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Antitheistic. Long. Perplexing. Offensive. Whatever.

Warning: This blog does not cater to your whims. If you are offended, then I am not obliged to care. It ain't personal until otherwise stated.

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Saturday, October 15, 2005


Today was quite eventful, and in a rather personal way. I was driven around, and then over the bend at the hands of someone I know quite well. I was pushed so far beyond the fucking brink that my heart felt like a Bridgestone tire about to explode; while my head felt like it weighed a thousand fucking pounds.

Apparently, I was so far into my own psychosis that I chose a little bit of preparatory self-immolation tactics to alleviate the stress. I decided to scrape and carve my forearm with a paper cutter. I was rather peeved, because the damn things are meant to be excellent at cutting, yet I was at it repeatedly before I had any signs of blood show up. As it turns out, I was a bit hasty; because by the time I had a proper bloody line carved out; I noticed that the prior scrapes had also begun to bleed.

I now had an arm riddled with scrapes and cuts, combining to spell the word, "HATE". I had basically carved the word “HATE” onto my forearm. Chaos soon ensued, as I had quite a few cuts, even though they weren’t that bad; my last tetanus shot was over ten-years-ago. Another concerned party had a look at my arm before I was taken to the hospital, and wondered what the hell was going on, even though this person was briefed. It was obvious to everyone that I had committed this act out of sheer spite, and psychotic contempt. However, the person was having trouble reading the “H” in the word, and kept asking me time and time again, “Did you write HATE, or LATE?” -- FUCKIN’ HELL, MAN! I’m pissed off! I carve a word onto myself out of bitter contempt! It’s a slightly illegible “H”, get it? I ain’t gonna’ carve the word “LATE” onto my forearm, in lieu of further pronouncing that contempt. It’s hate! Moreover, it’s bloody fucking obvious! DAMN IT! What kinda’ question is that anyway?

Therefore, at the end of the whole ordeal, I didn’t feel too bad at all. As a matter of fact, the massive stinging from the fresh set of small multiple wounds was pretty fucking refreshing. I had the word “HATE” bleeding out of my forearm, which was a kick in the ass in its own way. Of course, I had to get the damn thing disinfected, along with a tetanus shot. So all in all, my time was wasted, though a little alleviation was attained; well, I did get another tetanus shot, so I am good for another ten-years of abuse. BAHAHAHA!

Yeah, right. I don’t recommend this! I recommend that instead, children burn holy books to alleviate their frustrations as opposed to self-abuse. See, it's productive in two ways; one being stress alleviation; the other coming in the form of ridding this world of chaotic, hatebreeding garbage!

Bleed cool, fuckers!


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