So I saw I had 900 followers (and a couple more) and I thought: woah. I need to give those new guys the lamest possible fucking welcome blog post ever, because it's my 99th blog post and I know I'd never forgive myself if I wasn't as pathetic as humanly possible here.
So, instead of some witty blog that makes you laugh, here you have the lamest possible thing:
You write too many blog posts.
I clench my fist. My frown deepens. The computer screen looks back at me, and it seems like it’s laughing at me. Kind of hard for something without a mouth, but… Look, I’m just being poetic here, okay. Of course it doesn’t look like it’s laughing. It’s a fucking screen. It looks square, and that’s it.
You write too many blog posts.
Well ain't Christmas just the best fucking season ever. Oh, wait. It's not.
At least for me, I don't know about you. Maybe you're like, this starry-eyed whimsical kind of person who believes in the Spirit of Christmas© and how its A Time for the Family©, and if that's the case then look, more power to you. That's pretty awesome. You go, girl.
Poof!
“Aragón.” A black figure appears right in front of me. Black as in clothes, not as in racism. “We need to talk.”
“Woah!” I almost spill the coffee I was drinking, and take a step back. “Holy fucknuggets, what the hell are you?!”
“I’m your – wait. Fucknuggets?”
”Twilight…” Pinkie swallowed her heart beatings so fast she could hardly hear herself. Her legs were trembling a little. She felt cold. “Would you…?”
“Yes?” Twilight asked, her voice soft as a puppy among towels. “Pinkie?”
“Would you…” Pinkie shook her head, and finally managed to make eye contact with Twilight. “Would you be my special somepony?”
Y'know, I consider myself pretty well-versed when it comes to English. Sure, I can't rhyme for fuck, and sure, it's been three years and I still can't pronounce the word 'schedule' correctly, and sure, my accent is probably pretty funny. But I can talk in English with little to zero trouble, and me grammar is well. Usually. Now and then I fuck up, but, you know. Normal stuff.
As I was walking home today, I made one very important decision:
I’m gonna write a story while wearing no pants, drinking beer, and with a video of two kangaroos having sex in the background.
Why? Many reasons. Wearing no pants is always relaxing, for example. Yes, my flatmates will get a little bit flustered, but, look, they knew what they were getting into when they said they’d share a house with me. Tough luck. At least they’ll get to gaze upon my mighty butt cheeks.
You know that feeling when you want to complain about something, and you just know people are going to look at you funny? I'm in that situation.
Y'see, it's official. In less than a week, I'll stop being a teenager.
That means it's harder for me to identify with Raphael now, which is sad
Chat Number One
Aragón: Oh, hey
Aragón: 800 followers!
Octavia Harmony: You should write a blog post.
Octavia Harmony: To celebrate.
Aragón: That sounds like an idea
Aragón: But I don’t know what to write
Octavia Harmony: Something funny?
Aragón: Yeah but what
Aragón: Like, I have no idea
Aragón: I’ll go ask Selbi
Chat Number Two
Selbi: Post nude pics.
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