Vanishing Excerpt . . . Two?

The man hoisted himself up against the trunk of an oak. Red trail clashing with green grass. Kirk figured he had mortally wounded him. He hobbled towards the shade.

A forced laugh carried blood. You know, the man started, when I s-

Kirk jabbed the sword into his chest, Fuck you.

- - -

Speech.

Applied Calculus. 

Intro to English Studies.

Intro to Biology.

Bio Lab.

The Psychology of Drug Use. (Lol)

Those are my classes. While taking a break from school was the worst idea I could have ever come up with, it actually did some good:

A) I'm looking forward to going back to school, and eventually transferring out of NDSU. 

B) I actually want to challenge myself now. I could take the easy classes in order to receive a lot of my credits for the required generals (i.e. some strange computer science course instead of calculus), but I've decided against that. I want to take hard classes. And in every way possible. I am smarter than I think I am. Guess we all are.

- - -

Hm.

How taste aversions come to be:

First you win two free meals (along with two free scoops of frozen custard) at a decent restaurant, through a raffle that you never once signed up for and/or purchased into. 

Then you decide to share this meal with your brother, who has just informed you that the TKE house that he lived in during his stay at NDSU receives free cases of Monster (16 or so a week, in fact), and that he was given a handful of cans for free. 

You eat the meal (the meal in question happens to be a Double Mushroom & Swiss Butterburger, fries, a glass of water, and a scoop of chocolate frozen custard), and then decide to try some of the infamous energy drink (all while finishing your brother's fries, I might add). 

A couple hours later, it begins to not sit so well.

I'll never drink that shit again.

. . . Or maybe it was all those Skittles I ate off the ground at my sister's softball game. Who knows!

- - -

My birthday was a true joy. I ate a bunch of food, received a lot of clothing I didn't need, received some money I didn't need, and also received a movie I didn't need. I was lazy the whole day. (I figure I took maybe a total of 250 steps. Tops. Honest to God.)

I still hate birthdays. They're awful. I hate cards. I hate that kind of attention. If anyone wants to make me feel absolutely awful, here's how you do it: Buy me a bland card filled with platitude after platitude, act as happy as people will the day they cure all types of cancer, be like my sister and keep telling me "Look happy! It's your birthday! Stop being a grouch!" and also sing the birthday song over and over again. I hate that song. a;slkjdoejf

But it was fun. I had a good time. It reminded me how much I love my family (And I do. A lot. Even my mother.), and how much they love me.

- - -

"WHAAAAAAAT?"

ojgiowejf

Lol. I'd love to write about the swine flu, but we all know it would just be another "The Stand." Without the magic and the nuke, though. That's all King.

- - - - ~ - - - -

._._._._._._.

!@!@!@!@!

#$#$#$#$#

I got really bored there.

Like really.

A blank stare. That was all she deserved.

"Your turn," he said against a backdrop of ten collapsed pins.

"God, you're good."

"Thaaat's what she said."

I shook my head, yawned, and prepared myself for another pair of gutter balls. "We need to stop doing this so late. Eventually it'll just catch up to us and fuck over our grades. Or something else equally unimportant." I set up to bowl.

Will mocked-- and poorly, I might add-- our algebra teacher's voice, "Ya'll begettin' ya homework done now, ya hur meh?"

I was laughing so hard that it fucked up my bowling. The release sent my ball flying into the next lane (one that was currently being used, too). It sunk into the gutter and reset the guy's current round. He looked over at me as if I were the biggest douche bag. Will was on the floor, laughing just as loud. "Kay," I said, "I think we should probably get out of here." 

"Sorry, dude," I called back to the man as we left. 

That's one of the things I love about him. He laughs just as loud as I do at all the same things. I hope he still can after all this. Somehow. 

God fuck this so much. 

---

Please, no. Please no. Please no.

---

She loves him.

Are you fucking JOKING right now?

