observe me for any amount of time and you’ll likely come to the conclusion that I’m a stock character from an infomercial. you know. the jackass that fucks up everything they touch, but hilariously.
I like peace, quiet, and sensible conversation.
I don’t like political correctness, salt substitutes, or silly fads.
scratch that; I love silly fads; I just carry them on long past their expiration date. until it no longer counts as a silly fad, so much as a personal flaw.
I like my coffee bitter and dark, like my inner monologue.
I feel things very deeply, so I tend to cocoon myself in as many protective layers of self-deprecating irony as possible.
I’m good at being honest but bad at being tactful. I apologize in advance. (but by all means feel free to tell me to fuck off.)
don’t bother asking me to accept a thing on face value.
I get a kick out of stupid puns, i.e., Martin Luther really opened up a can of Worms. heh, get it? ’cause, like…well, never mind….
on that note, my sense of humor has scored me a personal escort to hell. join me, if you like; we have booze in first class.
good fences make good neighbors.
I like tacky footwear. do not speak ill of my shoes lest you find yourself being beaten by one of them. don’t worry, I don’t run very fast in one shoe.
I like to make pretty things, and am reasonably good at it.
teach me a good word and I’ll love you forever.
what’s the fucking point if you can’t laugh at yourself.