Saturday night open mic: it's your weekly venting time. Get something off your chest. Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful. Tell me what the name of your autobiography will be. Tell me what your dreams are. Tell me something.
The name of my autobiography shall be "Against The Devil-Apes of Gith!!"
Oh. Good news: I managed to talk a screenwriter buddy (I'm not sure if he posts here) into reviving the short fiction website he came up with a year ago. That's exciting as shit and I can't wait.
Apart from that, all quiet. The Missus is away, so tonight it's Italian food and Rock Band with the boys. All is well.
Get something off your chest. It pisses me off hugely that I just spent today working (in prep for something big this week) and writing, and having looked back at what I've accomplished, I don't know which accomplished more.
Tell me something filthy, strange and wonderful. I got challenged this week for a fast fiction... to write a 200 word sex scene.
Tell me what the name of your autobiography will be. "Call it whetever the fuck you want - people ain't buying it for the title" just because it gives me an extra chapter.
Tell me what your dreams are. Right now, not to make a fool of myself next Friday.
Tell me something. There is nothing wrong, nothing wrong, I tell you, with stroking a mug filled with coffee at three in the morning and hearing it whisper to you.
sometimes I feel the reason I can't get around to finishing my coursework is because I don't want uni to end, but on the other hand I hate the work load I've got to contend with.
At the moment I really hate all this moaning about players that show a lack of respect to referees in football(soccer). Referees,pundits and journalists have never played the game they dont understand the passion. Its exactly like throwing the board across the living room when u loose at monopoly. Respect has to work both ways aswell, I've seen some refs act like complete assholes.
My autobiography would be called "The Ramblings Of An Unreleased Genius"
Slightly egotistical I know bout meh.
The chicken and the egg are lying in bed one night. The chicken lights up a cigarette and the egg says "Well that answered that then."
fuck me, was it cold today or was it fuckin' cold today? stood outside, wore mask, told Church of Scientology to piss off, felt good about doing something other than bitchin' about my life, sighed at children next to me, of course i angered an already annoyed foot and now hate being not spritely anymore
my auto biog would be called something idiotic like: "predictive and unresponsive"
i hate to admit it, because it sounds fangirl-ish, but i had a dream with you in it once, i think it involved cane-ing zombies or at least beating up idiots, either way funny without being a weird sex dream, and violent, yup i remember the violence
Name of my autobiography will be the name of my blog: Diaretical Throw-up, and yep completely aware that's not a word but neither was blog up until fifteen or so years ago.
What I'm not liking today is people having shitty attitudes to service people who are nothing but always rays of sunshine in this otherwise bleary day in upstate New York.
Goal for the week: getting all of my articles done for CBR before the drunken shit show the New York Comic Con will be, and trying to have as good a time as possible at the Con.
My autobiography will be titled "Born Broken." The first chapter will be called "No, not me. You."
My dreams involve living on the cusp of world domination. How sad is that! I can't even get further than the cusp!
My hopes include the death and subjugation of all things bad and people stupid. Who decides, you ask? ME of course. I'm just as valid a choice as anyone else!
The name of my autobiography? "The Right Kind of Awkward."
Otherwise, this Web Show project thing is almost finished. It's on the upper end of Good Amateur production, but not Great. I'm worried that we have a 20+ minute cut of the pilot, and I'm trying to convince my partners that we should cut it down to a hilarious 5-minute trailer and use it for the pitch, and just move on to the next ep for general release. I still haven't heard back.
They probably replaced me with Michael Cera. The fucks.
My autobiography will either be called "International Hick" or "Speak Softly and Carry a Loud Cthulhu".
I'm having a Yuri's Night party tonight. I made alien head cookies. I would have given them three eyes, but I didn't have enough eyes. They turned out tasty but I think I should have used more lime.
I've been procrastinating horribly on my research this week. And tomorrow I will probably be hung over.
I don't want to go to the grad student/faculty meeting because the only faculty who bother to show up at these things are assholes. And I just get pissed off, and nothing ever is done about the student requests anyway. I'm sick of being uselessly pissed off.