Life Sucks Chocolate Covered Cock

Sorry I disappeared. Or did you not notice? Am I a significant part of your life? Why not, bitch? Forget it. I was just depressed. I don’t know, the writing isn’t going well, I’m feeling inadequate, incompetent even. I mean look at this:

INT. OFFICE. DAY

Claire is standing by the copy machine holding papers in her mouth. Whenever someone passes by she wags her tail. They all ignore her and her tail drops. Sad music on the soundtrack.

What is that? Is that crappy writing or what? Where is this idea going? Who cares about some bitch who turns into, well, a different kind of bitch?

Or how about this steaming pile of crap:

EXT. PARK. DAY

Claire and Boomer the Cocker Spaniel are running around playfully, like dogs do.

CLAIRE

I’m tired. Let’s go get coffee.

BOOMER

Dogs don’t drink coffee. We drink water and

the occasional sip of fresh vomit.

CLAIRE

That’s not gonna do it for me. Oh Boomer,

there are so many cultural differences between

our worlds, how ever will this romance work?

BOOMER

Turn over honey, I’m getting the humpin’ itch.

Is that classic literary quality stuff, like King, or Grisham? I think not. I mean it’s got some good juice in its marrow, like the conflict between bestiality and coffee, but in general it’s like a Twelve year old trying to impress a second grader with his correct grammar.

So you can see why I’m feeling down. And when I feel down I mainly stay in bed and play Nintendo and eat Oreos. It gets ugly.

Also money keeps pouring out of my metaphorical pocket like bad films from a Robin Williams. It got so I had to sell some collectors items on ebay to keep up my standard of living, which mainly really involves Oreos and a pulse. Depressing really. I once calculated how much money I spend just on non-consumable shit, like bills, car maintenance, rent and stuff, and I found that every second of my life costs me a small fortune. You fart and you’re in debt. If my body were part of a corporation I’d be so unprofitable they’d downsize me and replace me with a Mexican. Or a trained monkey. Who could probably write the goddamn script better and in half the time.

Shit. I’m going back to bed.

See y’all.