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4 Digits; They're all the same.
Fuck. So 4 a.m. comes around and there is this thing called a ball-licker barking outside. On this dirt ball of a planet I think people call them dogs. If it were legal, I would love to strangulate that shit-distributor until it pissed on itself in it's final breath. Believe me, all animals piss on themselves if you strangulate them long enough. Damn. I guess you get a drift of how I feel if woken up at the hairy-ass-crack-of-dawn. After another blurry 5 minutes, stumbling through the cave, I watch the coffee-pot ejaculate into the picture from which pitch-black-shit is somehow magically supposed to wake up the sleeping beast. This is (I think) the second or third time I find myself here on this site for reasons that I don't have. It was amusing to see the list for writing jobs (which I've applied for more times than the number of pubic like fronds growing out of my pet chia-pet which is actually a plate of something I ate and forgot to take to the kitchen). But, hey, it's alright. I am more than highly aware everyone is a(n) artist, a writer, and a star thanks to the internet (of which I am those things but claim no title). And no, I'm just waking up, making a sleepy-eyed attempt at getting the creative juices flowing. It's either that or make up an excuse to take a shower and play with myself (my imagination for creative writing) while I stare at the head of Cthulu on the wall and wonder if it would really be cool to have multiple tentacles(?), or if shape-shifting lesbians have tongues that make psychedelic butterflys appear from enlightened archetypical vagina monologues. 30 minutes in (or something like that), I read these calls for horror fiction. Ok, I get it, that's cool. But, uh, you know this is why I don't watch the news much less have a need to know what horror is. As if humanity isn't the greatest horror tale ever woven into existence. Anyway, I thought I would write something into this site. Yes, I like to write and I have no idea how to pull punches, or type politically correct fairy tales for the norm to masturbate to while they decide if my fingerings manifested upon my keyboard fit the English professors grammatically correct elitist club. Shit, I'm glad I'm not going to be graded on wiping my ass or something. But yea, fuck, shit, fuck again. Hi everyone.
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