I fucking hate you. What's up?
I have been pretty busy lately avoiding my responsibilities and shooting off into a dirty sock but I found a little time and energy today to write a little.
I have another tattoo since we last spoke. Something that I always daze and wonder about is what it must be like to have a father that truly loves you. But sometimes I wonder who the first asshole was that decided, "hey, let's take this sharp, metal object and put it into some ink and then take that same sharp, metal object and stab it right into my fucking body."
This asshole, probably a Chinese guy, invented tattooing and now hipsters like myself get quotes from a shitty poem they read in 10th grade on their ribcages or stupid fucking anchors by their ankles. I'm talking about YOU, skinny white bitch.
Anyway, I'm sorry for yelling at you, but yes I got another tattoo. This makes #10 and makes it the 10th time I've severely upset my grandparents.
For whatever reason, probably because I was hammered the night before, I kept bleeding horrendously out of my shoulder, which then was wiped off and tattooed over again. It was like rubbing my shoulder against an abrasive wall over and over again while Barbara Streisand licked my nipple with a corn dog.
Do you have any idea what that means? I don't. Go ask your English professor.
Speaking of English professors, I've got a lot I want to go on a tangent about. So buckle up, tell your mother you love her, and let's go deep into the anal of my mind.
I am an English major- so I will be poor my whole life- but additionally, I take a litany of English courses. Hey, look! I used the word 'litany!' I went to collage.
Anyway, in this field there are 2 kinds of English teachers: the bulls and the bullshitters.
What I mean by that is this: there are some professors who are genuinely insightful and intelligent and actually add to my overall knowledge of the world. There are some professors who really have enlightened me into the world of art, the history of the world, and fastened my understanding of the human condition.
Other teachers are a bunch of smelly cunts that have gone bloody and unwashed. Did you like that reference? No? Welcome to atheistjustin.com
One professor I currently have, who we will call Dr. Shitonmyknees, is one of those teachers that says, "Hm, Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I get what you're saying. Yeah. Yeah." This fucker says this about every foreseeable sentence that could ever be created.
I could say, "hey, Abraham Lincoln founded the KKK and inspired Hitler," and this guy would say, "Ah, yeah, I see what you mean by that. That's interesting."
English as a major is very interesting because, again, there are some classes and writings that I genuinely feel make me a smarter person and then there are other texts that may as well have been written with human shit and have taught me that I hate everyone.
Perhaps the worst thing about being an English major is other English majors.
I'll tell you right now, it is hard to find a normal, male English major. By 'normal' I mean someone that doesn't have: dyed hair, a severe smoking habit, stupid tattoos, a relationship with their parents, doesn't vape, doesn't wear beanies inside, and shuts the fuck up every once in a while.
For the most part, every other English major is a stupid cunt- and I don't mean cunt in the derogatory feminine way. I would never call a woman a cunt. Unless she was being a cunt. In all honesty, I reserve the term cunt for males because, really, only men can act like cunts. Women have cunts and therefore, vicariously, are expected to behave in a certain way that is affected by their cunts. So, in my opinion, cunt can really only be applied to males who are cuntless. Does that make any sense? Have I severely offended you yet? Am I making any sense? Where is this guy's post going??????
Anyway, in addition to getting ¥atted and getting angry at other people with my major, I have also come to the conclusion that I hate partying.
If you really break down a party, what's going on here?
"Hey, wanna stand around in a circle and say things?"
"Yeah, sure. Are we going to avoid all other friend groups that are there?"
"Will there be music?"
"Will it be good?"
"Is there booze?"
"Keystone Light and 8 dollar vodka."
"Oh it is."
"Are we going to get laid?"
"Most likely not."
"Well SIGN ME UP!!!!"
The whole purpose of a party is to invite that girl in your philosophy class with the big tushy so that hopefully after 6-7 drinks deep you've said to yourself, 'fuck it,' and went to talk to her- avoiding the obvious fact that you're ugly and going to die alone.
But, if you're wifed like me, parties seem pretty pointless. At best, you're going to watch someone get super fucked up and do something dumb and break a thing. Or break themselves. Or eat their own ass.
That one Bar-Mitzvah got weird.
Just last week, I was at a party during the day, or as the kid's call it: 'daging.'
As I was standing there, drinking a shitty cup of Keystone Light, I thought to myself, "Why am I even here?"
Am I trying to make friends? Fuck no. I already have too many. 3 friends is enough. You don't need more than 3. And it's not like I'm really going to bond with another man while I'm 6 beers deep. After a few drinks, I start to forget even the most basic shit. Here's a conversation with a drunk me:
"What's your name"
"Whats your major"
"Oh that's interesting, what do you wanna do with that?"
"Ah, so what does your dad do?"
"Cool, cool. I'm sorry, what's your name again?"
And then this circle of alcoholism and mental retardation just keep perpetuating themselves on and on and on until I've left to refill my cup or the cops have come and broken up the party or I have taken my penis out and it's already too late to save myself.
Am I still going to attend parties? Yeah, I guess. But it's for the stupid reason of the 'fear of missing out.' But really, what the fuck am I missing? You're singing 'Closer' into your Snapchat? Cool! Really sad I missed that! Darn!
This has been one of the more angsty blogs I've put up but since nothing crazy has happened to me of late, I'll just have to make due with what I've got. Lots of Angst.
I will leave you now with a picture of Betty White.
PLEASE. Tell your friends about this website.