Resultless Effort

In preparation for my stand up comedy set tonight, I tried to write some jokes. I want to clarify that I didn’t write anything, but I tried. Trying is a tricky thing. A lot of people want to be given credit for trying. Their demand makes me want to give them even less credit. If you want to give someone credit for trying, that’s nice. But people shouldn’t go around expecting people to be nice, especially after they failed something. Well, I can’t generalize too much. There are times when the thought is appreciated. But when I go out tonight completely unprepared even though I tried, my failed attempts at writing jokes isn’t worth shit.

 

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know why I’m struggling so much to write jokes I want to tell. I can hardly even write any blog entries these days. I’ve only been able to write these short little things but at least I wrote something. I actually started writing this hoping to use it on stage but I don’t think I can use any of this. It’s just very heartbreaking to see that maybe I’m really unfit for the job. I wish I could write new stuff but I’m running out of time so I guess I’m going to have to reread my blog in hopes of finding something I can use instead of sitting around twiddling my thumbs and thinking about masturbating and not even doing that for reasons I don’t really know.

 

By the way, I know I’m being hard on myself and I’m not completely screwed for tonight. Last night, I already went through a bunch of joke material I’ve kept and pulled out a few that I’m going to use. I’m just disappointed there isn’t more and that I couldn’t write many new ones.

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Shit Stories Part XIV: My First Shit Story

This might be the last shit story I write and it’s going to be about the first shit story I’ve ever told. I was in university with a bunch of people who were kind of my friends. We were friendly with each other and hung out mostly out of convenience. They would invite me out and I tried my best to go out with them to enjoy their company, and it was okay, but it wasn’t enough for me to pursue the friendship. Evidently, I wasn’t a great additional to their group either since they eventually stopped asking me out. I don’t think it was because I scared them away with my shit story. If I did scare them away, it would be from trying to sell them sanitary napkins, including the guys. It was that phase of my life. I wasn’t being a pushy or anything though. People just got uncomfortable when certain words are brought up regardless of context.

The girls were as equally awkward as the guys when I talked about pads.

The girls were as equally awkward as the guys when I talked about pads.

I don’t remember why I was telling this shit story. Maybe it was because someone was complimenting my awesome huge pectoral muscles back then and instead of saying “thanks”, I reward them with a shit story. That’ll make a little more sense once you hear this shit story but it still doesn’t justify why I would talk about shit instead of saying “thanks”.

Reward...

Reward…

I started off by saying I wasn’t sure if this story was too personal (for them. It’s not personal at all for the blog.). In my bathroom, there’s a mirror right next to the toilet. Sometimes, when I plan to shower after taking a shit, I would take off all my clothes before taking the shit because I was going to take them off for the shower anyway. In the nude, I would look at the mirror and see some belly fat and I hated it. It was this constant reminder that helped motivate me to work hard at sculpting an awesomer body.

But my body could never get as good as that because I don't have boobs.

But my body could never get as good as that because I don’t have boobs.

I ended the story the same way I started, by saying I wasn’t sure if it was too personal or weird and this one guy was overreacting and said, “Yes. Of course that was too personal.” Even though I basically got negative feedback, I liked that I was able to hold people’s attention by talking about unconventional things and evoke emotion in them. That wasn’t the moment I realized I wanted to write a blog about shit stories or anything, but it was definitely a moment early on that showed me this is the path I will be taking. It reminds me a lot of this clip of Louis CK honoring George Carlin. The whole video is worth watching but I linked you straight to the part where Louis talks about a joke that got a wild negative-ish reaction from the crowd but he would rather have that than shitty laughs.

I would rather a girl look at me in disappointment, disgust, or confusion than to not have a girl look at me at all.

I would rather a girl look at me in disappointment, disgust, or confusion than to not have a girl look at me at all.

Sad, Funny, and Truthful Thoughts

Lately, I’ve been sadder and truer to myself but unfortunately not any funnier. I’m wrestling with depression and it’s pinning me down on my bed all day. I’ve been lacking a reason to do anything, lacking a reason to live, so I’ve just been pretty much waiting to die… at the age of 22. It’s going to be a long ass wait.

Girls never have to wait to die. Even if they just lie in bed and not go out, horny guys will find them somehow.

Girls never have to wait to die. Even if they just lie in bed and not go out, horny guys will find them somehow.

