I'm pretty sure I told you this before, but hey, I'm repetitive.

Today was really customized.  I got out of bed just before breakfast because the smell of cooking bacon woke me up. I feel a bit strange because we've just moved and there's a weird smell in the house.

I'm so stoned.

Last night I had to shave my entire body. Apparently, the lice that I caught from Amanda's friend are really hard to get rid of. I look quite strange with no hair and eyebrows. I'd post pictures, but my webcam is broken. I want to tell the world to get fucked.

I am making this journal Friends Only because of the perverts and stalkers who only want to see my photos. Today, I got a digital camera!  Yes!  Here's some photos of my cock.

I want to say thanks to the world for absolutely fucking nothing! You all suck. I feel so alone, no one ever reads this journal, or even comments to let me know that I'm not suffering alone. It's cold here, and I want to die, but I cannot figure out how many of you to take with me when I go.

I went to the doctor yesterday, and he said I have bipolar disorder, and should stop smoking drugs. Purple amphibian soup!

That's enough for now. But I'll leave you with my favourite Buffy fan-fiction piece I wrote last year when I was in hospital.

Oh yeah, none of this is true.

In which the author reveals the sum of seventeen and six without using his fingers.

I know I haven't properly updated. I hate prefacing posts like that.

Jacquelyn and I went out to see Clerk II this evening with brdgt and strangedasein. They were over for dinner this past week as well. Did I mention that? No, because I haven't updated properly. Well, they did and it was great. I must have had one too many beers because I got brave and dug out the weird yearbook pictures and proof of my past raverdom. Conversations, laughter, you know, that old chestnut.

Clerks II, what can I say, to put this a delicately as I can... ummm... it was o h m y g o d f u c k i n g a w e s o m e. Yeah. I said it. It wasn't a five star masterpiece, but it was good. Four, four and a half. Who knew fucking Randal could act? Where the blooming shoehorns did that come from? This is definitely a Kevin Smith movie, but it's a landmark film. It's a beaut. He perfectly wraps up the Jersey Chronicles with a hilarious movie with a lot more depth and maturity than any of his other films. Pillow Pants. That's all I'm saying, Pillow Pants.

I will now attempt to change topics with no segue at all. Are you ready? Ok, and slide...

I like making icon posts. It's nice. I like people to have pretty icons and a wider choice of avatars, outside of the plethora of pop-culture/fandom icons available. And it relieves my junkie-like Photoshop cravings. Oh, and I, on a very egoic level, really enjoy getting a hundred comments saying I'm awesome/talented/skilled/amazing. I've gotten like five marriage proposals. I've put Jacquelyn in charge of deciding who I’m going to marry because I just can't make up my mind. None of them so far have met her exacting standards and thus I remain unmarried.

I imagine this egoic petting is similar to what doctors feel when they save a life or do a good rhinoplasty. Except mine is safer because there's little chance my icons will kill anyone, since they're - you know - not trying to keep anyone alive. Because people don't go to LJ icon communities when they're fatally wounded. Because that would be stupid. And fatal. Unless I made icons with instructions on how to, say... remove a bullet and stitch yourself up. But still - for something like that - the iconomicon officially advises its subscribers to seek professional medical attention immediately.

I hate starting sentences with I. Hating starting sentences with I is something I hate. Is that better? No, I didn't think so. Think so, I did not. Nope, too Yoda. Hmmm, I'll have to work on that without resorting to using, "Hmmm..."

Thus, I will leave you, hopefully a bit wiser, a bit smarter, a bit more under my unconscious control. Good night, and good luck.