Doublefuck.

Amidst the long (Okay, 3 months) hiatus, there's one very prominent thing I've learned about myself and the relationship I have with people as a whole. I hate them.

What a profound audience you've touched.

But what feeds this is a starkly contrasting duality; two opposing sides intertwined like the infinity symbol, constantly circulating and generating one another's energy.

The contrast? I love them.

XOXO

It's something out of 1984's "doublethink", where I can somehow hold both emotions and feel like there's a real logic behind it without my brain melting. I'm not sure which is the base emotion, but because we're all dumbass young adults, it's more entertaining to start with why I hate them.

They're stupid. Really, it's that simple. Advertisers, corporations, and media perpetuate the belief that people are easily generalized into a few categories. Not only do people still unflinchingly support them despite that, but they don't even bother to notice that they are the stereotype they've been told they were.

Yes, fat white women DO eat ice cream when they're sad. No, they DON'T care about that. Yes, black people DO love watermelon/grape-flavored products. No, they DON'T care about that. Yes, we hispanics DO mow lawns and work construction sites illegally. No, they DON'T aspire for more than that. Yes, white guys DO drink miller lite at bars and think mediocre girls are hot. No, they DON'T know they look just like the beer commercial.

This blog is sex without foreplay. And no condom.

(That might as well be rape, right? Is this blog raping you?)

And God forbid they're social when they play consumer at a store; 'cause it's not like using the automated cashier is an affront to all of humanity. No! In fact it's faster! Yeah! What a great train of thought!

All aboard!

And yet, it's why I love them. I coddle them like an affable retard. Like a wounded animal, I feel as though they're unable to see their own flaws and that I, as a righteous do-gooder who may or may not laugh at gay porn as recreation, have to care about them for their own good.I treat them kindly and with the utmost respect whenever possible.

When the homeless ask me for change, I give it to them. And if I don't, I make change for them. If some drug-addled straggler decides he's going to have a weird conversation on the train with me (And we've all been through this), then yes, I will have a fantastic conversation with him. That old guy who's probably a Vietnam vet. but obscures this detail because he's making shit Q&A jokes like anyone does those in the 21st century?

Yeah, I've given that guy the time of day. Because I know no one else has. And I know no one else will.

I know. Get me a stool.

All because I hate them. Because I know that there's people who seem to lack that special level of awareness, or maybe stopped giving a fuck, but either way, it makes me despise them.

Don't misunderstand me here either. I perfectly understand that this sounds like one of those rants some kid makes as he stands up in the lecture hall during his political science class only to find the class was nodding the whole time, and no one knows why he was screaming a sermon at the choir.

I suppose this is more or less a journal entry, and not really a "Oh my God, NO ONE THINKS LIKE I DO" diatribe. A marker that, yeah, I felt this way at some point.

Also this is a nice preface for my next blog. Okay, it's totally a preface for my next blog.

Urban Outfitters

I'm a rookie: Still getting the hang of Windows Movie Maker ProTools, which causes lil' mistakes like the sound cutting out about 3 times.

The Madly Tired Ramblings

Not quite down the same observant vein of the previous "Ramblings", but certainly a rambling. As you'll see, these are my disjointed thoughts when I should've been dead asleep.

For all you amateur philosphers; the trick to a proverb isn't obscure wisdom or interesting articulation. It's all about the visual/audio symmetry of the proverb itself. Here's a random one that pompously occupies my Facebook status:

"Zeal lies in the unstable."

The "the" makes things a little awkward, but it appears about even and is likable to say.

"A banker is someone who will lend you an umbrella when the sun is shining, and who asks for it back when it start to rain."

This isn't.

So the next time you practice your Facebook status philosophy, make sure it doesn't feel like shrapnel in your mouth.

---------

The deadpan terraforming that occurs in my brain when I'm sleepy is incredible. With a solid face, I can deliver biting lines of criticism and humor, all the while legitimately not giving a fuck. Not that I'm proud of this, but that it's quite the opposite of what I am normally. Which is to say I'm unfunny, unimpressive, and sharp like a pound cake.

