people are shit & other musings during a rage blackout

I don’t want to hate people. Truly. My life would be so much easier if I thought people were okay and liked being around them and didn’t mind sharing my oxygen/space/existence with them. Turns out though, people are mostly shit.

While most people try to make as many friends as possible and jizz themselves every time they get a Facebook friend request or new follower on Instagram or someone pokes their tweet or whatever, I’d rather not. Generally if I get a Facebook friend request I sigh, roll my eyes, and try to decide the level of awkwardness if I decline or ignore it. If the level of awkwardness will be less than 80%, request denied mother fucker. You’ll be worth the “accept” if you’re somewhat entertaining, a complete hot mess, or at least I know you won’t be talking about your fucking baby or lame ass boyfriend/girlfriend every 10 seconds. Seriously, fuck your baby. Pictures of puppies and videos of your cat trying to climb into a box or sneak attacking your other cat, I’m so down.

I have some friends I guess. I like some of them more than others. Real talk, if certain people just disappeared it would probably take me 6 months to 14 years to notice. I’m disgusted by neediness and clinginess and codependency. I try to understand it, but if I’m really honest with myself I don’t empathize with it. You can’t wipe your ass without someone’s permission? Gross. You’d ditch your friends to get some random dick? Die.

I think every year I give less and less fucks about how many contacts I have in my cell phone. I know I have a handful of ride or dies that I can text at 3:00 a.m. to ask their opinion on bloody poops and what level of ass cancer that probably indicates. Being able to block people from calling/texting is the greatest phone feature that ever happened to me. Oh, you’re excited that you can watch amateur teen porn on your commute home? I’m excited that I currently have 112 blocked numbers. To each his own.

I guess I should wait until I’m older to play the senile, it’s cute when I’m offensive/racist/sexist, card until I’m at least close to diaper times. But fuck it. I’m gonna play that card now. Let’s be real, with my lifestyle I won’t have any of those golden years to fart in public and shrug my shoulders and have people just smile like I laid a fucking golden egg. That was a mushroom cloud of stored up ass that’s been brewing for 70 years. That’s not cute. Ever. But I’ll play along because I walked to school barefoot in the snow while battling bears and vampires. I do what I want!

I’m not going to pretend that you’re not a douchebag. I’m not going to pretend that you’re fun to be around. I’m not going to pretend that the sound of your voice doesn’t make me want to drown baby mice. (I know, I know. Baby mice!? I’ve gone too fucking far.) If you’re a shitty person I don’t have time for it. I never signed a contract that I had to hang out with you. I need another obligation like I need more ass cancer.

I’ll start caring when people stop sucking. Unless I wake up one day and have the magical power to turn everyone into puppies and kittens. That just made me feel something that might be happiness. Oh wait, I farted.