regular crowd. You know, “normal” people, and for all they preach about individuality and accepting others as they are on the media, there’s still a certain hierarchy at work in the world of the young and stupid, also known as school. There’s this pecking order in effect at almost every educational institute and the ones on the top of the food chain are the once with the most influence. All the goods; wealth, fame, connections or just some loyal friends who can pull off looking like menacing body guards. Often all of the above give the best results. Depending on what the... shall we say, genre of the top group is, there are many ways for the other groups to branch off. We all know of the typical "snoby cheerleader and jockies" – system, but what if the ruling group were, say, a bunch of goths? How about the gamers? No? Well, there’s always the nerds, the geeks, the art geeks, the emos – well, maybe not. They’d be too busy sobbing about the woe of their existance to take care of school rank – a shitload of other hopefuls and then the countless little misfits. That all tells you whose going to be next in line for the throne. I don’t really have time to explain the whole system, so I’ll just get to the point: all that is a load of bovine feces. Seriously, I'm taking this crap straight out of a cheesy american highschool romance/comedy movie. We don't have a social structure like that in our educational facilities. There is no leading group of idiots terrorising the less fortunate morons. All we have is a bunch of stupid ugly bastards grouping off into these generalised packs, with a couple of utter and complete failures trailing behind and pretending to be proud of the fact that they are so boring and actually smell so horrible that people can't stand to be near them for longer than two minutes. No gang wars, no nerds getting pushed into lockers - hell, we don't even have lockers! - and really, I fit in quite nicely, thank you very something or other. The teachers don't hate me and I do have friends, even though I find them all extremely annoying. I even have a kinda-but-not-quite-best-friend whose loyal in that "I don't have anyone better so I'm sticking with you" sort of way who I can always count on to sit with me on that roof top shimying the roof tiles loose while I concentrate on aiming. Really, my life's pretty satisfactory and I will use it as gloating material every time I run across a bum waking up from a drunken stupor after spending the night in their own pleasantly warm pool of piss and vomit. Some might say that that isn't very nice, to which I usually reply: "Well, of course it's not. At some point it'll cool down and then you'll just wake up cold, wet and smelling like urine and stomache acid."

You'd think I'd get tired of that line, but nope. Still laughing. Wait, what was the point of me telling you all this? Oh, right. Introductions. So, I'm here, I wish I was queer in a way refering to my sexual orientation rather than my personality, and you don't have to get used to it. See? Now we can all be happy. Oh, and that whole spiel about God and Jesus and the awesomeness of? Don't get the wrong idea because of it, I actually think that Christianity sucks. I'd just as well wax poetic about Buddha or Allah or Shiva or Eris(Who is awesomness incarnate, all hail Discordia etc.) and... would you look at that. I didn't really introduce myself at all. Well, maybe next time... But for your sake, I hope not.