I am a dirty dirty liar. But you like that don’t you. Oh yeah. Dirrrrrty. What? Oh. Sorry. Well, like I said, I am a liar. I promised, PROMISED all my many readers that I would post a real post last week but I didn’t. I am the worst person in existence. Throw me into the fire! Time to meet goat man and eat a salad. To bad the internet has no accountability! HA! Jokes on you, internet. Pssh, you think you are so high and mighty but you are just as full of inanity as the rest of us! (I would never be inane.)
Well, to make up my last unfulfilled promise I shall make ANOTHER unfulfilled promise! Promises for everybody! Woo. I have decided to pick a single day of the week to always update on, weekly! Do I know which day? No. I don’t. Stop asking. YOU ARE SO NEEDY. Expect either Tuesday, Thursday, or Sunday. Actually, don’t expect anything, and then you will never be disappointed and can go back to your empty, fruitless life infront of your computer as you dream about one day owning your own zucchini plantation. (Maybe that’s just me. Must be the asbestos.)
As penance for my sin I decided that I would shave my head and go live on a farm for 3 years. But I’m not going to do that, because that is a really extreme punishment for not updating a blog, and you people need to calm down. Seriously. Instead I’m going to lie some more. Actually, I’m going to expose my lies to the world! (The portion of it that reads this anyway.)
That guy is not me. It’s just a picture I found on the internet. Try googling “super hot sex-god looking away from camera in a sharp vest that makes him trim and masculine at the same time and makes all the ladies say ‘ahhhh’ yet also denotes his superior intelligence and wit and has a sensitive face that knows what you are feeling and makes you feel comfortable just being yourself” and you’ll find just that picture! (Maybe)
There is no such thing as hats. They don’t exist. They are just an illusion propagated by the French-Canadians. Never trust a French-Canadian who is (apparently) wearing a hat.
ODSGJ actually does stand for something, I’m just not going to tell you what. It’s a secret. It adds to they mystery. I know you like ’em mysterious…
I’m not actually single. In fact, I have 30 girlfriends, who are all ok with me sleeping with 29 other people. And they all look like this:
I have no idea how to properly insert images into this blog, and cannot predict what the published post will look like. Probably weird. I should learn HTML.
I’m not going to.
The president is actually a blow up sex doll. That’s why Hilary was so upset when she lost. It was her doll after all!
I was never an adventurer like you, but I could have been, ’till I faked taking an arrow to the knee.
All your base are not belong to us. Sorry for the confusion.
Memes are not, in fact, funny. Now in light of that let’s sit back and watch the internet crumble. To ashes, Rome!
Finding 5 dollars at the end of stories actually does make them better. (And then I found 5 dollars)
All of your cellphone calls are being listened in on by Bill Murray. Yes, Bill Murray indeed. He is disappointed in you, Robert.
You were the 1,000,000th visitor, and you missed out on that trip to Hawaii. They were just going to GIVE it to you!
White chocolate is the only chocolate. Everything else has just been out too long. Don’t eat it. EW.
The sky is not blue. The sky is clear, obviously. It’s space that’s blue. The sun illuminates it. At night it’s dark so it looks black. Space is not a vacuum, but a big velvet sphere wrapped around the world, and stars are just holes that have been poked in it. As far as you know.
I have three legs but no fingers. Typing is hard.
Right now you are looking a dense grouping of different colored lights and you are getting information from it that reminds you of molecules slamming into membranes inside of your head. And that means something to you. I think you should see a doctor.
Well, that’s all the truth-telling I can handle at the moment, considering that I am a pathological liar, which means I lie to pathogens. Always trying to get me, those pathogens. (Germs, pathogens are germs) Actually I think I’m allergic to truth. It makes uncomfortable, mostly because certain parts of my body have broken out in hives (feet). I hope you’re happy, making me do something like this, in public. Bastards.
As you all know, I have no problems. Mostly because I rarely leave my room, or experience social activities. (What are parties? Why do people keep talking about them when they can never seem to remember them? They sound awful) The closest thing I did the past week to a social outing was to go to dinner. On Valentines Day. With Ryan. You all may know Ryan, I’ve mentioned him before. His life is very difficult, mostly because he routinely makes bad decisions. Such as going out to dinner on Valentine’s Day with a man. A man’s man like myself. (Not a man’s man, cause would that be a man who likes men? Woman’s man then.) That brings me to a new segment called:
The first of his problems is that he doesn’t want his problem’s shared on the internet. Who wouldn’t want that? Only the best people are on the internet, they are all so nice and supportive of each other. However, because I’m not a terrible friend I must respect his wishes to the extent that I can deny everything because I am being vague. This will be good for him, I just know it. See, when it comes to Ryan’s problems I find myself coming up with brilliant tidbits of wisdom that need to be shared with the world. What a source of inspiration that guy is.
Always be honest with people, except when they ask you to be honest with them.
Because when they ask you to be honest they actually want you to lie, under the pretense of being honest which makes it an even worse lie. But its for their own good. Now, you might be thinking to yourself “Well this blog is somewhat satirical, how do I know that you are telling the truth?” but I’m here to tell you that there is no satire on this blog. All serious, all the time. Comfort people, people! You’re all terrible.
Sincerely, Buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.
Smile, it’ll make you happier, because it will piss other people off.