1. make sure that everything you write is vapid and unintelligible and redundant.
2. make it obvious that you are ripping off other bloggers and that you are trying to always one-up them with your witty banter and personal stories that nobody cares about and you wonder why it’s not working for you, this is because you exclude writing from an objective vantage point oh and ps you’re fucking boring.
3. when something big happens in the world, DON’T WRITE ABOUT IT. remember when hunter s. thompson shot himself and how every fucking blog you went to had the same na na na he meant so much to me na na na NA crap like they knew the guy personally and it was one big circle jerk competition of who could write the longest tribute like they were his brother, wasn’t that annoying? fuck that, you are a moron douche bag who has a two month old blog, you don’t know anything about anything so fuck off.
4. if you want to look like a desperate piece of shit blog then link everybody who so much as whispers in your direction. linking and blog politics in general have got to stop, this groupie blog culture is retarded which brings me to my next point.
5. just because you have a blog and you meet some kid from the internet and then THEY start a blog, this does not make them more interesting and it sure as shit does not make you more interesting either and it also doesn’t make you BEST FRIENDS ps. nobody cares who you have met in real life and therefore listing who you know in real life on your blogroll makes you about as cool as the smell of hot garbage, fag.
6. post pictures of your face a lot. here’s a fun thing to do, go through your archives and see how many photos you have of your stupid face, doing the same pose and holding the camera the exact same way and then read what you’ve written, same. old. crap.
7. do not lend insight or have any depth whatsoever in what you write and always state the obvious, write about things like you are the only person in the world who knows about them and go into great detail about everything you do, every place you go and so on because your readers are stupid and have never ever been to a wal-mart before and they don’t know what double-dutch is because you are a fucking genius and we are not.
8. when you write about going to a show, write like you discovered the band and you are all best friends, people love that because name-dropping never gets tired and also the mostest most bestest part is an intricately detailed account of the conversation you had with famous whoever the fuck.
i gave phil a haircut last nite and he doesn’t like it. why, i dunno. well i do know actually. it looks sort of like the one robert deniro gives himself in taxi driver right before he goes completely fucking crazy except there’s maybe 5mm of hair on either side of the hawk-stripe and not just scalp. at first it looked amazing but then some mis-communication was had and it turned out the way it did which is a shame because there’s a formal function tonite/tomorrow.
the sole of my old man shoe of the right foot is partially loose and has been that way for a long time and i have yet to do anything about it other than collecting cat hairs and cobwebs and dust fluffs and by the time i leave the apartment to go outside there is a gigantic sculpture of crap sticking out of the front of my shoe and it’s the closest thing to vacuuming the place ever receives.
ps. i just burned part of my forehead with the hair iron and it feels GREAT!
so the MRI was easy except for my laying down position was not exactly comfortable, i scrunched my neck up kinda and so i stayed that way for twenty minutes with all these crazy noises going off at my head and at one point i thought i had accidentally hit the panic button but no i had not it was just the machine doing it’s thing. i think i even fell asleep. i showed up drunk. the nurse was kind of bitchy. i could see her eating a sandwich and drinking juice through that mirror above my eyes. telescope mirror.
i am boring.
i have not stayed over once at my new place in toronto yet.
i think i will tomorrow.
there’s a show at the drake that is suppose to be good. a band called mommy and daddy from new york. go to it.
commenced alcoholic beverage consumption yesterday E.A.R.L.Y. and by the time oprah was on we were unattractive cackling housewives slurring about whatever the fuck oprah was giving away to x y and z obese american with bad teeth.
i am having my brain photographed later today so scientists and politicians can learn my secrets and clone me. holy shit imagine ten more me’s? then there could be a house of me laying around hung over arguing with myself and getting pissed off and then slamming doors at the same time and hurling ultimate ‘disses that would go on forever. that would be SO obnoxious and by dinnertime 8 of me would be murdered.
don’t rent assault on precinct 13. we haven’t watched it all yet. it’s kinda awful. ja rule is in it and his name is smiley. need i say more?
i feel guilty because i have loads of pictures that i haven’t done anything with yet and they’re so totally fantastic that when you see them inside your head you will be saying wow she invented photography or something. yesterday i moved in a bunch of my clothes and whatevers into this place, i was pretty stressed out ‘cos i was calling the apartment all day long and one of the roommates was on the fone so i finally left a message “with tone” in it and when we got there the cord of the phone in the hallway was dragged all the way into this dude’s bedroom. he had been on the phone for 8 hours straight. so i haven’t met him yet. the other people seem pretty nice.
before her set there was some comedy going on and one guy was doing all this wacky interpretive performance something or other with props and shit and he kept bouncing a basketball into the crowd and i was like dooooood if that fucker bounces that thing at me i’m going to smash my pint into my teeth. it was quite stressful.
earlier in the day went longboarding along lakeshore’s path thing by the water and fil rollerbladed and on the way back i was fucking tired and some little girls were riding their tiny pink bikes faster than i was going and i felt like a huge embarrassing failure.
in the bathroom at the drake these metrosexual bitches were talking about their clothes and one girl says to her posse hey should i roll my sleeve or not? rolled? unrolled? and she surveyed the lavatory for opinions, looked at me and my disaster of an outfit and asked the woman behind me what she should do.
p’shhhhhhhhaw.
how come every hussy with a credit card acts like they’re paris fucking hilton?
