Somewhere In The Universe An Alien Is Missing His Arms



Tonight has been interesting, as always.

When haven’t I had an interesting night?

Is that an advantage or a disadvantage?

It’s kind of like . . .

It’s like me trying to make up a metaphor and failing miserably.

It’s like me trying to use my failing of a metaphor as a metaphor and also failing miserably at that.

I went to bed at 9pm but told my brain this:

“Brain. Look. You said you were going to work on your paper today and you didn’t do shit, so now you need to get up early tomorrow and start.”

Brain said, “Fuuuuuucckkkkkkkk duuuuuude.”

I said, “You brought this horror upon yourself.”

Brain shut up and fell asleep peacefully for once and then woke me at 12:30am.

I stared at my phone and told brain, “I said early tomorrow you stupid fuck, not early, early tomorrow.”

Brain did that stupid sinister laugh he always does when he royally fucks me.

Now it’s 1am and I’m sitting back at my desk ready to start this essay but instead procrastinating and blogging because my brain kept chanting “blog, blog, blog, BLOG, BLOG, BLOG, BLOGBLOGBLOGBLOGBLOG!!!!!” until I did it.


So now I’m doing it.

He’s been cracking up all night lately. He’s off his anger high and now he’s back on his bubbly high, which I’m not going to fight against, but I must say it makes me very distractible. Not my usual distractible where I sit on forums and lurk for fifteen hours straight either. No, this is the distractible that would let me click on cute kitten videos on YouTube until I ended up on alien conspiracies and wake up out of an internet induced psychotic loop ready for some food.

Then I’d be compelled to click on the “Five worst video games in history” link on the side bar that was “recommended for me” during my alien conspiracy video and when I end up look up Rogue Warrior and consider buying it just so I could laugh at it’s crudeness.

If you’ve never heard of Rogue Warrior, YouTube that shit. Do it. If you like stupidity. It never fails. Its where I go when I feel down.

Not that I feel down.

You can go to Rogue Warrior whenever. He fulfills all your dreams.

Still better than Drake’s new album.

Kickin’ ass and takin’ names.

The “ooh, ah, ah, ah, ooh” is what makes the track.

10/10 Best troll game motherfuckers–IGN

Lyke If u cry evry tyme.

I mean shit, the stupidity is so astounding and so purposeful and so crude that I can’t help but lose my shit over these credits every time.

What is the point of it? What is the point of any of that. I cuss, but not at that level, not for the sake of it. Someone needs to pile some soap in a cannon and blow it in his mouth.

What am I talking about, man.

Speaking of aliens, I was laughing my ass off tonight. Err, last night. An eyelash fell in my eye and then it came to me: Alien Arms.

That was the phrase.

I said it out loud because it came so naturally that I couldn’t not say it. Then, as I was rubbing my eye, I imagined them falling in my eye and just . . . just sit there for a moment and imagine green little arms bent at the elbow falling from the ceiling into your eye. I mean, come on.





I was laughing so hard I couldn’t say what I was trying to say to my mother who is used to my weirdness by now and just waited until I got over it. I tried explaining the hilarity within alien arms in your eyes but she didn’t get it. No one ever gets it.
If my photoshop trial hadn’t ended, I’d make a photo of what I saw in my head and then maybe people would get it.

It’s not that funny anymore. But it was funny in the moment. My sentences were fucking up all over the place tonight and I’m damn hungry for another burrito.

Oh look, another post that has absolutely nothing to do with anxiety or depression or anything.


Is that a good thing? Probably. I need to “expand my horizons” you know?

Maybe focusing on my problems causes more problems. It’s good to let your mind roam sometimes.

Mine roams all the time but you get my point.

It’s like At&t phone service anywhere but in the store.

Ha. That was a diss. Get it?

Metropcs for life.




Well I mean I’m in my room, alone, at night, with a bright ass computer and a bright ass room light, I don’t have much to be anxious over right now besides the fact that I’ve yet to start my essay and that I have to read it out loud in class as usual and that I better not forget my motherfucking water bottle again because have you ever tried reading an 8-10 page paper word for word to a small group of people where every time you quoted something in the paper you have to say “quote, end quote”?

I was taught to integrate quotes into my own words and apparently no one else was taught that, so I’m having to say quote, end quote a lot more than other fucking people.


My grade is secure in this class. I’m not even trippin’ on anything.

In fact I’m looking beyond that. I’m looking beyond the holidays. I’m looking for the days I can snuggle in my blankets and sleep for days and days and days and not answer my phone and not give a shit and just chill for two months.

Did I mention how stressful holidays are for me? I hate gift giving.

Oh don’t look at me like that you overly-sensitive fuckers.

I don’t hate the act of gift giving, I just hate the fact that it’s expected. I don’t form connections with people easily. Now I have to give them gifts or risk being seen as even more of an asshole than they already see me? Shit man. Shit.


