#alternativefact

Bald head. Glasses. Black, overpriced concert t-shirt. Blue jeans. Black skate shoes. All hanging off of a spindly frame that evokes the jealousy of 8 year olds across playgrounds nationwide. While I admit, the appearance gives off a vibe of a rejected character from The Big Bang Theory, like a Transformer, there’s more to me than meets the eye. Holy hell, I just used a comparison of myself to a Transformer to explain how I’m not a complete nerd. As hopeless as this may be, give me the next few paragraphs to try and redeem myself.

Hidden under the gleam of my freshly shaven head is a brain. I know. Surprising to you too, right? Within it, daydreams dance and obscenities fly. It’s a strange and wondrous place to visit. Thoughts of who I’d like to fuck and murder live within seconds of each other. If one were to project these thoughts onto a screen for others to view, they’d likely be turned on, disturbed, gleeful, and afraid all at once. Come to think of it, if you were to see what really goes on up there, I’d likely be committed. Moving on...

I am dyslexic to life. While my spectacles help me read the written word a tad more clearly, they certainly don’t help me understand how people function. Through my eyes we are all equal, until you give me a reason to think otherwise. Once you’ve shown me your asshat card, I will treat you like the weenus you truly are. Yeah, that’s right. I’ll treat you like elbow skin. From my experience, people practice the art of hypocrisy more than truthfulness. Most of the world says they see things this way, but rarely do I see this prove true. Smiles and niceties to someone’s face, but the second someone walks away, it’s name calling and snickering. If I like you, I like you and you’ll know it. The same rules apply if I don’t. There’s no room for interpretation. 

My heart is a sad sight to behold. It’s fractured and pieces of it are missing. I place my trust in few, but when I do, it’s trust in the truest sense of the word. A limited number are allowed access to this life giving organ. Perhaps that’s why the knife wounds that exist tend to bleed out a bit more than they should. I love and express it in a variety of ways. I verbally tell my friends, male and female, how much they mean to me. So I have one favor to ask, if you get one of these pieces of my heart, try not to shit on it. If you must, kindly exit and don’t return. 

My spine is a bit of an oddity. It changes depending on the circumstance. If you’re a friend, it becomes almost elastic. I will bend over backwards if it puts a smile on your face. If you’re outside of my circle of friends, it is rigid. Despite the appearance of a slouch, it is strong and tall. Depending on the circumstance I’ll look you dead in the eyes tell that you’re beautiful or a cunt. I don’t live with regret and will always stand up for what/who I believe in.

I have a big dick. No analogy to be found here.** (alternative fact**)

Balls. This is something I have in spades. I don’t have ginormous balls in real life. That’s gross. Balls are gross. Sorry ladies and gay dudes. They are. If you haven’t picked up on the trend of this blog, I’m writing in analogies. If you’re just now realizing this.. congrats on reading this far, I suppose. Anyways, yes, I have balls! I’ll ask the girl out when others just talk about it. I’m turned down 90% of the time, but at least I’ll ask. I’ll be the sonofabitch who swings back. I might get the shit kicked out of me on occasion, but I’ll go toe-to-toe with any motherfucker who thinks they can lay a hand on me without repercussion. My balls be swangin’.

In a new poll, 51% of Trump voters agreed that "the Bowling Green Massacre shows why Mr. Trump’s immigration policy is needed". 

In case there is still any doubt, THE BOWLING GREEN MASSACRE IS NOT A THING. IT NEVER HAPPENED. BE BETTER NEWS CONSUMERS.