Whoa, fuck off. What right do you think you have to decide if someone still does or doesn't love somebody? 

I have every fucking right to assume. Don't hate me for trying to use my intelligence to predetermine an answer to a general thought. She "loved" him, and we all know how thin teenage love stretches. He's hurt now. He's hurt. And she's not going to fucking stick around with him forever. Is she going to feed him? Is she going to lift his toothbrush up and brush his teeth every night for the rest of their lives? Are they that much in love? FUCK no. . . . Fuck no. 

I hope you die.

Don't you mean "I hope I die"? (I sat there looking at her and I could feel how mean I'd just sounded.)

Then she threw something at me (I forget what it was) and ran away. I'd struck a nerve. She'd probably end up crying. Good. That makes me happy.

Made me happy, at least.

---

People are people, so why should it be? that you and I don't get along . . .

lksfdoef

It's over. You can get up now.

God, I hate it when you do this.

Mm.

Seriously. It's uncomfortable and just . . . yeah. Uncomfortable. 

Get over it.

That shit'll kill you, ya know.

Fuck off. You're not me.

Right. And I've never lived before either, right?

They closed up.

Really? I'd only been there once.

Case and point, I guess.

That's kind of sad, if you think about it . . . Like, I know it's business and all, but that shit must sucks. Someone's hopes and dreams were kicked in the face after it closed shop.

You're the kind of guy that feels bad for the family members of a fictional cop that gets gunned down in a story, aren't you?

You're just a fucking . . . for lack of a more mature word, copycat. That's what you are. You're not your own fucking person. You try so hard to be great that you just end up being someone else for two minutes.

Hey fuck you. At least I'm humble about it. I know I am.

That doesn't help your case at all.

Just give me a break . . . I'm trying. And I'm new to this. I don't know what or how to be.

----

Sorry. I know I'm annoying. And it sucks. Kind of just feel like I should leave everyone alone.

Yell.

Yelling doesn't sound nearly as cool coming from others as it does when it's coming from yourself. 

Oh, to be young and vague.

Just so you know, each and every one of them is right. Each and every one. But chances are you won't see it--you won't see it until it's all over. That's the case with everyone in this world. We never see what's right in front of our faces. Or on our faces, in some cases.

When do you think it'll all become clear?

Probably never, Lily Allen. Actually, let me change that. Never. The answer is Never. 

Never is a long time, though. Don't you think it'll occur eventually?

Newp. Not. At. All, spoke the high marijuana patient. Not. At. All,

I apologize to both of you. It's a syndrome, I swear. I've wronged you, and I should know better. Just forget about our mothers and our friends. We're fated to pretend, anyways,

God. The rage I feel again. You've never once truly experienced it. I just want to yell, and scream, and accuse, 

here. I want to do it all here, but I won't. Not today. Not tonight. I'm better than that tonight,

I'm better than you tonight. 

And I'm also not. I've sunk to the same level--my feet are frozen. There is no getting out in this game. I'll beg for forgiveness when you're sad and refuse to talk to me, because I realize how insecure and idiotic and stupid I've been, but I'll be mad again. Be certain of that. I will always be angry. We can't change things--and this is one of them. You will not change, and neither will I. But within this lack of change for the bad, there will always be the lack of change in the good.

So. In a nutshell:

We're fucked.

The good and the bad just pile on and on, like fall leaves after descent. It'll always be there. There will never be a medium. And that sucks. All of it does,

I can be mad when my own heart and the heart of others are wounded, but when it's the other way--when it's you--I'm so sorry.

RAGE. Disappointment. Such disappointment. 

Don't be mad or jealous. And I swear to the stars I'll burn this whole city down, oa-ah-ah-ow.

While looking for a new song to write to, I found the perfect one. And I know how much you hate this band, which makes it even. better. Fuck you for never appreciating. I try so hard to appreciate all of your shit, and yet you cannot even do the same for me. And it's so important to me. So, SO important. God. Fuck you. You don't understand at all. At all. I've never once said that of yours.