--------

One day, or tomorrow (But probably never), I'm going to post to you guys the worst shoes I have ever seen in my life, courtesy of Urban Outfitters. I love the place as a clothing store, but wow, "Made in China" is indeed the exact opposite of "Sturdy".

-------

I've recently decided to dedicate myself to a somewhat "Scene" look. Scene. I hate the very thought of it. But honestly, I do feel I look awesome, and that it best expresses who I am. If I didn't, or if I felt I was merely following a temporary trend, I wouldn't. So far I've avoided those blazingly queer half-pants and slip-ons those indie Williamsburg kids flame around in. So I think I'm okay.

------

Hispanic women are the worst customers. It's like their hands have a homing device directed at the counter when they exchange money. And they practically avoid pleasantries. I've honestly looked into the eyes of these 5'3'' 3-toddler-having-crib-pushers and wondered to myself, "Are they afraid I may deport them?". With legitimate reason to believe so.

-------

None of that was racist, just honest. Why? Because my mother is one of them. She's a total bitch as a customer. I love you though.

Tales of a Rookie Barista

I've joined the rest of the nerds in 2010 and started using a camera. Now you can actually hear me babble and view my unkempt room! I apologize in advance for the kind of abrupt ending. I'm learning here.

Stupid Explanations and Lazy Revelations

I hit deadlines about as well as JFK gets through Dealey Plaza.

About every time I state something will be posted at a certain date, you could bet a fortune it's simply not gonna happen.

However, this time around with the Bomber's Dozen, my proverbial block wasn't simply procrastination but something more legitimate; THERE HAVE BEEN NO NEWS STORIES.

I'll open the veil to the backroom: I gave the Bomber's Dozen stuff a 2 week hiatus to allow the world to bubble with more absurd news for me to harvest. Except it didn't. Instead, I got more Katy Perry being Katy Perry and how the Leeds Festival substantiates my tragedy of not being British.

I did however save six stories which are worth doing something goofy with. I'll have to goof on them when I've stopped being an exhausted rookie Barista. Which, by the way, has been going awesome and needs to be blogged about.

This blog had two titles, because along with revealing to you that I'm about as reliable as Judas and the world has done nothing of relevance for 2 weeks, I've just spent this entire morning watching "Doctor Who" from 10AM to 4PM. And it was fan-fucking-tastic.

I initially watched the show back when it premiered years ago in England through fileshare programs and eventually lost track. Downloading got incredibly grating after a while. It's such a fun series that I'm pretty disappointed I've missed out on it over the years.

More importantly (Or really, slightly more narcissistic), I haven't had a moment to just sit and drool for 4 hours in a while. I've been trying so hard to consistently do something with my existence that I've kind of forgotten to give my brain levity. Not that I've been curing cancer for the past few weeks, but I haven't given time to just let myself be completely lazy.

As a result I've ended up fatigued in more ways than one, which resulted in the barely audible haystack that's rolling through this blog.

But look at me now. 4 hours of British people with aliens, and I'm rambling off trite metaphors like a 14-year-old poet. My life needs a little more lazy and a little less discipline.

Or maybe I'm wrong and my procrastination has become parasitic. Oh God.

How Does You Blog?

The Bomber's Dozen will be back next weekend. Instead, here's some smug advice:

I've been around Blogger. Well, I had to be; if you own a blog, you're bound to have scoured the lands in search for ways to cyber flash your tits for cyber Mardi Gras beads.

LOOK AT MY BLOG THANK YOU!!!

The mediocrity I'll run into on Blogger though can be kind of annoying. Well, it's not so much mere mediocrity as it is the way there's a million of the same blogs over and over again. I'll (to my own disdain) avoid linking any particular blogs here, but holy shit, you don't know how often I've seen blogs with the header "The Story of..." or "My life..." or "The Ramblings of" or any dramatic lead-in.

