I hate kids. I hate them probably because I hate myself and yet I’m also proud of myself in many respects. All of my values about marriage and children stem from the experiences of my own childhood. It’s fair to say it has changed my whole outlook on children, marriage, and trust, and love.
If I have any kids, they will either be:
1) Disobedient
2) Getting drunk, screwing around, taking drugs and caring little about their studies simply because as each generation comes, with it new distractions arrive and the kids entertain shorter attention spans
3) Be more disrespectful to their elders than...
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00.30 on a Friday morning, and I’m trying to write my ideas for an amateur porn film I wish to make with friends, trying to write and update my CV for a crappy appointment I have to make because I just can’t fucking say no, and listening to Nirvana’s In Utero.
Listening the blast from the past reminds me of when I actually cried for the second time at someone’s death. It was for the death of someone I didn’t know. But it was someone that managed to reach into my soul with his voice and with his words and let...
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When was the last time I had a fight? When was the last time I got beaten up, and when was the last time I actually kicked someone’s arse? It’s hard to recall. Suffice to say, I’m all but a weak shell.
A moment of random frustration resulted in my fist connecting with the sold wall that creates one quarter of my room. It hurt, a lot. I repeated this feat, and then hit the wall awkwardly. I felt an immediate tingling sensation. It was if the wall had hit me with a cane, rather than me hitting the wall. It...
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