Err,uh, being?

I was bored, really, really bored, but is it better to be bored?

I decided to do an experiment, which I will now detail. So in the beginning, I made some planets and the universe. To further my research, I also made trees, and some other things which were different, but similar. It took me a day to do the universe(which was really a lot more than a day),a day to do some other things and still a few days to do more things. I say "other things" because the "things" are unimportant in this context. I speak not to tell you of these "things," but rather to speak of the things I made on the last metaphorical day of creation. Clear?(I'm moving on). I made humans. But you see, as a good scientist(and God, but don't flatter me to much right now), I decided to make each thing a bit different. So i'll first tell you my hypothesis(although I realize this isn't actually a hypothesis). First, and I have deviated quite a bit from the scientific method and the format of a typical lab report. My hypothesis, well err actually there wasn't really a "hypothesis" per se, but, uh, I guess I, uh, sort of, just decided to see if I could make something make itself stop existing via consciousness. Consciousness!An amazing idea, I had... Yeah, so that was the jist, but back to this more interesting matter of the "hypothesis." Well you see, I run into this really tough spot when I try to make hypotheses, because, err, well, how can I(a pretty good God you would normally think, if I hadn't asked you not to flatter me) create an educated guess? I already know everything that has happened and will happen, right? This basic fact has made "existence" obtrusively mundane.

So, I made humans and they eventually could create and destroy. I became intrigued with what happened(although I already, of course, err uh, knew what would happen). So the humans developed and they gradually became more efficient and useful. They came closer to knowing everything and being perfectly god-like. Their lives got more boring, but they had technology(should I be using the present tense? I should make a personalized tense just for the existences above existence). The technology becomes life, it will homogonize, as that is the most effiecient way of movement. The other things I made, just reproduced what I created and destroyed the things that weren't the things mentioned at the beginning of this now lengthy sentence(THINGS, THINGS, THINGS). The humans destroyed themselves with the creation of something... something... something, HA. Something I did not create. But wait, wait, wait, I'll take credit for this technology, because well the consciousness which directly created the crap, is something I made. I make all.

Unfortunately, as the societies of the humans progresses, they begin to create and destroy more things. I myself have come into their grips. They have created other gods, which they use to trade the technology, and they have invented some admittedly uh bett--err, different gods.Well, with this, I was, am, will be something other than existing and not existing, I guess.

Okay. Okay! I forsee my own non-existence,and well, I am a bit puzzled, because I don't know how I know that I will be non-existent, because I can't exist then(the point of nonexistence) to know it, and a God knows all so shouldn't be puzzled and the ----------------(infinity here).

Dejected Patty Poo: A conversion

Climb walls and escape.
I'm sitting at a table with two folk singers and neither wants to sing. We just sit, staring at each other, until the narcoleptic folksinger falls asleep. The remaining singer and I make eye contact, then we make out, but I am no good, so we stop mid way. Oh what a dejected patty poo I am.

The tables, the audience, the eyes.

This is quite a turn of events. The tables have turned. But you see this is the second time they have turned, so they now stand, rather unremarkably, in the same position in which they began. As a member of the audience, I am uncertain as to whether or not I should be shocked or uninterested. I'm intrigued, so my eyes stay locked on the perfectly still tables which have been moved by an untold force, which appears to be nonexistent. As my eyes begin to water, I begrudgingly close them, and reopen them as quickly as possible, only to find the other members of the audience gone and the tables, which are round, in a position that may or may not be the original positions. Hmmm

Only in Llandyrnog

Oh Llandyrnog! What a terrible place for a young boy like me to be sired! Wales is such a bore. Oh how I long for the ivory coast of England... All day long on weekends, I watch rugby matches on the tele with my father. All we fucking do here is admire. It's a shame and a sin, the fact that we can't have our own fuckin' identities. If I tried in earnest to create something new, the first thing I'd have to do is strip away the hundreds of fucking years of damn influence... It's like stripping the enamel off of your teeth- easy to do with some high-tech equipment, but years to implement by means of soda, gatorade, etc... Anyways, I digress... The most fucking important person to come out of this damn fucking sad excuse for a country, this sad plot of sod, this shitty little absence of water, was Princess Diana. The only reason she ever emerged from indentured servitude was because she was striking, aesthetically pleasing and all that shit. She wasn't brilliant, she wasn't fuckin' prodigious at anything! All she did was be born. Here I am, Adam Van Loewenboorgeor, an ugly fuck. A supreme Cock, in every sense of the word. I have no reason to strive to be anything. So it goes, eh....

2.
I don't know why I rode bus 53. I usually took the 76, but that day I was feeling adventurous. She walked on the bus, holding a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Fuckin' slut. Her name was Virginia, possibly the least apt name for this particular wench. Just like a dresser that one, some bloke always runnin' through her drawers. But after she walked on, the most beautiful girl in the world followed. (In this case, the phrase most beautiful is a relative superlative, because in Llandyrnog there are no absolutely beautiful women, only conditional ones.) She sat next to me, as there were no other seats. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Virginia licking the bejeesus out of that spoon, probably trying to prove to some bloke she knew a few things. Fuckin' slut. So as I was talking to this relatively attractive girl, I must have let my hate for Virginia slip a few times, contrasting this new nice girl to that slut Virginia, because the girl sitting next to me reprimanded me. Apparently I spent more time talking about Virginia than she would have liked. I guess she's right. What's so great about Virginia? Nothing. Virginia. Fuckin' slut. I love her. Why did she leave me? Why? It may have been the infidelity issue. Don't get me wrong, Virginia bless her heart, was faithful. I slept with another woman during our marriage. She was a girl I'd met at St. Tyrnog's. Fuckin' slut.

3.
Being a member of the Llandyrnog Binge Drinking Society was tough! We practiced thrice a week and honestly, conditions were never great. The rickety, dilapidated, shitty pieces of crap we called "our buildings" seemed to be irreversibly fucked. The beer mugs would break tables as the other members of the LBDS plopped them down. All my life i've wanted to take pride in something. Anything really. This was my last hope. The society was the only thing this town really had going for it. We've won the Denbighshire Cup twice in the last 300 years. Believe it or not, those are the best stats anyone can boast in this town. The society had really been losing its "umph" these last few centuries. How was I to put up with the grueling workouts if I didn't have the same faith my father and my father's father had? Tradition wasn't enough and ultimately i decided to have a kid so I wouldn't have to continue. In Llandyrnog it is tradition to retire from the society and pass its traditions onto the new generation. I'm milking this loophole as much I can now.

Our story

It is as if this is a page. One of many, not in the life of Me or anything corny like that, but instead in the life of Ludvig, a Kundera character. It follows the traditional order, the letter, the response, the internal dispute, the collapse, and incredible gap in time. So here we are, just like Ludvig, singing songs of Optimism and Opium, hanging flags from windows and writing poetry about idealized women. Being completely apart from reality, but swearing reality is all. So here we are, at the end of the story. Not a memorable story, not a great story, some good moments. Ludvig the naive. Bacchus the naive. What a story.

Superstar to the stars

Ashley kelly, superstar to the stars. Crashed a car at age 4 and went on vacation for 2 years. While chillaxing, she met a boy named Tom. Tom and she climbed two mountains in the foothills. They hit it off and had sex. Yes, sex. Sex in the bed. Not on the mountains though. They just went like to his house or something. The details aren't important, what is important is her foot. Herr foot now has herpes on it. She can't have babies now. Tom and she got married in Nevada, the most boring place in the world, and then had dinner. The dinner was mediocre at best. After dinner that got a divorce because the dinner was mediocre at best. This is Ashley Kelly, superstar to the stars.