Signs of Getting Old

As a young man, it’s hard to imagine myself getting old and losing energy. I find that I get depressed and lose motivation, but that’s not exactly the same as getting old. I still have the energy; I just can’t find a reason to use it. I don’t complain about things being a lot of work; I just complain about the annoying fucker giving me the work. For the most part, I’m still much closer to a young man than an old man with no signs of metamorphosis. I did find one thing that makes me an old man and that’s…

Candy. As I child, I remember thinking that it’s absurd how adults don’t love candy as much as kids. I still love sweets in theory, but it might be linked to my overall disinterest in life that makes me not care for candy. For many years now, I’ve found that things that look like they might be tasty turns out to taste pretty bland. I don’t even enjoy expensive foods very much. Sure, they taste good I guess, but it doesn’t really make me feel any better about life and living so it feels kinda pointless. Maybe this just has to do with me getting depressed and nothing with getting old, but feeling shitty about things certainly doesn’t feel youthful.


I can appear ungrateful at times. It’s not because I’m depressed or that I’m douchebag. I’m probably not any less grateful than anyone else. It’s all about what the individual values. I’m living at my aunt’s house right now and she’s making me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sometimes it would take quite a bit of time and effort to make these meals. I try to say thanks, but it’s really, REALLY forced. I simply don’t feel very thankful for the food. I feel a little thankful, but not very much. I’m not complaining that the food tastes bad or that I’m godly and don’t need to eat or anything. I’m not picky about food, at all. I know that I get more enjoyment out of frozen foods and they take less effort to make so proper meals just feel like wasted effort. I’m also a pretty badass defroster.

Okay, so far, I just made myself sound like an asshole. Now let me turn the table around. My aunt doesn’t play or appreciate video games. I have a shit load of top notch video games ready for her to access. At the snap of a finger, I can let her play the best games on the best systems, a privilege that many people don’t get. She’s even less grateful for this than I am of food. I’m not saying she needs to be grateful about it. She doesn’t. She couldn’t give less of a shit about video games and that’s perfectly fine. In fact, it’s normal. Video games is a bit of an extreme example and I didn’t prepare them just for her. But I’ve also prepared access to Chinese TV and movies on my computer that she’s not using and isn’t grateful of. I hate Chinese shit so that’s not for me at all. Again, I’m not saying she needs to be grateful about it. But just as she’s not grateful about these, I shouldn’t have to be grateful about food.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not crazy retarded. I do understand that there’s a bit of a difference between constant daily meals and media. But the difference in gratitude is a lot less than what you might first assume. I’m also not just making excuses to be douchey. I’ve been voluntarily doing all the dishes. It’s not exactly an equal exchange for the meals, but at least it’s better than not doing the dishes. And it’s not like I can’t be a very grateful person. It’s just that no one has ever given me what I want. If a girl ever offers me sex or cuddling, I’d be super grateful, so grateful that I’ll probably make it awkward. No one has ever offered me that so it’s no surprise that I’m not very grateful of life. Heck, if my cousins gave me full tit access, that would already get me to maximum gratefulness. …One day, I should stop talking about incest.

My Dad Vs. Normal Part III: Thoughts for Food

These are both food related stories but they’re not really about food. Because I don’t talk to my parents, food just happens to be the only (forced) topic of conversation and you will soon see that they’re not much of a conversation.

Dad: Do you want eggs?

Me: No.

Dad: You’re wrong.

What's that you say? We don't know what we're doing with the basketball? You're wrong.

What’s that you say? We don’t know what we’re doing with the basketball? You’re wrong.

That same dialogue exchange has happened many times in the house. The main problem is, by the time my dad asks if I want eggs, he already really wants me to want eggs and expects me to say yes. I say that’s the main problem because that’s not the only problem. He also fails the grasp the concept that I am capable of thought.

I'm capable of thought too. I'm totally making this face on purpose and not because I got some glitter shit in my eye.

I’m capable of thought too. I’m totally making this face on purpose and not because I got some glitter shit in my eye.

The other day, my dad made breakfast for my brother and he didn’t eat it. At night, he asked me why I didn’t eat it when I saw that my brother didn’t eat it. He was more disappointed in me for not eating leftovers than my brother for creating said leftovers. I wish I could come up with a possible explanation for this but I can’t. It’s just plain old crazy.

As crazy as we are about basketball. By the way, where's the basket? Over where? Oh forget it, just touch me.

As crazy as we are about basketball. By the way, where’s the basket? Over where? Oh forget it, just touch my butt.

Shit Stories Part VI: Shit vs. Diet

I’ve started several multi-part topics and it’s interesting that Shit Stories is the most appreciated one. Tonight, I present to you: two more shit stories. So you can, without further ado, do more reading on doo-doo. (Trust me, I hate myself for that lame shit pun more than you can imagine.)

I hate you too, Ted.

I hate you too, Ted.

Much like the way food can affect one’s urine, it can also affect one’s fecal matters. Over the years, I’ve noticed certain foods that affect my shit. When I eat too much meat, I tend to get painful constipations. When I eat too much seaweed, my shit is stinky and pasty and takes many pieces of toilet paper to wipe. When I eat papaya, the shit comes out smelling like papaya… mixed with shit. I don’t know why that hasn’t turned me off from eating papayas.



The one (that just happened) which inspired me to write this entry, is drinking a 1L carton of chocolate milk. I’m very lazy so I drink straight from the carton. I’m also hygienic so I never put the carton back in the fridge after I drink straight from it. Combining these two retarded traits means that I often drink a whole litre of chocolate milk in one sitting. I don’t know why I keep do this because it doesn’t feel good to have so much liquid sitting in me. I also sucks to feel myself actively getting fatter. And to put a cherry on top, it always comes out as diarrhea. I really should exercise more discipline and stop drinking entire cartons of chocolate milk. Heck, I should’ve been exercising that discipline 10 diarrheas ago.



The next shit story is about asshole hair. That will be coming up in about an hour, once I finish writing it. Maybe an hour and 10 minutes if there’s more chocolate milk diarrhea coming out of me.

I will sit here waiting and holding it in too.

I will sit here waiting and holding it in too.