Whatever. It’s a gift. Just don’t throw it away in front of me and eventually I’ll stop assuming you did. At least by mid-January I’ll be done giving a fuck what you thought about it.

“Gee, no wonder you don’t make connections easy, you just called us all overly-sensitive fuckers. You do that all the time?”

Yes. Yes I do.


Feel free to ask me questions like that. I don’t really care. You can ask the most offensive, open ended, piece of shit question you can think of and I’ll answer you with the first thing that pops in my head. That’s the best way to answer stupid questions.

Remember how I said I have to feign a lot of emotion? Well I do. I call idiots fucking idiots all the time. What does that have to do with faking emotion? I’m not sure.

And I’m not talking about the not smart people, because they can always learn, I’m talking about the people who have clearly never exercise common sense and clearly never will. Those stupid people.

I don’t even know who I’m referencing there.


Oh, it has to do with feigning emotion because a lot of the time I don’t care if I hurt someone’s feelings.

Which is weird, considering my anxiety. I’m very careful with my words. But when people deserve a good lashing I don’t care if they think I’m being too harsh on them. If they would have used common sense I wouldn’t have to roll over them.

But that’s just me right now. I’ll be someone else tomorrow who cares a little more, don’t worry.

Or at least I’ll be someone else eventually. I’ll be nice again at some point, don’t even trip dawg, don’t even trip.

Anyone down for a throwback Thursday? On a Wednesday?

It’s Thursday for someone.

Okay not a huge throwback, just a song that popped up on my radio that I remember listening to in Junior high. Or high school. One of them. I don’t remember school very well, probably because I hated it.

Who doesn’t know this song.

Or this one:

My anthems as a child.

Time to write an essay.

I wish I could insert songs in my essays.

No, I’m not going to use a google docs presentation. I fucking hate google docs. I hate it! Plus I hate the word presentation. Do not ever recommend me to do a presentation.

Yada, Yada, Yada, Masturbation or some shit

So I didn’t post yesterday (For me, that’s Halloween) so, uh . . . happy late Halloween. I was up out of the house at ten in the morning and I’ve only stopped right now, right at this very moment, as I sit on my computer at 2:12am, November first.

Now, I’m not a perfect person by any means. You all know that I advocate strong will, confidence, acceptance of self and body and yada yada yada, hippie shit, whatever. Well, I also like to party. Well . . . not party too hard. But I do like to enjoy myself. And I started at about five pm and from then on I’ve either been stoned out my eyeballs, or drinking.

If you’ve read even a sixteenth of my posts, you probably know my father is an alcoholic and you’re probably sitting there calling me a dumbass and that’s totally fine, you’re entitled to your opinion. But I don’t get drunk. I’ve always told myself from the time I was young that I’d never touch the stuff, but the truth is I will and I’ve known that since my first sip of vodka. Had a few mixed drinks (I don’t remember, Crown Royal mixed with some shit, Malibu Coconut something, then another was some kind of french something with Hennessy and was there a third type? I don’t remember, whatever), had an interesting drink that was both beer and Tequila–I actually liked it, almost like a sparkling cider taste . . . but with alcohol and not cidery. I don’t know, I suck at explaining things. I’m fucking deader than a dead horse right now.

Seriously, poke me with a stick. Do it.

So as you can fucking imagine, I’m tired as shit. Like I said, I didn’t get drunk, just a little happy, tipsy (I wasn’t gulping shit down like it would save my life) and I keep laughing because I can remember one of our conversation topics was masturbation but I don’t remember what it was about masturbation. Something about porno. I don’t know man, talking about objects or something . . . humping shit or something.

Squinting at the screen does not jog memory . . . dully noted.

You’re also probably thinking: Oh God, be careful, setting parameters for yourself doesn’t mean you’re going to follow them. I know, I know, I know. Give me a break. I may stay up late almost every night of the year, but I only stay up doing this shit once, maybe twice a year. It’s always been that way. Yada, yada, be careful, I get it, I get it. I know. I’m young and dumb. I KNOW.

But like I said, I don’t go crazy. I’m not smoking meth in a sewer pipe and downing gallons of vodka with my pet rat charlie who sits on my shoulder and doesn’t actually exist.

I did just try to backspace a typo on my computer with my phone so . . .I should probably get some sleep.

But, before I do that, I must leave you with this: The first bathroom in my county in any school that accepts “all genders” :


Don’t see how being disabled in a wheelchair is a gender but . . . I guess they tried?

It’s at my former high school. It used to only be for wheel chaired people, or otherwise disabled people, so . . . maybe they didn’t want them to feel left out and just slapped their plaque on there.

I don’t know. I’m going my ass to sleep.

I ate so much food.