Here’s a list of what i might blog about
- family… probably not, they may find this blog, besides, my neuroses – and theirs – are something to expose in my fiction.
- housemate… no, funny as he is, he has blog address.
- landlord… nope, already worried they might read this and figure out a tenant is getting ready to quit.
- people on Twitter… gawd, no, not again
- people in real life… people? lol…. real life? not at the moment, i’m in limbo.
- how much i hate religion or the pope… done it to death, really, though no doubt at next stupid proclamation like ‘condoms cause AID’s!’ i shall probably say something.
- sex and politics… nah, something different
- fucktards… wait, that might work. People never tire of fucktards and rants about them
Well, they might tire eventually, but it can be entertaining for simply ages. So, what is a fucktard? We are all fucktards at times, we all struggle with the Fucktard Within.
For instance, i back out of a parking spot, nearly collecting someone driving past. I am the fucktard, i didn’t look, or i did look once, then was distracted, and didn’t look again before i committed. Screech of brakes, thankful lack of actual collision and a mea culpa on the fucktarditis. We all do it.
We nearly have that nasty accident. We realise before we light the match that the gas has been on for too long, and decide to just turn the gas off and open the house. We’re about to gun through an intersection as the light changes, and instead stop in time, and avoid the result of our own stupidity. We all have that moment, or the several moments.
Acronyms on the net turn all of us into fucktards. In the overuse of them, and in our misunderstandings of them. Like the woman who thought LOL meant lots of love – and found out it meant Laughing Out Loud only after she’d put it into a condolences email.
Some people become terminal fucktards. These people often win Darwin Awards – these honour those who take themselves out of the gene pool. They also have Honorable Mentions, for those who don’t die.
So that’s being a fucktard. There are degrees.
Now what? I’m all out of fucktard inspiration. I read some Darwin Awards and i’m not sure we are all fucktards – i think maybe some are, some just have bouts of it. If we are lucky, we survive.
Unfortunately, death by fucktarditis, though cutting a swathe through the population of young men, isn’t common enough with women – there are too many of them breeding.
You only have to watch an episode of any plastic surgery gameshow reality show. Woman goes on about how much she hates her bat ears and massive hook nose, and how she’s going to enjoy her new face sans such horrors. Meanwhile, there are her six children, all with her bat ears and hook nose, cheering Mum on.
Enough about fucktards. What else is news?
Wait, i no longer care, there’s a fucktard on the telly – if you have National Geographic Channel, check out Dangerous Encounters. No other naturalist gets as scared as Dr. Brady Barr, herpetologist, and the man who made “Get it off me!” a catchphrase.
He’s running around dragging a something on rope, making a Komodo dragon chase him, he’s already run off screaming once. Classic Barrisms include “out of my way!” as he runs screaming from whatever is biting him this week, and “Get it off me!”
In nearly every episode he gets bitten or strangled by something – it’s like nature’s revenge on the Steve Irwin Wannabe’s now infesting every nature program.
Dr Barr also gets stuck in the mud whilst surrounded by hippos, while wearing a hippo costume. Yep, it’s the sort of thing one watches when people are annoying you. You cheer as he gets bitten by snakes, and hope a croc rips his leg off.
As Mr Whatsit just said, Dr Barr squeals like a girl. HAHAHAHAHAHA! He just got Komodo Dragon spit in his mouth! OMG this guy is perfect.
He is moi fucktard-of-the-moment.
I have to go, this episode he’s doing giant salamanders!