Along with this is how below the novella header lies the same poop dollop of words verbally wreaking about how they woke up and found out Amy was happily pregnant and Zack had a lot of trouble in math class.

Such thrilling suburban adventures.

Now look, it's not to say that you can't write about your life. But rather, if you do, try to weave the writing to maximize its level of intrigue. A few months ago, in a post called "BEST BLOGS EVER!!", I'd complimented India Volkers' "but it turned out I hadn't" for doing just that. Again, here's an excerpt (...Of an excerpt) from that fantastic piece of blogging "Cheer Me Up":

"....the perfect opportunity to organise a nice coffee with an old friend, in which they inform you through a series of awkward unfinished sentences that you are essentially friend-dumped owing to the complexities of boy/girl friendships, the inextricability of past from present and a girlfriend who is 'NOT A PROBLEM'...The rest of the week has largely been passable in the South East, perhaps a five point five rising to a seven in places, but approached with a vaguely droll smile and shadowed by generally vast and looming exam-shaped shadows...."

I've read that over like 8 times and still find myself amazed by how she took an unoriginal conversation with her friend and her mundane day experiences and turned it into a literary gold chalice with a pimp drinking out of it.

A pinnacle in storytelling.

That post could've easily gone like this:

"Yesterday me and Jake were out and he sat me down. We had a nice coffee (it's so funny how we always have coffee) but he started telling me things about his girlfriend. It came out of nowhere! I was wondering where he was going with this and that's when he said that his girlfriend had been worried about me! I mean seriously! He swears that she's "not a problem" or whatever but guys, if an old friend does that, what would you think???

Yeah exactly!"

I wanna punch my taint for writing that.

In case you didn't know.

And I am, indeed, a unicorn.

Anyways, Volkers is the "DO" of this post. But instead of a hypothetical, here is a real and random "DON'T" from the Blogger universe:

"I didn't get to see Adam all morning. He worked overtime this morning and got off right as I was leaving for work. As I pulled up, one minute before my shift starts, I see Adam's car parked in the lot. He came to see me just for a quick hug and brought me a sweet tea. :] He sure does know how to make me feel special. Love.it. Love.him."

You know how thoughts are voiced by yourself in your brain? Mine just yelled "AAAUUUGGGHHHH". It hasn't stopped.

Instead of vaguely reacting to that slice of boring, here's exactly what's wrong with it:

• No one really knows who Adam is.
• She didn't preface the post with anything that would make us care about Adam.
• Even if she did, the moment she's typing about has been in a movie a million times.
• And finally, she wrote it at an 8th grade level.

Okay, maybe she established Adam in an earlier set of blogs. But what good is that to new readers? And even so, this isn't hooking them into reading earlier blogs about Adam.

Now I'm sure this girl is sweet and that Adam is just a lovely man, but to write about it so simply is to imply it is worth caring about, and nothing about it has been made worth caring about. Especially when you ended it like a tagline for "Eat. Pray. Love."



Love. It. Love. Him. Shoot. Self.

So what should you do to avoid this? For starters, if you're gonna post about your life, pick and choose the life situations you're going to blog about. Run it through your head and think, "If I were telling a stranger this story, would he just pity laugh the whole way through?".

Secondly, since you can't dramatically act out the scene on the Internet, try to write the moment in the most clever, descriptive and succinct way possible. For example, in my Barista blog, I give the Barista's obligations a sense of depth and intrigue as I quickly describe the principles of Starbucks and the intricacies of its drinks. This piques the reader's interest, and gives my chosen story a stronger mystique. Thus, making it worth posting.


Or as interesting as milk jizz and sugar can be.

Third, humor is your best friend. Even if you can't turn your daily life into Shakespeare, using humor can make your post overall more likable. It doesn't even have to be so witty; the fact that you have used humor shows that you are trying to make a friendly connection with the reader, as opposed to smugly implying we should care about your PMS drivel.


I shouldn't think "Always" when I'm reading.

Red Means Go does a great job at this, where she uses self-deprecation and witty drawings to humorously jacket her topics and stories. It's not the greatest piece of writing I've read on Blogger, but it's definitely the one with the most understanding and tactile use of humor.

