Everyone has a vlog or a blog that they use to rant about stuff they like and don't like. And now I have one, although I actually did have one like three years ago. I am a hipster, biatch.
So, yeah, this will be a blog/vlog for me to rant about shit and for me to force my opinions on you like the son of a hootenanny I am, and you will lie there and take it. You know, that's probably the reason I don't have a girlfriend: I have the same attitude in bed.
So I watched this show called Family Guy for the first time. It was okay. I wasn't crazy about that white dog shoving his beliefs or lack thereof down our throat. I bet he does that alot. Incoming Marty Stu! The B-plot with the members of Star Trek: The Next Generation was delightful, and there should've have been much more of that. There's this girl named Meg who apparently is the butt monkey of the show. She got mumps and then Peter von Fatass threw a bowl of soup and a glass of milk at her and knocked her out.
The episode wasn't spectacular, but at least it's better than the stuff that Matt Groening is squeezing out now. It's not the 90's, Matthew, just let the show die. You're rich, and the show sucks now, but you're just gonna keep making crap and putting cash in your pocket, you Magnificent Bastard.
Since my daily diet consists of cheeseburgers from Carl's Jr, and children's tears, which isn't too healthy, I decided to make a pot of spaghetti, which I figured would be pretty easy; you toss that shit in a pot and leave it there for fifteen minutes. I ending up burning the water and had to call the SAVFD. It wasn't fun explaining what the hell happened and how I managed to start a fire with spaghetti. The Flying Monster has probably damned me to an eternity of being smothered by his noodly appendages. Asshole.
In other news I played Half Life 2 today for the first time in ever and got the shit scared out of me because of Ravenholm. Those fricking poison headcrabs damn near gave me night terros.
I'm running out of stuff to talk about, so I'm gonna head off and try to plant a popsicle bomb in my douchebag neighbor's car.
Ciao,
E.
