I was walking on the beach during sunset. The sun was giving a pink purplish flirt from between long puffy clouds. Stepping on the uneven sand, contemplating, fancying myself a fucking poet. I was thinking of the same thing many poets like to think about – I was thinking of pussy.
So I came up with the idea of putting up this blog, because everyone has a blog these days, and that is a sure way to waste enough of my time, until I stumble across a beautiful lady. Then we go on a date; then, we do not go on a second date. Finally, my self-esteem goes to shit. If I am lucky, and only if I am lucky, every such a saga concludes in me getting enough courage to go out and find myself a less-than-nice looking chick to have sex with. That does not really help me with my self-esteem either; Because she was nothing like I wanted. And yet, I had her, so I can’t really complain; not because I do not want to, but because for some reason I should find that comforting, the fact that I had sex with a woman, who was not my type at all, should – from a modern point of view – give me comfort. I do not find much peace in fucking ugly chicks. On the surface, it seems like others lose their pain is such an unholy activity, but I seriously doubt that. In this manner, I go on and on with this stupid blog post, until enough time passes and I come across a beautiful lady, or a second beautiful lady, I lost count at this point.
Yeah, so what is the point of all this? This is a self-help blog. My self-help. I write here to help myself, in case you were wondering. I might write about 1000-2000 words, and if I manage to nail one sentence, you guys are going to read it and be like “Oh shit this guy is awesome, he is worth my five bucks” so you go ahead and donate me 5 dollars; And if that happens enough times, I will have enough money to buy myself a Netflix subscription; And leave the internet alone. And then, on Netflix, I could spend the majority of my time until some pretty lady comes, probably from tinder, and if I manage to impress her like I impressed you guys, with my superior writing ability, wit, and concealed undertone of depression, she might agree on going out on a date with me, only to be disappointed later by the amount of time I spend on Netflix..
I usually end my days with a meditation, a chant even, where I think of all my plans, organize my priorities, get myself going with all the great things I want to accomplish in life, and a plan of meditating in the morning to remind myself of my goals, my dreams, and get myself going. I go to bed with an awesome book at hand, and I enjoy it very much, as I have managed to pick up a healthy habit of reading over the years, eventually, I fall asleep. Wake up rejuvenated, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, and when it is time to meditate again – I open up Youtube, burn a third of a day, eat lunch, burn another third(possibly youtube, possibly videogames, probably porn), get depressed, get my shit together, be productive for like an hour or so, and finish up with my evening routine as described above. Living the dream.
Today is different though, today I am writing a reasonably embarrassing blog post, however, it is not that bad because I am not putting my real name over it, not yet at least. So I did something for today – I did something awkward, yet the moment of where I find myself feeling the embarrassment will come only after I post my work on the internet. And that will be my day.
All I can think of at this point is that I could use a native speaker who could fix posts such as this one: Fixing parts with improperly written sentences, or maybe a grammatical structure – a Frankenstein like sentence which might have arisen only from an imbecilic non-native mind; Something that sounds so wrong, it will never sound right. So I am up for propositions for help, be it English, be it mental help, or maybe just a general proposition of you telling me to go and fuck myself; an offer I will most definitely decline, but I would still appreciate it.
So now, I am going to turn up the pretentious fancypants language up to the maximum and close it off with a Shakespearean quote:
“Were I to have more joys in bed, this blog would not exist.” This is a word for word of what Shakespear had once written – you see, Shakespear was ahead of his time, he had a blog way before computers were invented; And apparently, he did not get laid during that period either, which is quite sad, because he was Shakespear – who deserves more than a decent bang than that guy, right?