I tried to give myself reasons to live and do things. That’s just a nice way of saying I’ve been hitting on every girl who crosses my path on the internet. It’s sad how it actually surprised me that all I was able to accomplish was creep girls away. Even blogging is feeling more and more pointless to me. I really love it when people enjoy reading the things I write. When you guys leave a comment, it brightens me up for about 2 minutes and then I go back to feeling miserable for the remaining 23 hours and 58 minutes of the day. If I earn one new follower for each entry I write, I would need to write 720 entries and then continue writing everyday in order to feel alive. But sadly, I don’t even earn 1 new follower per entry so I would need to write more than that already retardedly high number. If blogging would get me anywhere, I would probably do it more but if I wanted to get anywhere with blogging, simply writing more isn’t the way to go. I would need to do annoying twitter, tumblr, reddit, diggs, diggit, or whatever there’s available out there. I’m the most un-tech savvy techy guy ever. It’d be great if someone would do all that for me.

Boy that's a lot of numbers. We'll research what it means by using my ass to point at things on the blackboard.

Boy that’s a lot of numbers. We’ll research what it means by using my ass to point at things on the blackboard.

A little while ago, someone asked me what I wanted to be in the future and I jokingly said that I wanted to be a parasite, living off other people. That was just a dumb joke. Then I thought about it for real and I think I want to be a stay at home dad. And then I realized that that was actually just a sugar coated parasite. This isn’t just some dumb joke. Well… it is, but it’s also true. I think about whether I want kids or not and I think I do, but I know I don’t want shitty kids. Because I’m kind of a shitty person, there’s a damn good chance my kids will turn out shitty. The best chance I have at nonshitty kids is if I can actually have the time and energy to parent the child to the best of my abilities. At that point, even if the kid is still shitty, at least it’s my little piece of shit. Most parents are all busy working and making money. They spend too much time away from the child and the times that they are home, they’re too tired to spend any quality time with the child.

If she was a mom, she'd be too busy posing in front mirrors to spend time with her child. She is blinded to her own poor parenting by that stupid hat.

If she was a mom, she’d be too busy posing in front mirrors to spend time with her child. She is blinded to her own poor parenting by that stupid hat.

When I watch Two and a Half Men, it’s sad that Alan Harper is actually the character I empathize with the most because I’m the most similar to him. Alan Harper is not a character that any respectable human being should identify with. What’s even sadder is that I’m a prettier version of Alan Harper but I get laid a lot less.

 

Alan Harper got to hit that.

Alan Harper got to hit that.

And that.

And that.

The Heart Aches When It’s Frozen

There is no such thing as cold. What we call cold, is simply a lack of heat. I will expand on that later. Don’t worry, I’m not turning into an emotional-poet-wannabe. This is actually about something stupid that I do and my thoughts about it. This is about physical heart pains I experience when I put ice near my chest.

Be prepared to read for a while.

Be prepared to read for a while.

Okay, why the heck is Ted putting ice near his chest? This will take a number of sentences to explain. I bought a beast of a computer recently and placed it in my room, which is pretty small. Being the beast that it is, the computer is huge and generates a lot of heat. But this computer is no dumb beast. It’s a well-built beast so it has tons of fans to keep it cool. As a result, my beastly computer pushes all the hot air into my tiny room.

If Ted says "beast" one more time, I'll kill him.

If Ted says “beast” one more time, I’ll kill him.

My computer’s a beast so there’s not much I can do about it. My room isn’t that small and I’m not complaining about its size. It’s just not very well ventilated. Why is it not ventilated? Because the door is closed most of the time. Why is the door closed most of the time? To keep noise from coming in or going out. When my family’s around, they’re loud and I hate them so I would rather not hear them. At night, I try not to make too much noise because I’m a considerate person and I don’t want to disturb them when they’re trying to sleep. There are also handfuls of other reasons why I would want to close the door.

Pun intended. Teehee.

Occasionally, I bring ice packs into the room to cool it down a bit. I used to put the ice packs right next to the beast but then there are lots of pools of condensation water and I don’t want to get it wet. So now, I just put the ice packs on the desk, in front of the keyboard, so that the part of the room near the computer will still be somewhat cooler. That is why I have ice near my chest.

Long ass background story.

Long ass background story.

The ice isn’t actually touching my body so it’s not a frost-bitey kind of pain. For some reason, my heart is the thing that’s in pain. As far as I know, I don’t have any heart problems. In fact, I used to be pretty fit. A few years ago, I was running 10km everyday, as a means of transportation. I was a beast. In fact, I feel the heart pain right now. It’s an odd kind of pain. I don’t know what a heart attack feels like, but this feels like the prologue. I guess it feels like I’m dying? I still have the ice packs in front of me so I’m pretty sure that’s the reason I feel the pain, not because the girl from the picture is killing me for continuing to say “beast”.

