Oh wow, I forgot I had a blog! All I do anymore is PAINT. No more fast food or customer service, wading ankle deep in the stupidity that is humanity.
Now I pour my bottomless fount of hate into my art. I'm published, even, in a Lovecraftian all-female anthology. Is that awesome or what? I did the interior illustrations. Great Cthulhu does whatever passes for smiling among the Old Ones in my direction.
"Lovecraftian" is a word, Spellchecker. I shall find your creator and make a likeness of his carcass impaled upon a big ass spike in the background of some painting or other.
My ex-employer's head was the inspiration for a shrunken head in a painting I finished last year. I kept it cartoonish enough so that she won't be instantly recognizable to her friends or family, but the hair and the lips and the eyebrows are the same. With the eyes and the mouth stitched closed, of course.
Oddly, I'm not satisfied. I want to kill her some more. Feed her to Thsoggua, or roast her on a spit.
All that keeps me from being a murderer is my lack of faith in my ability to avoid detection.
When you're as fascinated by death as I am, and you make no bones about who you hate and why, I don't see how I could *not* be a suspect. But she has breast cancer. Maybe she'll die soon, and I can piss on her grave. That would be nice.
I am happy-ish. I HATE people, and now I don't have to look at them if I don't want to. I can hang out in my creepy old house, heavily laden with vintage Halloween decorations, gargoyles and monsters, and paint.
Fuck you, humanity. And that'll be $450 for the graphic representation of my "fuck you".
I'm slowly saving money to buy a bigger house. One with three stories and a yard big enough to make a mock cemetery.
I'll have to come here regularly now that I have time.
Gods know I still have plenty to rant about.
Saturday, May 3, 2014
Monday, September 17, 2012
Fast food. Why do the sheep flock with such passion to buy greasy, salty garbage? I'll never understand it. The children, okay; I understand them. They want the toy and the pretty package; but their parents? They want to kill themselves slowy with the surest way to a heart attack ever marketed.
It shames me to admit it, but I've taken a second job at Mc Donald's, working twelve hours a week, to supplement my regular employment. I like money. I like stuff. Specifically I like goth clothes and Halloween decorations , and my tastes aren't cheap.So I'm sacrificing myself on the altar of grease for the money to buy things that will ironically seperate me even further from the sheep that I help to feed.
They stream in, all day, at the rate of thirty seconds to a car if the food preparers are on track, to cram their faces full of crap that they surely must know, from television ads and basic grade school education , will help to kill them. Some of them are already so fat that their cars are like oversized motorized chairs. They use the drive through because there is no way in Hell that they could cram their enormous asses into the stalls inside. They pull up to my window, with their stomachs pressed tight up to the steering wheels. Some of the women have their breasts pushed nearly through the damned thing. I wonder if I should be impressed that they can manage to even get into the driver's seat at all. They buy the cheap, "Dollar Menu" items, in large quantities. Sure, the "super size" has been done away with, but that doesn't stop them. They just buy larger quantities of smaller items. Four double burgers, two large fries and a large diet coke. What the hell is the "diet" coke for? How is including it in an order like that even vaguely logical? That's like a lung cancer patient who knows he's going to die regardless giving up smoking. For what? To salvage whatever shadow of self esteem you might have left? Give it up, moron. You're over four hundred pounds already, eating more in one meal than I eat all day long. A diet soda isn't going to help you one single solitary bit.
I have just one wish for the fast food industry. I wish that the heart attacks that what they jokingly call "food" cause would occur before the customer has a chance to breed. Simple as that. You want to eat yourself to death? Great. Lower the burden on society. It could become the most popular method of suicide in the world with no trouble at all. Actually, it already is. It just takes too damned long to take effect!
I just rediscovered this dim little corner that I created to come to vent. I've got a lot more to vent about. Maybe I'll spend more time here.
It shames me to admit it, but I've taken a second job at Mc Donald's, working twelve hours a week, to supplement my regular employment. I like money. I like stuff. Specifically I like goth clothes and Halloween decorations , and my tastes aren't cheap.So I'm sacrificing myself on the altar of grease for the money to buy things that will ironically seperate me even further from the sheep that I help to feed.
They stream in, all day, at the rate of thirty seconds to a car if the food preparers are on track, to cram their faces full of crap that they surely must know, from television ads and basic grade school education , will help to kill them. Some of them are already so fat that their cars are like oversized motorized chairs. They use the drive through because there is no way in Hell that they could cram their enormous asses into the stalls inside. They pull up to my window, with their stomachs pressed tight up to the steering wheels. Some of the women have their breasts pushed nearly through the damned thing. I wonder if I should be impressed that they can manage to even get into the driver's seat at all. They buy the cheap, "Dollar Menu" items, in large quantities. Sure, the "super size" has been done away with, but that doesn't stop them. They just buy larger quantities of smaller items. Four double burgers, two large fries and a large diet coke. What the hell is the "diet" coke for? How is including it in an order like that even vaguely logical? That's like a lung cancer patient who knows he's going to die regardless giving up smoking. For what? To salvage whatever shadow of self esteem you might have left? Give it up, moron. You're over four hundred pounds already, eating more in one meal than I eat all day long. A diet soda isn't going to help you one single solitary bit.
I have just one wish for the fast food industry. I wish that the heart attacks that what they jokingly call "food" cause would occur before the customer has a chance to breed. Simple as that. You want to eat yourself to death? Great. Lower the burden on society. It could become the most popular method of suicide in the world with no trouble at all. Actually, it already is. It just takes too damned long to take effect!
I just rediscovered this dim little corner that I created to come to vent. I've got a lot more to vent about. Maybe I'll spend more time here.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Equal Opportunity Misanthropy
My first post of my very own blog, which will be dedicated to my saying precisely what I think, since I can't do so anywhere else.
I hate people. Nearly EVERYONE. Unless I specifically tell you that you that you're my friend, you're opinion means absolutely diddly to me. I don't care whether anyone likes anything about me or not, and frankly I don't like the vast majority of things about other people; so it's fair.
It often surprises me that people are concerned about the possibility of hurting my feelings with some commentary on my appearance, as if I give a damn what their opinion is, for good or bad. I wouldn't dress the way I do if anyone's opinion mattered to me.
People are like ants; scurrying around, attending to their various responsibilities and instinctive urges, and I stand at the back and watch, perplexed as to how their meaningless tasks can hold such importance to them.
Whoopee, so this one is pregnant *again*. That looks painful and stupid. Or the guy with yet another CD from his favorite band. Yay, you spent $20. Big deal. And they all herd into the stores and buy nearly identical carts full of junk food, and drive it all back to their white or pastel colored houses in their varicolored automobiles, where they will consume it and get fatter and lower their life expectancies. Then they'll watch whatever reality t.v. show is most popular this week, so they'll have something to talk to their co-workers about besides each other.
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