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What I want

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9:14am

I do not want to work out. I do not want to buy your shit. I do not want a second pizza free. I do not want 30% off. I do not want to drive a car. I do not want to listen to your version of events. I do not want to smile at you. I do not want to be spoon fed. I do not want to be told where I cannot go. I do not want to form an orderly line. I do not want credit. I do not want to be content. I do not want your rules. I do not want to work just so I can buy your shit. I do not want all I can eat. I do not want you to rely on me. I do not want a passport. I do not want to fit in. I do not want to mow my grass. I do not want to give you my change. I do not want to justify myself to you. I do not want to see adverts for your shit every goddamn place I look. I do not want it done while I wait. I do not want fries with that. I do not want to wear a helmet. I do not want to drink eight glasses of water a day. I do not want a bank account. I do not want to talk to you. I do not want to feel like an asshole because I let you down. I do not want hardwood floors. I do not want to be judged. I do not want to help your charity. I do not want to be told what I cannot say. I do not want an Armani suit. I do not want to save for my retirement. I do not want to make excuses. I do not want my cholesterol measured. I do not want to feel forced to lie. I do not want gmail. I do not want to impress you. I do not want a licence or a permit. I do not want to give you a break. I do not want to be wise. I do not want to play any more.


6:40pm

Last night I slept in the solar system’s most massive bed, and this morning I got out the wrong side of it. I was, as they say, a bit grumpy. I could use a Big Mac. Who wants to take me to the drive-thru ATM?


8:56pm

I think what gets to me is the lies. Constant, constant lies. Shaving with three blades instead of two won’t really make me more attractive to women. The shampoo won’t really give you multiple orgasms. Whether John Kerry deserves those medals doesn’t really matter. It’s not really nice to meet you: it might be, or you might be a moron, or a braggart, or a racist, I don’t know yet. The food in the box doesn’t really look like that, because I know and you know the food in the photograph has been painted and lacquered and retouched in Photoshop. Yes, those pants really do make your ass look big. No, I really don’t like how you redid your kitchen. I’m not really fine.

We lie all day, to others and to ourselves. Where did reality go?

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About halfacanuck

  • http://screenrant.com Vic

    I think you need to disconnect your internet connection and turn off your TV for a while (as we all should probably do now and then). Too much of either or both tends to make this world we inhabit seem very dark indeed.

    Vic

  • http://www.templestark.com/blog Temple Stark

    21:19 AZ time

    I really hate blogs. No I love them. i can’t take myself seriously – but I take others less seriously. Except when I do.

    My book report is due and I told the teacher to fuck off. I’m only four years old. A dukes of Hazzard character started telling me his life story.

    I said, “Your shitting me!!!!”

    I’m only four. I don’t want a haircut.

    I’m only 10. I want my parents to die.

    I’m only 13. Am I gay?

    I’m only 14. I will do anything to fuck a woman, yogurt or no yogurt. But not cheese.

    Free association works for some. I want to find those people. And tell them, it works for me. But sometimes it’s only on the blogs. And I hate them – except when i love them.

    Chapter 7-11.

    21:20 AZ time.

  • http://macaronies.blogspot.com Mac Diva

    LOL! Finally, someone who does not want Gmail.

  • Eric Olsen

    I think this works brilliantly: point made, chuckles amd thoughts provoked.

    Thanks Half!