I really wish I could think of something to write about. Writer’s block is a disease, people. Where is my charity to combat this vile, decimating terror that affects more people than, I dunno, leprosy? How many shitheads are sitting right now in a starbucks, staring blankly at their macbook pro, wishing only to come up with something clever for their blog about hamsters or perhaps how the world could be fixed if only we’d stop eating so much meat? Maybe that conflict for the second act of the book they’re writing is just out of their reach. I see them when someone I’m with makes me go into starbucks, and I think, “you poor bastard, if only a truck could veer off the road right now and crush every bone in your body.” Wait, I mean…no, that’s what I meant. Hipster, self-important scumbags sitting at a coffee shop with dictionaries beside them (because internet enabled computers don’t offer such things as words and definitions of words) make me want to pour my seven dollar pumpkin-spice latte directly into their eyeballs. Do these scumfucks not have an internet at home? I’m guessing these are the same people who spend more time tweeting “I’m working on my book” than they actually spend time writing a book. That no one will read. Fuck you guys.

Hey I thought of something to write about! And if you’re reading this in a coffee shop, choke on your own tongue. It’ll be the only thing that ever gets you in the news, albeit with a headline of “asshole chokes on tongue, everyone is pleased.”

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Posted by Krank, filed under Awesomeness. Date: October 5, 2014, 5:35 pm | No Comments »