Momentarily Imperative

I was going to write a long intelligent post here, but decided against it and instead browsed an abundance of boring, mundane and repetitive pornography. In my current drunken stupor I forgot what I initially intended to write, so maybe it will come back to me tomorrow.

My mental cavity needs a laxative, and my hands need some form of creativity drug to make them functional again. Proper functional. Maybe I can invent one while testing my newly polished time machine.

Fuck my life [que pre-adolescent-teen-angst mosaic show-and-tell, and overly dramatic post-metalopera music]. Fuck this blog too. It wreaks of Live/Death Journal postings and Myspace circa 2003. My mental receptors tell me I'm better then that. My sleep receptors tell me that my pillow disagrees, and that my mental receptors can fuck a goat. Like Kanye West fucks the media. Like Stereos touch dicks every time a song gets put on the radio, thus fucking their career by boosting a pre-pubescent fan-base and a level of morality that will inevitably lead to the end of the world--starting with the biggest lack of talent Humanity has ever seen. Like the Jonas Brothers. Like Bruce Willis pistol-fucks the Germans [were they German?] in Die Hard. Like my mouth fucks the use of profanity as a second language.

Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.