Wednesday, July 7, 2004

Well, no shirtless Tsume yet, but I did a picture of Kenshin...s... And I'm about to go submit it, so unless there's something wrong with the fanart thing, it's probably up when you read this. Ummm... Nuts. Coconuts and peanuts and pistachios. I forget what else I was gonna say. Nuts nuts nuts. Ummmmm... Fart. No, that's not a request... Oh yeah! I remembered. I think fanfiction.net is broken at night. Cuz it won't do anything I want it to do... Damn its worthelss little soul. Maybe I'll just write another "random thoughts" post and get it up to however many words I need to get to beat FLINT, that *some random nobody breaks into her house and strangles her before she can finish the sentence* I just remembered something else... Might be why my ear is itchy and I feel like ripping it off my head... You know what happened to me today? I was headed down the stairs to the basement, and there was a DAMN UGLY spider hanging right at face level. Normal I don't mind spiders, but it could have been on my face. So I screamed and yelled at it and said, "DON'T DO THAT, YOU STUPID CREATURE! I SHOULD KILL YOU!" And I proceeded to get a bug jar and catch it and threaten its life a bit before realizing it was "kinda cute..." My sister took it out into the yard and let it out. I could do a skit. See, when somebody defeats me, I do not put it off (well, normally I would have, but I have time to spare and as you can probably tell, I'm using it). Well, I know I probably can't beat Flint's record with an interesting post, so I'll just bore the hell out of anyone who might just so happen to be desperate enough for entertainment that they'd read this. Oh, I have an idea! Why do you people not post comments and TELL ME WHAT TO WRITE ABOUT, DAMMIT. I'm kidding... It's just that people on fanfiction seem to think I'm an entertaining person to talk to. One person even told me that the reason people are telling me this stuff about stuff is purely because they wanna see what I say to it. D'you think that's true? I don't see why that would be true. I don't think I'm all that interesting. I mean, I'm only completely insane... What's so interesting about a lunatic? I really don't see what... Anyway... La la la. Would you think it odd if I were to start referring to myself in third person? Like, you know, talking about myself as if I was talking about Joe Redneck from down the street... Like, "Shadow is hungry. Shadow wants a raw slab of cow meat. GIVE IT TO HER NOW!" Would that freak you out a bit? I think I'll start doing that... My life will be a story and I will tell it as if it were not my life. DAMN. THE GUH-NATS (GNATS) ARE INVADING! DUCK AND COVER AND ROLL AND TUCK AND CLOSE YOUR EYES, YOU POOR, STUPID, FILTHY, DISEASE-CARRYING PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR SOMETHING THAT PROBABLY ISN'T WHATEVER I AM WHICH ISN'T HUMAN! SO YOU ARE A PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN, YOU SCARY CREATURE! Have I ever considered the possibility that I may have split personality disorder, you ask? Well, other than the fact that I have mood swings sometimes and I talk to myself all the time, there's no evidence to support that hypothesis, fool. Just because I talk to myself doesn't mean anything. I like to think of it as talking to somebody else in the room who absolutely nobody can see but he's there. Yes. And sometimes that thought makes me so paranoid I start believing it and I just wanna hide under my bed for a while, but there's so much dog hair and boxes and stuff under there, I'd probably end up getting sucked into another dimension where there WAS constantly some psycho stalker guy in my room, and then I'd pee my pants and jump out a window. However, since it's another dimension, it could be entirely different and maybe my room would be on the fifth floor of my two story house, or maybe it'd be in the basement and I'd jump out and run head first into DIRT. Or maybe in the other dimension, there isn't any dirt, and there's just a writing mass of WORMS that people walk around on and consider it NORMAL! And when they're digging up a flower bed, they call in to their kids, "Hey, kids, I found a piece of dirt!" Instead of "Hey kids, I found a worm!" And the fishermen would all use dirt for bait to catch the cats that flew around in the air while the fishermen sat there breathing water. That would be awesome, wouldn't it? But I'd be too busy falling out the fifth story window onto a writhing mass of worms because I found a stalker in my room when I vanished into the other dimension to which a portal opened up to under my bed. Yes. Something like that would happen if I hid under my bed. I just know it. Maybe I'd be eaten by the killer dust bunnies. I mean, I haven't cleaned my room, I mean really cleaned it, since I moved into this house a year ago... It's just a mess and I couldn't care less, because my house is gonna look like MORT RAINEY'S from SECRET WINDOW. Watch Secret Window. That is me in ten or twenty years, except I won't smoke, even occasionally, I'm a girl, and I wouldn't have an ex-wife. I'd have an ex-husband. And I wouldn't grow corn, because that would make you constipated. Right? I'd grow something that took a lot less work to make a meal out of. Like green beans or lettuce. MUWAHAHAHAHAHA. You know that? So, I'm off to see the wizard, the old wrinkly and ugly wizard of Oz. Maybe if I go there and click together the heels of my big black sttel-toed combat boots and say, "There's no place like home" so many times that the old wrinkly and ugly wizard of Oz dies of heart failure from hearing my voice, maybe if I do that then I'll be able to get sent back to the alternate universe dimension thingy that I came from and I won't have to search constantly through time and space and other stuff