So Much For That

I was so looking forward to coming home and writing Friday night, but wound up being pretty much in agony with back pain exacerbated by period cramps until Sunday morning. I’ve had better weekends.

And you’ve had better Mondays, because this leaves you with nothing to read when you’re supposed to be working for a living. Dammit!

Foiled by the universe again.

My back has improved considerably since yesterday morning, though. Graduating from somewhere near “agonizing” to merely “sucking ass totally”, but, believe you me, that’s not just mere semantics — that’s change! And I’ll take it.

I have nothing else to really report, except I got this comment yesterday from someone who’s all pissed I had the gall to do the lame-ass “you can donate to my PayPal” request on my birthday posting, and also totally chewed me out for chewing out someone who left a comment, since I should apparently just delete comments instead of chewing the person out.

What fun is that, though? I have a million arguments on why that posting deserved reaming in particular, but I deleted yesterday’s comment, so I won’t bother with specifics. Hey, he more or less told me to do so. I aim to please.

But let’s say two things here and now. If I want to be a loser and ask for money, since you never know if you don’t try, that’s my prerogative. I’m the stupid fuck who’s whiling away MY life to write this blog, so why not ask for reward? I’ve been broke off my fucking ass all year, so why the hell NOT ask for money? If you laugh at it, GREAT, because I’m being half tongue-in-cheek about it. If you donate, then holy shit, awesome! If you ignore it, all the power to you. Who gives a fuck? But to waste time getting RILED because I’m being a goof? Well, that’s your prerogative, but don’t expect me to care.

Oh, and never mind that I spend a couple hundred bucks a year on hosting fees or countless hours writing. I work for a living, too, you know. Clearly *my* time isn’t worth anything so long as you have your 2.3 minutes worth of reading. Fucking hell.

And, finally, if you don’t like my writing, don’t waste my time, and don’t waste yours. Go read someone else. Seriously. Life’s too fucking short. For either of us.

I learned a long time ago — all the things that piss people off about me are the things others come to love about me. So I’d rather keep it simple, be myself, and worry about the select people who actually can like someone who’s an acquired taste as much as I am, and fuck the rest. Because life’s too short.

Oh, and this guy gave me hell for trying to be the ruler of The Internetz. Um, I’m not, dude. But it’s my blog. I used to call it The Cunting Linguist. Do you really think I’m all about sunshine and roses, pleases and thank yous? No, I can be a cunt. It’s what I do. I can be a bitch here as much as I like. See the quote on the bottom of my sidebar? When you’re slapped, you’ll take it and like it? Right.

And if not, then there’s the door.