a butterfly someday

Quality is an old enemy of mine -- especially when walking hand-in-hand with Consistency.

Correction: Quality is an old lover of mine. And, Consistency is pissed.

At least, that's what I fear: that I'll make something good once. And then, never again. But really, this blog is in its pupal stages. For those of you that lack formal education: that's the stage where shit's fucking gross. That's about where I am, and I'm worried that grossness will never fade.

That being said, I'm still excogitating the details of what exactly this whole thing.... is. This... blog thing. It's new to me -- at least in a capacity that doesn't inspire rage. I'm like a college freshman with a naked body in front of me. I've gotten her this far... now what? I'll decide eventually, but probably not anytime soon.

For the time being, I'll post whatever the hell I feel like posting. Mostly drivel. Imagine a cocktail of 1 part 151 rum, 1 part inanity, 2 parts ire, 1 part poop jokes, and just a dash of molten truth (because there's nothing truer than poop). That's me -- all classy, slightly flammable, and kinda shitty.

Today's posting involves two things: the defenestration of certain lexemes, and music. We'll start with music, because music is fun.

This is what I am listening to. It is good.

Music: done. So, there are two words in particular that I have voluntarily defenestrated from my vocabulary. Yes, that's right. I picked those fuckers up by the nape of the neck and cast them out a window. It was a good break-up -- I told them, "it's you.... not me." "Epic" and "Fail" were their names.

I knew them well once upon a time. We were friends -- lovers even. And then, along came the internet. These words are so frequently and infuriatingly misused that I often consider carrying an eggbeater with me at all times. This is so that when I hear a frat-boy (realistically, it could be just any old person, but it helps me to think of this person as someone that already evokes my fury rather than my own kinsman) say, "Duuuuuude, last night was so epic!" I can produce said eggbeater from my coat pocket, I will then proceed to brandish it on high as I make eye contact with this boy, drop my pants and proceed to squash it into my own ass. My eye contact with this person will never falter, and I'll whisper, "you're doing this to my language." Alas, it is my deepest regret that I have but one asshole to give for my country. Thus, this dream will never come to fruition.

Understatement: it puts hair on your chest.