Lastly, pictures are the greatest weapon any Blogger has. Utilizing pictures, be it pictures of yourself or pictures of other things, provides a visual element for the reader to be entertained by. The right pictures also give the blog post a sense of life, and accentuate the blog's message, allowing it to drive it in deeper than words can. Like how me and Ms. I Change My Name Like I'm A Repeatedly Rejected Dog use pictures of children often to counter the caustic sarcasm and keep things tongue-in-cheek.



And to remind them that we have candy in our van.

A great example of this, even though she doesn't actually write much in between, is the blog georgetown. She often takes pictures of her romps through life. Mere writing may make these experiences uninteresting and redundant. But the pictures provide an aura for her site and for herself, making it infinitely more interesting for the reader than it could've been.

So let's go through it again:

1. People don't care about Adam.
2. No seriously they don't.
3. Use colorful and descriptive language. Makes it less boring.
4. Try to be funny. Makes you likable.
5. Always use pictures. Gives your writing life.

And remember, always add a heaping dose of your own personality. This is what will make your site unique. These guidelines provide a blueprint, but the architecture is up to you. So always try to be the most you that you can be when you blog.


Seriously. It's that simple.

And there you go, you (should) have a decent blog that stands out from the hundreds of "Story of My Special Vagina" blogs, and won't make me gossip about you in an elongated blog like a high school girl.

The Cunning Farce of Reality TV: Kim Kardashian

Let's all get plastered: Take a shot for every variation of "whore", "cunt", "useless", and the like.

This title is great and all, but really, we're not here for sociological understanding. So just say it with me:

Reality TV is a piece of shit.

Feels good man.

So much time is given to meaningless whores (Literally and figuratively), who do meaningless things, and receive meaningless attention.

But the AIDS is forever.

It's the sociological equivalent to someone getting pulled over; poor asshole runs a stop sign, and I'm sure we've all been through this, but we'll all slow down drastically and stare at it anyway in the vain hope that something dramatic has happened.

One of the most amazing things about reality TV, though, is that it is the most blatant way to walk up to the American Dream and politely tell it to get the fuck out of your way.

Queue predictable Kim Kardashian picture.

These are the breasts of our demise.

All delicious hyperbole aside, let's break down Kimmy's illustrious career:

- 1980 to 2005: Obscure whore.

- 2006: Oh, neat, a TV show. Maybe she'll be an actress or ---

-2007: Release a sex tape with Brandy's eternally teenage brother Ray J, that totally wasn't intentionally released whatsoever nope. Especially when she sued Vivid Entertainment but it went down like this:

"YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHT to hand me 5 million dollars and I'll be on my way."

And it totally wasn't the reason why she was offered to pose nude for Playboy.

- 2008: Or to be a face model for a fashion line.

Or generate enough interest to make a reality TV show.

And be given various acting, film, and guest appearances.

...And her own workout DVD, called "Workout with Kim Kardashian". Great name, by the way.

Welcome to my new blog.

I don't know what more to write. Seriously; her Wikipedia page is incredibly small. My favorite part is that it lists her as a "celebutante". Which is a gentle way of saying she's a mutated spleen.

How does an existential splenectomy work?

To circle it back to the American Dream point (Because incessantly implying "slut" almost wrecked this blog's point), she reached a level of stardom that has made her ubiquitous with fame and success. Along with her development deals, Kim Kardashian constantly receives media and tabloid attention through her bajillion bikini shots and her undying lust for athletes.

Nice throw. Let's connect genitals.

Essentially, she has made it in America without any substantial or credible effort on her part. Fortune, fame, adoration, attention; found through the quick insertion of a mediocre pop star's fleshy tube and the ambitious lenses of a digital camera. How is that possible? And more importantly, why did we encourage this?

Alright enough with the intellectual bullshit; she's famous for being a dickpocket, and I'm pissed.

Yes dickpocket counts. Take the shot.