Sit by me Ralph, but not in the little chair because you've grown a little since last time we met. You'll need to sit on the floor now because you've outgrown the only chair I had for you and now I just don't know what to do. You see, since you've become larger I've become a little... hesitant to give you anything interesting for the simple fact that, and this is in the nicest way possible, I'm afraid you'll run away and eat it, but you're not terribly clever so it'll get lodged in your throat and then you'll need to go to hospital and then the doctors will see the interesting thing on their charts and X-rays and they'll tell the nurses and other patients about it. Leaving us with this special bond between writer and reader completely shattered, as well as me havingto deal with people coming up to me and talking to me about these interesting things, and why I talk to personified audiences as if they were small children. Then the courts will get involved and I'll have to meet all of my neighbours and tell them I'm a terrible person and to keep their children away from me because I'll make them eat interesting things.
I give you these stories in the hopes that you won't try and eat them and if you do want to eat them and get bigger you'll have the common decency to ask me first so I can tell you the correct way to eat the interesting things. Now that we're clear on that Ralph, we can begin.
I am not feeling too good right now.
If you've been paying attention you'll note that I have insomnia, and that after staying awake for 22 days I died and was revived, then put on a steady diet of sleeping pill (which I really do not enjoy). At the start of the year I stopped these pills and it was cool for a while, I got some sleep and that was awesome. Let's fast forward to now though, where you act shocked when I tell you I haven't slept for 12 days.
Yep, I'm a neuroscientists wet dream, and I could probably help a therapist or two retire early just by letting them write about me.
But I'm hoping to be the therapist here, and make my own small fortune from writing about myself. I wouldn't really call this an autobiography though, as that entales that I've done something worthwhile. Instead we'll call it a deep analysis of the insomniac brain - I'm sure if there was a book entitled as such it would be printed in hardback and on the shelves of libraries as one of those books that Person A borrows and leave on their shelf or just "lying around" for their friends to pick up and think "The title of this book seems sciencey or even one of those deep philosophical books - Person A must be quite smart if they have this just casually lying around", making Person A feel that tiny little bit better about themselves. Person A is also the type of person that never returns books for other people to use.
Even with a title like that, I don't ever think a book about the inner workings of my mind would have less than twelve dicks per page (which might actually make it more popular than what the title inclines itself to). It would also contain several different intepretations of the phrase "You are not special, not even in a bad way" scattered throughout its pages. The rest of the pages will be blank, preceded by the words "Fill in the blanks with how you feel".
I guess you could call this a slight addendum to the last post, because it's still tecnically about me and because we're doing that I'm going to throw a fact at you.
My father is Maori, as in a native of New Zealand. He's also extremely brown. I am completely white, so white in fact that you could reflect moonlight off me and blind someone wearing sunglasses. This is odd because darker skin should go through to the offspring. There is no real reason for me to be white other than I am pretty odd. There is however a chance that the gene is dormant in me and the child I have will be as dark as my father. I have to warn anyone I get into a serious relationship with of this just in case they do decide to produce my spawn and they do come out brown. Not because I'm worried they'll freak out, but because if it does happen I'm going to pretend to be extremely angry and confront the doctor with statements like "what the hell is going on?" and "I'm going to kill Jerome that motherfucker". This will be their cue to cry and say things like "Baby it was just one time, I'm so sorry".
I probably shouldn't be allowed to have children.
Tune in next time and I'll talk about my penis!
I give you these stories in the hopes that you won't try and eat them and if you do want to eat them and get bigger you'll have the common decency to ask me first so I can tell you the correct way to eat the interesting things. Now that we're clear on that Ralph, we can begin.
I am not feeling too good right now.
If you've been paying attention you'll note that I have insomnia, and that after staying awake for 22 days I died and was revived, then put on a steady diet of sleeping pill (which I really do not enjoy). At the start of the year I stopped these pills and it was cool for a while, I got some sleep and that was awesome. Let's fast forward to now though, where you act shocked when I tell you I haven't slept for 12 days.
Yep, I'm a neuroscientists wet dream, and I could probably help a therapist or two retire early just by letting them write about me.
But I'm hoping to be the therapist here, and make my own small fortune from writing about myself. I wouldn't really call this an autobiography though, as that entales that I've done something worthwhile. Instead we'll call it a deep analysis of the insomniac brain - I'm sure if there was a book entitled as such it would be printed in hardback and on the shelves of libraries as one of those books that Person A borrows and leave on their shelf or just "lying around" for their friends to pick up and think "The title of this book seems sciencey or even one of those deep philosophical books - Person A must be quite smart if they have this just casually lying around", making Person A feel that tiny little bit better about themselves. Person A is also the type of person that never returns books for other people to use.
Even with a title like that, I don't ever think a book about the inner workings of my mind would have less than twelve dicks per page (which might actually make it more popular than what the title inclines itself to). It would also contain several different intepretations of the phrase "You are not special, not even in a bad way" scattered throughout its pages. The rest of the pages will be blank, preceded by the words "Fill in the blanks with how you feel".
I guess you could call this a slight addendum to the last post, because it's still tecnically about me and because we're doing that I'm going to throw a fact at you.
My father is Maori, as in a native of New Zealand. He's also extremely brown. I am completely white, so white in fact that you could reflect moonlight off me and blind someone wearing sunglasses. This is odd because darker skin should go through to the offspring. There is no real reason for me to be white other than I am pretty odd. There is however a chance that the gene is dormant in me and the child I have will be as dark as my father. I have to warn anyone I get into a serious relationship with of this just in case they do decide to produce my spawn and they do come out brown. Not because I'm worried they'll freak out, but because if it does happen I'm going to pretend to be extremely angry and confront the doctor with statements like "what the hell is going on?" and "I'm going to kill Jerome that motherfucker". This will be their cue to cry and say things like "Baby it was just one time, I'm so sorry".
I probably shouldn't be allowed to have children.
Tune in next time and I'll talk about my penis!
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