If...

...I had something better to do, I wouldn't be typing this out.

...I had a gun. I wouldn't kill anyone I hate. True story.

...I start a band, it's name would be SRRSC.

...you haven't listened to Mickey Avalon yet, you should.

...you find the need to tell be about your girl problems, I feed bad for you son. And you know the rest.

...your dick looks like 2 fries, my dick is super-sized.

...you think I'm damn lazy and useless, you're probably right.

...I have projects due, I should be working on them and not blogging.

...you let me pass this semester, God, I promise I will be a good boy next year.

...you can laugh when you talk to me about how you're only with your boyfriend because he's nice, and that you will ditch him after you've had your fun, I can only hope that you die in a car crash. This is why I wouldn't shoot anyone I hate. Hope is a very powerful thing.

...you think that I am very nasty by hoping that someone will die in a car crash, I'd like you to know my original wish was for the person to survive the car crash and live the rest of her life as a vegetable.

...you think that I can be pushed around, you're half right.

An update on my terribly boring life.

Been awfully busy these few days. So much work to do, but so terribly lazy to start on it.

I skipped my English test today. Which means that on all the other tests, I have to score at least 60% to pass the entire module. Does not look like a very big hurdle to me. But I still pray. Very hard.

Speaking of praying, I suppose if Momo makes me the godparent of her kid, I really should start going to church again. I reminisce of the times where I feigned death to get out of going to church.
Good times.

Cryptic Message of the Day: This time, I'm playing it safe.

A short history. Part II of II (Well, it's not exactly short, but it's the best I can do)

So, from where we left off, Trogdor sat in the cage, being wheeled out through the front gates of the city towards where Penistus set up camp. Despair set in. He was so angry and sad and tired and... Trogdor took a little nap.

This paragraph is where shit happens. There.

Trogdor woke up with a jolt. It felt like a broken leg. Oh, and he'd read about tuberculosis before. Apparently you cough a lot of blood. Treatment would be expensive. Strange, though, as he was lying in a pool of what looked like his own blood. Well, he really didn't suppose it could be the blood of anyone else. He felt rather tired. Good old lazy Trogdor he thought to himself. He marveled at his ability to feel sleepy after waking up from a good nap. Trogdor grinned to himself, and took another long nap.

The most esteemed Prelate Bushi was on one of his morning walks when he saw the young dragonborn lying on the ground. He cursed in what seemed to be Abyssal, and walked over to the seemingly dead body. A few kicks later, the creature stirred, and coughed up a bit of blood.

"What... What fuck?", asked the esteemed one. Trogdor groaned, "Tuberculosis... Broken bones... Dying..." The Prelate responded by kicking the bloodied one in the ribs. Trogdor mustered up his last bit of energy and flipped him the bird, before kissing the ground for the third time in 3 hours(I have heard of rogues who shatter that record without breaking a sweat, though). Bushi decided that he would take this feisty young one in, and feed him, and watch him grow. Don't ask why, but such is the character of The Most Esteemed Prelate Bushi Ren. This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Thus ends the history of the dragonborn, to be continued in future stories about his training under the Prelate.

On a side note, the one and only language Bushi speaks in Common. The only thing abyssal about his language is his grammar and vocabulary.

By the way, take a gander at this.

Two terribly interesting poems.

User: AATD

Violet

Violet wants to play a game.

A game where we can all have fun

She strips out of her clothes and ties me up

And whips me into submission



Submission.

Cold cruel submission

I enjoy submission,

Do you?



I play along with Violet

We delight in the flow of our blood

The pain is excruciating

How fun.



The pain brings pleasure,

Pleasure beyond words.

Pleasure which is brought by open wounds,

Wounds of a masochist



She, the sadist

I, the masochist

We coexist in this romp

We need each other



She hurts me

I feel wonderful

I receive punishment from her,

I'm sure she loves it too



The chains and the toys,

Glittering prizes in our eyes.

We play with them like school children

Hurting each other with them



Our tears and wounds bring joy,

Not pain.

But the laughter brings pain,

Not humor



Once again the game is ended,

To continue another day

But next time I'll get Violet, I swear

For the castration she gave me today.



Indeed a very disturbed child this one is. But, let's take a look at the next one

User: Mazohyst

Disinfectant

The old man,

lying in his hospital bed,

Waiting for death to carry him away.

The smell of the disinfectant,

piercing the senses

of the waiting relatives.

Waiting for the moment,

waiting for death to carry him away.



Do you regret now?

What you should have said,

but have not done?

What you should have done,

but have not done?

What awaits you?

The gaping black abyss of the unknown,

the place we all go...



When your mother died,

you wondered what she felt...

now you feel it yourself...

