A Million Little Pieces

Hello again, stranger.

I know I haven't blogging on this thing in... ages...

Days, in fact. I went through a journey of self-discovery and scraping my life back together from the ashes of my burnt-down sense of purpose. When Eva and Tony got divorced, I was like "Oh, that situation is certainly quite daft." and then immediately injected myself with the maximum amount of heroin possible without dying. I instantly became a drug addict and went down a spiral of self-destruction and cynicism that was unmatched in all of human history. Then I realized something that saved my life:






















Sharkbears are real.

So here I am blogging again, even after I swore I'd never blog about celebrities again to my dying Grandma, whose last words were "Obsessing over celebrities... it's not worth it."

WELL SORRY GRANDMA, but I'm back in business. I decided that life is short; almost midget-like, and I needed to do the things that make the people happy, because the polls show that people love celebrities, no matter what they're indulging themselves in. Think about it. I would eat a box of fish sticks if they had a picture of Katherine Heigl on them, and I hate fish sticks. They're like, random white mush fried in batter, leaving me to ask how anyone could possibly want to eat that stuff, but that's another post for another time.

As you probably don't know or care about, I am writing a 50,000-word novel for the month of November, and I finally finished the first chapter, which I hereby present to you now. Behold, my magnum opus:

Hi, my name is Bob. I like bacon. The other day I was at my friend's house, and he was all, like, "Hey Bob, want to go down to the coffee shop and see if there's any pretty girls there?" and I was like "Nah" so we didn't.

That night, I had a dream that I was eating a frog, but the frog was like, filled with cheddar cheese. It was so weird. When I woke up, I fixed a cup of coffee and turned on the morning news. It was the same old stuff they always showed. You know, morning traffic copter reports and whatnot. I went outside to check the mailbox. It was empty, of course. Then I went to work. Work was okay, but eh. When I got home, I watched the Daily Show, and there was a really unfunny Olivia Munn sketch, but it was okay, because she was improving in her delivery and the bits being written for her were also improving, so I wasn't going to be very harsh this time in the online comments, because I like to talk online to people the way I do in real life because I feel that sometimes people online are too rude and they certainly wouldn't be that rude in real life where, you know, I could just like, punch them in the face with my hand.

I went to bed and had a dream that I was nude on a stage, but I was okay with it because that was a guitar covering my junk. It made me think back to the other day while I was at the airport, and I decided to try and being a total dickwad and get the airport security people in trouble just to prove a point, and I said to them "If you touch my junk, I'm going to have you arrested", which just made me look like a total douchebag, but that's okay, because I did it to almost prove a point but not quite. When I woke up, I put on my slippers, and put on a bathrobe, and made some coffee. Then I turned on the television set and watched the local news, and it was the usual stuff, you know, traffic copter reports and whatnot. Then I checked my mailbox. Bills, bills, bills. I went to work as usual, and it was okay I guess. I just got there and was like "whatever". When I got home, I watched the Daily Show, and there was an Olivia Munn sketch which wasn't quite as bad as the night before. It seemed like the writers were really figuring out where she fit into the comedy of the show, and she seemed to be catching her stride, so to be fair, I only left a comment online that said "olivia sux i hate her fire her asap", which was significantly less rude than the comments I had left before.

I went to bed and had a dream I was made of ice cream. Then I woke up and fell into a portal that transported me to an alternate gothic universe where everything was dark and gothic, and everyone dressed in all black and wore make-up to appear paler. It was okay I guess. I wasn't really into being goth, but I was like "Eh, this is fine." and didn't really feel anything about one way or another. I didn't have to go to work that day because there is no work in goth-universe, just Marilyn Manson concerts to go to, but I wasn't really into his music since I listened to mostly country music. So I went to bed that night in a black coffin that was on a black slab that was surrounded by fire. It was alright I guess. Not very much room in there, but it was fine.

The end.

When writing this chapter, I really looked to Aldous Huxley's sense of surrealism in the writing as a source of inspiration, and think my writing could inspire future generations for ages to come, because it's just that good.