Don't be mad. Don't be jealous. 

Life was only made to watch children hoppípolla.

It's all so important to me. My music drives me. The lyrics and instruments bond with each awful, sad-attempt-at-a-writer word I write, and within them you can find my story, laid out on a path of gold for only the willing to follow, but no. You have to be an asshole. So fuck you. 

WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH WAAAAAAH

WE'RE THE RENEGADES OF FUNK

That sounds so much better in the actual song than it does written out. Lol.

The deformities on my face are asking to beg even more for forgiveness. But nah. I'll wait on doing that again for a while. 

I think you'll end up marrying one of those lonely people, Eleanor Rigby. Although, I am no different. 

Koo-koo kachu.

BAHA

Oh God, that's rich. How am I not surprised.

One-track mind this past/current week: Hockey.

Fuckin' love it.

Also, I've got a good idea for a YT video. But only two kinds of people in this world would get it:

A) Those who have seen Pineapple Express

and B) Those who actually--ya know--follow YouTube.

So far my population is only one man. I think.

Adam Colas. Or is it Colás? Colás is more badass, imo.

Fear.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

In Response:

"And you'll forget it again."

LOL

Have you ever read the title to people's blogs? The ones that are supposed to be serious are hilariously awful. And all have a statement under the title along the likes of this: "A lonely teenager trying to find his/her voice in this wretched, twisted world."

Was about to post a link to Super Size Me, but then I remembered that Blogger sucks koala cock.

That movie's so good, if you haven't seen it before. Made me never want to eat McDonalds ever again. And I don't believe I have since watching it. Never did like the place, anyways. Burger King was always my fav. Lolololol.

Unrealistic : Feeling great and awesome while starving yourself or eating very little to lose weight.

Realistic : Being able to eat almost anything you want, while looking good. The kicker? All you have to do is get up and exercise for 30 minutes a day! WHOA!

For some reason, whenever I'm on my blog, if I go into my edit tab or try to paste something, it creates this fake box below my actual fucking post, and posts whatever I wanted to post in there. It's fucking retarded. YOU HEAR ME, BLOGGER? FUCKING RETARDED. RETARDED LIKE THE SECRET LIFE OF THE AMERICAN TEENAGER RETARDED.

I'm not really that mad. Although I could be, if you wanted me to be. I could be anything you'd like, darlin'. Anything. 

Now let's try this again:

Nope. Didn't work. Idiotic. 

Time to type out this link all by myself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8SfL1qXa_A

I'm so cool. I'm good at math. If I had the algorithm length and the full list of characters YouTube uses in their link, along with any rules (such as not having _ after the =), I could calculate the number of possible link combinations in their website. I bet it's pretty damn large.

But where I was going with this: I'm linking that here, because I love that song. And because if you look at my status updates in Facebook for the past week or so, they're almost ALL links to something on YouTube.

I like how our conversations never feel like they end in closure. They just sort of set sail dead East on an older Earth, and drop into space once they've reached the edge. That, or one of those green sea monsters grabs hold and sinks us to the bottom. 

Despite everything I say about my mother, I love her dearly. And always will. 

I like how Priceline requires you to mash your button while clicking on the "Search" tab or whatever it's called. It's like they think you're about to fuck up your family's vacation, so they require two soft clicks. Just to make sure you're positive on the dates and location. I wonder how many elderly people click it once and then sit there watching the screen. Oh, joy.

Late July, please come sooner.

And now I know 

what it's all about.

Scooters. Vacation. Fall.

Edit:

Maybe I should add something cool to the end of each blog. Like this:

Unrealistic : A god that cares more about intervening with your Math grade, random Christian boy from the United States, than he does with the millions of people suffering elsewhere. 

Realistic : A god that simply doesn't care at all. (Which is not a negative quality, in my eyes.)

Should I waste time blogging every day for the month of April? Yes/No?