Looks like I'll have to kill Ted the old fashioned way.

Looks like I’ll have to kill Ted the old fashioned way.

You know when you do hardcore cardiovascular exercises and your heart hurts because it’s working so hard? It feels a little bit like that but my heart isn’t beating any faster and I’m not breathing any differently. I don’t think it’s beating slower either. Remember the first lines of this entry? Back in high school, a smart girl named Emma sat near me in science class and I overheard her thinking that out loud. Heat is a type of energy and cold is just the lack of that energy. If I try to visualize how the ice packs affect the temperature in the room, I see cold air emanating from it. But cold isn’t a thing, heat is. So the ice packs are actually absorbing the surrounding heat. Energy is flowing towards it, not away from it. With the ice near my chest, it’s literally sucking (heat) energy from my heart.

Kind of like staring at her chest drains all my energy to do anything else...

Kind of like staring at her chest drains all my energy to do anything else…

Maybe the ice packs are causing condensation to happen within my body (maybe in my lungs?). And maybe condensation hurts. Maybe. Or maybe not. I don’t really care. If I cared, I would start by moving the ice packs further away instead of stupidly feeling discomfort. Before I end this entry, I want to warn any new readers I may have. My last couple posts have been more thoughtful and significantly less profane than what I usually write. The next entry is going to be back to being crude. The title will be a dead giveaway so don’t read it if you can’t handle it. If you do decide to read and you find something offensive, stop reading immediately because it’s not going to get any less offensive. People who love my sense of humor is going to love it. I won’t taint this entry with the title, but let’s just say it’s going to be about a handful of things. I have a lot of material which will take several hours to write. I’m deciding whether I should release it in parts or just release one really long entry. If I release in parts, it’ll just mean that you can read it sooner and I’ll still be releasing the full version when it’s done. Basically, if you just read this as my latest blog entry and you want to read more of my awesomeness right NOW, let me know and I will start releasing it in chunks.

I eagerly look forward to it since he's hyping it up so much.

I eagerly look forward to it since he’s hyping it up so much.

Veep Croissant

Veep

 

I haven’t blogged for a while but instead of talking about my sad pathetic life, I’m going to paraphrase a joke a from Veep instead. Julia Louis-Dreyfus, as the vice-president on the show, scolds this at someone after he screwed up a situation: “Why would you gather intel from an idiot? It’s like trying to use a croissant as a dildo. It doesn’t work and you just make a mess.”

croissant

Fake Offence

I hate bitchy girls who think they’re better than me just because they pretend to be offended by stuff. You’re not fooling anyone. We all know that you’re only pretending to be offended. Here’s a good test. Are you more offended that I laugh at the funny sounds a retarded person makes, or are you more offended that I call you an ugly fat whore. There should be no comparison. Your hypothetical ugly face is nothing compared to the unfortunate life of a retard. That’s right, you vain faker.

How can you say that? You're talking about apples and oranges.

How can you say that? You’re talking about apples and oranges.

If that’s apples and oranges, which do you think is the apple and which is the orange? I think the retard should be the apple. Why? For the sake of delivering this next joke:

If you really are such a good person, why not do this to an "apple" to show it your appreciation.

If you really are such a good person, why not do this to an “apple” to show it your appreciation.

That’s about all I have to say on this topic. Why so little? Because I, too, was only faking how much those hypothetical bitches offend me.

I'm not a faker. See how I'm not even feigning interest in this stupid blog?

I’m not a faker. See how I’m not even feigning interest in this stupid blog?

Discrimination and Internet

From time to time, I voice my opinion about gay people, retarded people, or people of other ethnicities, usually black. The problem is, I don’t know any gay retarded black people and I also don’t know anyone who’s gay or retarded or gay. Oops I typed gay again. I meant black. Due to my lack of interactions with these people, my opinions are completely baseless. I mean, who knows… maybe after meeting some of these people, it turns out that I really hate them. Maybe I haven’t been discriminating enough.

All kidding aside, I honestly don’t have much of an opinion on these matters. Although I wrote something negative about a race, I don’t think it’s actually racist. That’s because the butt of the joke isn’t the gays or the blacks or the retards; the butt of the joke is me for being so wildly ignorant and stupid. Too bad there are so many people on the internet that’ll go right ahead and get offended at the sight of some of these words.

Speaking of the internet, I hate my internet. I switched internet service providers recently and the new one sucks. Basically, whenever I download something, I can no longer load new pages. That means I can no longer download porn while looking for more porn to download while streaming porn on my second monitor. How am I supposed to live this way? What’s that? Meet a real girl you say? Are you out of your mind?