like that so I can eat the fourth star to the left and the little people orbiting it on the small rock that's no bigger than the tip of a 400-foot-in-diameter pencil tip. Did you get that? Now, I've decided that if I haven't already beat Flint's new record (I doubt I have, but you never know. I have the power of ramblingness on my side!), I've decided that I will tie it exactly, because then he won't have to waste his time writing another long ass post in which many people die and Hitler comes back and fuses with that one psycho guy and gets kill or whatever the hell happened in that lunatic's post... LUNATIC! YOU ARE A LUNATIC, FLINT, AND YOU'D BETTER BE PRETTY DAMN PROUD OF IT! I AM NOT DONE WITH THIS! I just posted it to copy and paste to count the words, and in doing so I realized this is gonna take a really long fucking time. The horrible terror of just the idea of writing 2,000-whatever words has driven me to the brink of insanity, when I start cussing and screaming and rambling about things nobody cares about, like, for example, maybe purple elephants, or the whale sized goldfish in the tank three feet away from me. Those are some big fish, dudes and dudettes, ladies and gentlemen and any other odd creature who isn't human but may belong to my race, perhaps? *dancing around* I am going to die, I am going to die! This post is only just now probably reaching 1,400 words. You know I'm gonna be driven nuts. Damn you, Flint Marco! DAMN YOU! *shakes her fist* I SHALL BLUDGEON THEE WITH THIS LOAF OF BREAD UNTIL THEE IS BUT A PUDDLE OF GOO ON THE PAVEMENT THAT IS UNDERNEATH MY FEET! THIS IS LIKE WRITING A CHAPTER TO ONE OF MY STORIES! God... Yes, I know, you're laughing at me. You're saying, "Shadow Jaganshi is such an idiot. Her competetiveness will kill her one day, and nobody will know except whoever or whatever kills her, unless, of course, it is a 'whatever' that kills her and is not a mortal being, something such as a tree or a rock or a screwdriver or a really long spike that just somehow happened to be at the bottom of a cliff she just somehow happened to trip and fall down to her death at the bottom by way of a giant pointy shiny spike being driven into her empty skull." That is what you are thinking, aren't you! Isn't it! Whatever I'm trying to say! Maybe I should just stop using c... condensation or whatever those words with aposotosofrees are called. Condiment? Condensation? Complimentation? Con... Coon... Contradictions? Damn, I really do not remember. I can be like Data from Star Trek... The android who can not say contraptions or whatever those words are called. Wait! I remember! NOBODY MOVE! *pause* Damn, forget it. I just forgot it. YOU MOVED, DIDN'T YOU! YOU SADISTIC BASTARD! OR BASTARD-ETTE! HOW DARE YOU BE SO CRUEL?! Maybe I'm being so competitive because FLINT MARCO BEAT ME AT WRITING! Which is something I cannot let anyone do. Maybe it's an unconscious subconscious conscience brain thing kinda thing telling me to do this. Cuz if I had any choice, I wouldn't be. God. Maybe it's the Lord of the Underworld who I speculate may be controlling my mind from his Underworldly Realm. Do you think so? Maybe the Lord of the Underworld, who my mind is being controlled by or may be being controlled by, or perhaps who I am serving willingly without realizing it, is the psychotic stalker bastard who I constantly carry on one sided conversations with in my room. Do you figure that might be possible, if the other dimension theory turns out to be a big old shitake mushroom when I go squeeze under my bed and suffocate on dog hair and spider webs and realize that I do not fit under my bed to well and get stuck there, all the while making the slow conclusion that obviously there is no other dimension under my bed and that's just something I got from Pooh Bear or something... Where the dude lived under his bed and ate his socks, and the Crayons threw him in prison? Yes, I used to watch Pooh... I fear it now, though... It's scary. Scary pooh. When I finally do finish this post to my satisfaction, I am going to go up to my room and look under my bed to see if there's another dimension, or if not that, if maybe there's a hallucinogenic mushroom garden under there that my Sheltie dog has been growing without my knowledge or consent or permission, and maybe that's why he always comes in my room and acts like he actually likes me? Stupid mutt. And maybe he's been eating the hallucinogenic mushrooms and that's why he doesn't want to eat his stupid dog food anymore! I'VE GOT YOU ALL FIGURED OUT, FLUFFY! YOU SHALL PAY FOR YOUR FUNGUS GARDENING CRIME! His name isn't really fluffy, by the way, but I call him that. How the hell long was Flint's post, anyway? His actually had some substance to it. Mine is just the desperate ramblings of somebody who is desperate. And desperately tired, too, as it is almost three o'clock in the morning and I woke up at 10:00 and that really sucked. Flint's was 2,151 not counting the title. How long is this one? *checks* 2,013. THAT IS SO AWESOME, I ALMOST HAVE HIM TIED! Let’s see, now that I’ve suddenly got energy, what should I conspire about now? Other than that my dog is growing mushrooms under my bed, of course… 2,050. So I don't even have 100 words left anymore! Yeah, let's party and eat shitake mushrooms... I'm so tired. It's now five minutes later than when I said it was almost 3:00, whenever the hell that was. Ages ago, it seems... Okay, I just screwed up all my word-count markers cuz I added something else up there and that means where I started counting words, it's really six words more. I bet I'm done now. Nope, not quite. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. God, okay, that'll get old real quick. So now I have tied Flint's record!

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