Is it nice?

The moment approaches.

You see it on the faces of your family.

They stand around the bed...

Looking at you,

you, with those tubes sticking out your body.



The young ones,

watching in fascination

as the heart monitor beats...

Even now, you feel the strain

it takes to keep it beating

waiting for that final moment,

Waiting for death to carry you away.



There... you hear it now

The call to leave.

Your family stands, helpless

begging you to stay.



You can't hear it anymore

Your mind, your consciousness, your soul,

drifting away into nothing



The droning beep...

heralding your departure

heralding the moment,

that death took you away.



Definitely more... readable than the previous one.

Sometimes I wish I could write poems. To sell and make lots of money. HA HA HA!

DINNER TIME!

An intermission.

You should always think with your balls, and love with your heart.

That's what me old man used to tell me.

Sorry, I lied.

Heh heh.

A short history. Part I of II

The one known as Trogdor was born 20 years ago, in a dark damp cave in the jungles of Sccor. No one knew where he had come from. Not even the kindly humans that took him in as their very own child. To raise and love as if he were one of their own... At least that what the most of the story is.

I would think the first thing a normal human would do after chancing upon a little scaly freak would be to gasp in horror, and then think about the probabilities of selling him off to a freak show for a nice big bag of gold. Fortunately for the Trogster, Benjamin and Alicia Dragfud were 2 very un-normal humans. Un-normal enough to resist the call of wealth even when they were poor as church mice. Or temple mice, if you please.

They christened him Trogdor. After the title of a terribly peculiar song about a dragon. Or maybe it was about a man. Or maybe a dragon-man. My memory fails me.

The next 15 years of Trogdor's life was lived as a human. He learned to read and write like a human. He learned to hunt like a human( if that's at all possible, with his dragonborn claws and whatnot ).

On his 16th birthday, Trogdor effectively set fire to half his cottage as he blew out the candles of his cake, which was now probably as tasty as a lump of coal. Lightning infused dragon breath is truly a wonderful thing.

Not all was lost, as crowds of the town flocked to see Trogdor and his new act. People there had heard of fire-breathing creatures, but certainly not lighting-breathing ones! The amount of gold they made after a few months was enough to repair the cottage and put another few stories on it. With more than enough left to finally get a mailbox.

The family was rich now. But we all know what happens in stories when people get rich. Shit happens. Benjamin squandered almost half of their savings on buying rounds of drinks for the tavern and the company of women. Alicia spent the other almost half on shopping and "exotic massages". Whatever happened to the nightly family dinners where they would sit around the table with a missing leg? Whatever happened to the weekend hunting trips into the forest? Whatever happened to his family? This made Trogdor a very sad dragonborn.

Then, everything went downhill. Trogdor sort of still blames the cursed mailbox.

The famous Penistus' Slave Circus came to town. Made up of slaves from all over the continent, the circus was popular because it was, you know, cheap. Being made up of slaves and all that.

The Great Penistus had heard of Trogdor. He had just lost his best fire-breather. He had a terrible cough, and died in his own bed. Not as simple as it sounds, but you do the math.

A thousand gold pieces was the offer. A thousand gold pieces could buy rounds of drinks at the tavern for a few months. A thousand gold pieces could buy that exquisite lizardman handbag in that little shop next to the weaponsmith. A thousand gold pieces that Benjamin and Alicia Dragfud were ready to accept.

The very next morning, Trogdor woke up in a cage. A good, sturdy wooden cage.

Remember when I said that everything was going downhill just now? I lied. This is where shit really hits the fan( for the Dragfuds, at least).

(To be continued in Part II of II)

My Second First Time.

My name is Kat and this is the second first time I am starting a blog.

Why?

Well, just to join in the fun, I suppose.

I'm apparently 21 this year, but people who roll with me know that I'm really about 40. I enjoy almost everything my ex-girlfriend hated doing, such as being lazy and playing a lot of games.

On this blog, you will learn to appreciate everything that goes on in my mind. Ever wondered what those blank looks on my face were all about? You'll eventually get the answer here.

There will be no song lyrics. There will be no YouTube video links. There will be ZERO use of Photoshop. There will be an abundance of MSPaint. There will be irritating background music that you will hate, I promise you that. At least when I get around to it. Which will take awhile. Just like the next post. But I will try. Okay I might post a video link or two. But no song lyrics. I promise. Okay? Right, maybe one. Or two. Or a lot. I really like music, you know?

Just to let you guys know, after writing the previous line, I spent 5 minutes thinking if there was anything angst-ridden or angry I would like to rant about, but I really could not find anything in my black, black heart to say.

I guess that's it for now.

My name is Kat, and I love all of you. Really.