Just Whatever

So I’m sick again. And either the illness or the meds or both or neither or genetics is making me say and do some fucked up things. Also, Nicky Minaj has no talent, and looks really strange. My wife said I’m lucky I don’t have a vagina, and I told her that sometimes I wish I did. Right after I said that, the part of me that is always logical and sane went “Lolwut? Dude, you should probably not leave the house today, or talk to anyone or any living thing.” And the rest of me went “Are you talking to yourself? Because aren’t you supposed to be the sane part?” And the sane part of me went “shut up, asshole.” And they beat the shit out of each other, and the war has been raging ever since. Please, won’t you help stop the fighting in my lifetime? *cue Sarah McLachlan song*

Speaking of talking to a living thing, and possibly vaginas also,  some dolphin came along and asked some divers if they would please take the fucking hook out of its fin, seeing as how it’s some human’s fault it was there in the first place. The hook was in its fin, and line was wrapped around it too, and the divers were watching manta rays. The dolphin went right up to them and was pretty tolerant. Here’s that vid:

And just to balance things out, and almost certainly involving a vagina in some way, here’s some chick telling you what different hairstyles mean.

Do you see the similarities between the two videos? They are very striking, in that both of them are people with blonde hair and hooks in their fins asking divers to do their hair and mantas. If you don’t see that, then you are just not paying attention to how much I am demented right now about illness and flu. Also, when did I start emboldening all the intros to paragraphs, and how do I decide how many words to embolden? And how am I continually spelling words correctly despite being demented? And who said that? Who am I talking to? Who are you? What? Who moved my cheese? And why do I have cheese? Answer me this: what if this question was rhetorical? What then?

Once upon a time, there was a man who painted a statue of a sculpture of a drawing of a sketch of a painting inspired by a play about a movie. And then he imploded. Just before he imploded, he cried, but then he got over it, because he cried not at the because of something emotionally bad, but because he stubbed his toe on the bathtub. He had a bathtub in the yard, full of plants and whatever had crawled in to shit in there overnight. He never took a bath in it, but he frequently left baths there for other people to take. One day, a woman dug everything out, got in, and put everything back so she was planted. She grew more women, and also flowers. When the man came outside to see what the fuck was going on with his bathtub, because he was kind of sick of all the hubbub surrounding his tub, he noticed all the women and the flowers. He took the women inside and put them in a vase, but when he went out to see the original woman, she was a tree, and he stubbed his toe, and also he was on cold medicine and none of this happened. He was so surprised to find it was all made up, that he forgot to include any sort of moral, lesson or point in this story. The end.

Edward Hotspur

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