A working class hero is something to ... Be? Be in? Bean? Enunciate!
Internet! Hly crap! What have I done to harm you?
I'm actually typing this into a series of what look to be lines on a white void... oh, there it goes. Hello! My computer is a hunk of eight-yaer-old gaerbage. With five gigs, yet unfilled with strange, unlistenable music that only I like.
Speaking of which, I think I'm attending the Bitchfork* music festival at some point. I just don't know when. I'm vaguely aware that it's happening - my self sabotage has only just begun. Maybe I can sleep on James's's couch. Maybe I can sleep in an alleyway! Chicago is the town that doesn't exactly sleep, but stays up all night reading and maybe watching a little TV, drifting off around four, until some guy starts puking (like some kind of perverse coo-coo bird) in the alleyway around five.
*I saw someone else call it that, and thought that it was the very height of wit.
Anyway, I'm in a coffee shop right now, and was pretty much convinced that I was just going to be the old-looking, sullen, beardy guy, and then like, eight people older than me came in! One of them, I think, was the janitor at my high school. He may have some kind of infection or maybe his belly is swollen with gasses. Is that a beer belly? So I feel pretty good about myself, since my own beer belly is yet in larval form.
The only other people in the shop (which I think closes in three minutes) are some teenagers with bad hair and black T-shirts and skateboards, and they were gossiping savagely about Karen and maybe where they should go next. I really wish, sometimes, that I hadn't spent the entirety of my teenage years playing dungeons and dragons (omg monstrous manual five? WTF am I going to do with all these monsters? There are not enough dungeons in the world for this. I call shenanigans, dungeons and dragons) and instead making new friends or driving or drinking illegally or trying meth or whatever. Out of purely intellectual curiousity. It's like how I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be a girl or good looking.
Anyway, my Iced Tea Latte is rapidly septerating, and the barista is shooting me dirty looks, so I'ma cut this short.
Also, screw the theme week.
I'm actually typing this into a series of what look to be lines on a white void... oh, there it goes. Hello! My computer is a hunk of eight-yaer-old gaerbage. With five gigs, yet unfilled with strange, unlistenable music that only I like.
Speaking of which, I think I'm attending the Bitchfork* music festival at some point. I just don't know when. I'm vaguely aware that it's happening - my self sabotage has only just begun. Maybe I can sleep on James's's couch. Maybe I can sleep in an alleyway! Chicago is the town that doesn't exactly sleep, but stays up all night reading and maybe watching a little TV, drifting off around four, until some guy starts puking (like some kind of perverse coo-coo bird) in the alleyway around five.
*I saw someone else call it that, and thought that it was the very height of wit.
Anyway, I'm in a coffee shop right now, and was pretty much convinced that I was just going to be the old-looking, sullen, beardy guy, and then like, eight people older than me came in! One of them, I think, was the janitor at my high school. He may have some kind of infection or maybe his belly is swollen with gasses. Is that a beer belly? So I feel pretty good about myself, since my own beer belly is yet in larval form.
The only other people in the shop (which I think closes in three minutes) are some teenagers with bad hair and black T-shirts and skateboards, and they were gossiping savagely about Karen and maybe where they should go next. I really wish, sometimes, that I hadn't spent the entirety of my teenage years playing dungeons and dragons (omg monstrous manual five? WTF am I going to do with all these monsters? There are not enough dungeons in the world for this. I call shenanigans, dungeons and dragons) and instead making new friends or driving or drinking illegally or trying meth or whatever. Out of purely intellectual curiousity. It's like how I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be a girl or good looking.
Anyway, my Iced Tea Latte is rapidly septerating, and the barista is shooting me dirty looks, so I'ma cut this short.
Also, screw the theme week.
Labels: People Have Diseases, Secret Nerdery
posted by Thomas Carlyle | 8:46 PM
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