From: Bellingham, Washington, United States
About me: I do stuff. I live in my head too much of the time. I don't eat cow.
a mildly amusing and hellaciously self-indulgent tool in which I attempt to maintain a functioning level of sanity.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006,5:24 PM
Why People Ask Retarded Questions
"Why do you love me?"
...
OH DEAR GOD. *criiiiiiiiinge*. Gee, I don't know. Why do I like to drink water? Why do I wear pants? Why do I always paint my toenails but never my fingernails?
Like the Catholic church, it is a fucking mystery, okay?
Except for this dude. No mystery. Homey is a Nazi.
Or, you know, it could have something to do with the fact that, like myself, you have had plenty of Very Unpleasant Occurances occur and instead of being a pusillanimous waste of whining flesh about it like most people would have, you've risen above it. And when this is noted, you simply shrug and look mystified, as if to say "was there really any other option but to move on and up?".
OOOOO! Or it could have just a teeny tiny little bit to do with the thing where you treat me like a human being who deserves to be treated with utmost respect and love and kindness.
Nah, bitches hate that. Scratch that!
Maybe it has to do with when I watch you with my little midget-clone and you slip easily into the role of my counterpart without more than an exasperated sigh here and there. You're teaching my son to tie his shoes, ferfuckssake. NOT THAT IT AFFECTS ME IN ANY SORT OF GOOEYGIRLYGOOSHY WAY WHATSOEVER.
People ask retarded questions because all people are idiots sometimes a little.
...
OH DEAR GOD. *criiiiiiiiinge*. Gee, I don't know. Why do I like to drink water? Why do I wear pants? Why do I always paint my toenails but never my fingernails?
Like the Catholic church, it is a fucking mystery, okay?
Except for this dude. No mystery. Homey is a Nazi.Or, you know, it could have something to do with the fact that, like myself, you have had plenty of Very Unpleasant Occurances occur and instead of being a pusillanimous waste of whining flesh about it like most people would have, you've risen above it. And when this is noted, you simply shrug and look mystified, as if to say "was there really any other option but to move on and up?".
OOOOO! Or it could have just a teeny tiny little bit to do with the thing where you treat me like a human being who deserves to be treated with utmost respect and love and kindness.
Nah, bitches hate that. Scratch that!
Maybe it has to do with when I watch you with my little midget-clone and you slip easily into the role of my counterpart without more than an exasperated sigh here and there. You're teaching my son to tie his shoes, ferfuckssake. NOT THAT IT AFFECTS ME IN ANY SORT OF GOOEYGIRLYGOOSHY WAY WHATSOEVER.
People ask retarded questions because all people are idiots sometimes a little.
