I do enjoy the process of writing. Well, that is, when not pressured to write for work or school. Then it becomes pure torture. Let me reiterate that – PURE TORTURE!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, right now I’m just typing away. I’ve no subject I want to elucidate upon, nor any nefarious behavior of others I want to condemn.
I am just putting one word onto the screen after another—that flow of words that occurs when I’ve no thought of the end. My writing could go on and on without limitation. It’s a worthy goal to write without any concept of the finish. Hell, I’d as soon write a whole lot about nothing than a little bit about something.
Are you with me so far?
And isn’t that a line in a song?
And does it fucking matter?
Well, it could be I’m out of fucks to give. Yeah, that’s it. I’m all out of fucks to give. And I’m not in the mood for any fucks. Not at the moment. Move along and mind your own business.
Oh, and you in the back? Yeah, the one with the shit-eating grin starting to open your mouth. I wouldn’t get caught up in any semantic antics. Sit down, resume your nose picking, and leave the sarcastic heckling to the professionals.
You know what? I changed my mind. I suggest you don’t pick your nose. I’m not sure you’re qualified to perform brain surgery.
Oh, there’s my cue to step away. Yeah, no. I’m not going to tell you the cue. Ain’t none of your business. Alright, alright. Settle down. Put your fucks away. I ain’t got the room. I told you that already. You forget what you read? Man, I’d suggest you call a neurologist. That is if you can remember how to use a phone.
Okay, okay. I’ll stop chattering on and on. Bye, you all.
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