Waaaaaay!
Look who’s writing shit again! This fucking absolute cretin who dies fuck all but complain and rant and bitch and I bet you’re all SUPER fucking excited to know what’s to come in the future…
You can lower those expectations right the fuck back down. Here’s the thing – you cannot know. No one knows what’s coming – especially not me. I might decide to use this website as a wee writing thingumy, and I might not. The thing is, I have no idea who’s reading this shit, and I do genuinely want to be a better writer. No, wait, let me try that again. I do genuinely want to be a writer. I want an awful lot of things. I want to be stupidly rich, I want to be famous for thousands of years after my death, I want to have shrines built in my honour, I want a ferrari california (I don’t care if you have a better car in mind, keep your worthless opinion of what the best car is to yourself, it’s a vehicle; it’s not a fucking personality trait, it’s not going to change who I am as a person until I wrap it around a tree at 120mph), I want an abode with turrets and battlements and I want Jeeves as my butler and best friend as well (it’s an extremely confusing relationship because the power dynamic makes very little sense). What the fuck was I talking about?
See what I did there, I went to the kitchen and made myself a ham sandwich and ate it, while watching a few minutes of love island. Then I got bored, because love island is boring, and came back to this, and I lost my stream of consiciousness. Well, to the point I suppose.
Point is, anyone reading this – criticism is welcome, and will be dealt with. Praise is also welcome, but will also be dealt with. If that sounds ominous – good. Live in fear. We’re on a crash course towards the end of humanity within the next 50 to 100 years, and there’s no time for lubricant. Death metal forever!!! Happy fucking anniversary to things that get on my tits!!! Fuck youuuuu!!!
xox
harrypeat 