The Not Happy Thread

Yeah, she does a great job balancing being a fan and being a critic, and keeping things fun and light as well as being in depth.

 

Ms. Giovanni will use her boots however she pleases, and we will be humbled and grateful for being allowed merely to watch.

 

I've got a little Cohiba jet lighter I picked up when I was down there. I like it because lights a thick smoke a lot faster than anything with a soft flame like a Bic or Zippo. As long as you don't get the cigar too close to the flame and keep it moving, it doesn't light unevenly either. And I was more laughing at how they've got this right classy photo shoot set up with pinstripes and diamonds, and instead of giving her something that's a fancy chrome or black, they give her a chunk of gaudy green plastic. To me it just doesn't fit well with the vibe of the photo and throws the composition off some to me.

 

Technically you are suppose to use a wooden match when lighting a cigar, but a BIC
will do the job just fine.

 

Guess who just thoughtlessly wiped his fingers, which had a bit of mildew remover (aka bleach) on one of his favorite black t-shirts?

 

Stain the shirt, and consume the flesh.

 

lmao

Never met a girl my age who smokes. Uh, at least one who smokes cigarettes/cigars, if you catch my drift.

I read somewhere that many a good thriller has a "race against time" element to the story. So I'm hoping that I can turn my life into a thriller by smoking until I get stage four cancer. Maybe by knowing exactly how long I have left to live, I'll release my full potential.

 

From what I've seen it more follows two paths: their diagnosis brings regrets and they then spend their remaining hours trying to buy penance for past wrongs, or they just go full denial and refuse to believe the end is coming and spend all of their time trying to buy their way out of inevitability. I'm sure there are people out there that go, "Dang, yo. I should probably get this finished." And actually stick to that, but I mist certainly am not one of those people. I'd probably say screw it and go hiking somewhere where only my friends and family know where I am. Far away from the basic bitches that try to delude themselves into thinking they're not horrible people by intruding on my final moments to tell me how sorry they are that they didn't put a modicum of effort into being not a right tit to me while I was healthy.

 

I know the types. They all came out of the woodwork when my friend found out he had leukemia, and he said more or less the same thing you did. He's in remission now, thankfully.

They're the same people who virtue signal on social media when the person that they bullied or talked shit about commits suicide.

I only say (mostly in jest) that I hope to get stage four cancer now because I feel like my life is going nowhere I want it to go despite my best efforts and intentions. It's one of those weird "gaslighting" feelings, because I look around and everybody else seems to be doing quite well on the whole. They simply do, and it simply goes, you know?

So it can be hard for me to build up the motivation to do anything sometimes. Spinning the tires became relatively banal a long time ago. But if I found out I was going to die in 9 months, I know for sure I'd go all in; you should've seen me when I had massive school projects due in 9 hours.

I don't think I'd tell anybody though.

Knowing my luck, my life would start to turn around and go exactly how I wanted it to only days before I got the bad news.

Oh well. Makes me laugh. Life is tragedy, so embrace it. Can't get resentful or jealous.

 

I suppose you could hire a hit man to kill you in two years or so. That would release your potential - maybe just your potential to hide from hit men after you come to your senses...

Waitaminnit. That sounds like the plot of a thriller. Get writing, quick!

 

I'll hire a hitman and arrange for them to kill me in three years. In the meantime I'll write a book about an author who arranged to have a hitman kill him in three years, so that he could find the motivation and inspiration to write a novel which is about a man who hired a hitman to kill him in three years.

 

Bulworth

 

Fuck Christmas. Seriously. Just completely and utterly fuck it to death.

 

Drink man! Drink faster!

 

You and I should get drunk together at some point.

That's pretty much been the story of my life. I just can't focus almost all of the time, just ping pong from thing to thing and just pass the time and it drives me crazy. When I can focus I just kick the crap out of things. Even with my problems I've written ten books in just over three years; when I really apply myself I'm awesome. But I have huge problems actually doing that. And I spent the last six years kinda deliberately spinning the tyres waiting for things to come along. And now I'm sitting waiting for the new year to start with no choice but to do nothing and it drives me absolutely crazy.

 

I tried something like that. Didn't work (yet).

 

I've been trying that over the past three days. It made me feel worse. Well, it's 11am and I think I'll just go back to bed.

 

I've been out in the woods hunting trolls today, but I'm still feeling sad.

I didn't hear from the job that was going to call me last week. Could've just been a delay. It's not like I could've called them on Christmas Eve... so now I'll just have to wait until at least Wednesday.

My plans for tomorrow might've been canceled and I won't get any straight answers about it! So... that's assuring.

Why the hell does everyone* wants to get me in bed now a days? Is this what being singles is like?

On a happier note - I'm going home today!

*No, not literally everyone.

 

I hope you bagged a big one

That's what we get for jesting about sleeping through Europe I guess

 

I ran out of money after I got out of the Marines, got a decent job. Pissed off my bosses there, went to college. Wandered about for a bit, quit my Joe job, spent all my money, went to Japan. Worked a shit job there til the company went bankrupt, got a uni gig.

The only way I progress is through desperation. They say that ruts are for pigs, show me the way to the slaughterhouse, I'm ready to become some kick-ass bacon.

 

There won't be a troll-feast, I'm afraid. But we made it out of the forest alive, and that's the main thing! I owe my new profile picture to the biggest troll out there! Apparently Swedish trolls are usually really small.

If I were to accept all the offers I'd be at your doorstep in a few weeks

 

I am exactly the same way now. I’m doing the bare minimum to be alive and not homeless. I’m ready for it to be over.

 

Aww no traditional Swedish troll feast But, you know, at least they'd be small, so probably only lose one arm in a troll attack

Well at least you can say that men are direct in these matters

 

More like a finger... unless they attack you all at once!

Men and women are direct in these matters. This is Sweden. We sleep with any and everything. Even trolls at times

 

And in unrelated news I am moving to Sweden