I used to have the nickname of Murphy. This of course, was in reference to Murphy’s law. You know, the “what can go wrong will….” law. For some crazy reason, people have thought that this actually pertains to me. I have thought long and hard on why this was related to me, but I had to cut my thinking short when that meteorite crashed through the roof of my apartment. After I had cleaned up all of the water from the broken fish tank (after cutting myself on the glass) and plugged in a replacement keyboard to my computer (irreparable bending one of the pins), I resumed thinking. I have no idea why I should have the nickname Murphy. Its just not something that makes sense.
Why are people outraged when they discover that in fact, the “Blair Witch Project” is NOT real. Is it because they think they were deceived by cunning filmmakers or because they realize just how mind numbingly stupid they are. Right now, one of you reading this out there is going : “Its FAKE?”.
I was on the bus once and was listening to the conversation being waged next to me. They were discussing homosexuality. The asked me if I had an opinion. I said I might, but I am biased. No, not because I am gay or anything like that (not that there’s anythign wrong with that…), but because I think I am a lesbian trapped in a mans body. Strangely, they thought this was an offensive thing to say. I was merely trying to be funny, and missing that, potentially stupid. But offensive? No.
I once had a “girlfriend” who claimed the reason I never knew what the hell was going on with us was because I hadn’t been given a copy of the script. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Even without a script, I played the part of the clueless dumb-ass pretty well. Call her, she would agree.
Today the script (what? you never got one? ) called for a trip to a large shopping mall called metrotown. Our protagonist : me. The quest : to buy a watch. The script did not mention anything about VISA cards inexplicably ceasing to work, the bank machine later gobbling it up, nor the snotty attitude of the jeweler in the jewelry store – “perhaps you should come back when you have some money…. Sir”. All of this after I showed her how to load the new roll of paper into the till. Today our protagonist saw all kinds of people at the mall. Really, a mall is a microcosm of society. You see everything there, the nosepickers, the totally like, like totally like slutty, like teenage girls everywhere, and those that instantly give you the impression that you are glad this isn’t a dark alley. I maybe paranoid, but as that famous person that I have forgotten the name of said : Being paranoid merely means that you have all of the facts. This being said, our protagonist, against all odds, managed to survive the experience without being declared fatally killed. At least, so far as I have lived the script.
I’m going to humanely put a bullet in the head of this update before it causes more carnage and the rest of the neighborhood chickens go missing. Thanks bye.