[Edits on sedatives shall appear in bracket things]
(Heh that picture is nearly 2 years old. I had not realized that until now.)
I live in Zeus's butthole Nebraska. I'm waiting for 2008 to see if I must flee to Canada, there I will start a small business in manufacturing dreams. [I am] I like driving around because I HAVE NOWHERE TO FUCKING LIVE. By myself anyway, and alone time is so important. People for reasons not obvious to me have a way of throwing me off in person. I either lose my sense of self, or lose a sense of anything. It's just always been this way. After knowing someone a while it fades. What do you mean social anxiety? Above all, I believe in Karma. Not really a sentient force if you will, but more if you're a douche-bag you'll probably be treated as such. Try not to think of it as manipulating persons perceptions of me to attain a prefered treatment, which is only maybe a quarter true, but I have a painfully keen moral compass. My vocabulary used to be massive. Lack of use has effectively killed it. Ditto to espanol. I make a lot of plans, usually while I'm supposed to be actually doing something I planned earlier. Likewise I'm a chronic procrastinator. I come yay far to success before tripping and failing on my face. Always. Girls don't make me nervous. Pretty girls make me nervous. I always end up dating older girls... I don't know why.

Other than that, I'm just some guy obsessed with weird things. Like otay, suicide girls, sexual psyche, and why in the fuck do they tax me more for overtime?! Fuckers! [Frickin' Sweet!]

When the fuck did my thing start saying I'm "more emotional?" Dammit.

I tend to sleep a lot. I think given the choice, my body would rather be comatose 85% of the time. I have a bad memory, and at the same time, a startlingly sharp memory of all the wrong things. I've got talent maybe... but I don't really know what for. Right now I just shoot down 14 & 15 year old girls left and right. Because, damn. It's like the world wants me to end up in prison.

I also tend to fuck up my life more than anything else.

I'm killing time trying to figure out what life's all about, and trying to secure something resembling an okay future. Since my ultimate goal certainly isn't going to happen overnight, I'm looking into taking a little college (you win this round America) and maybe teaching some English to some Japanese kids. This means I have to learn Japanese which is amazingly pretty simple. Well, if you decide never to write it. Romaji for me yo. [Oh, and I own Incredible Karma Photography. Holla!]

People have repeatedly tried to convince me I have writing talent, I think I'm probably average. Even if I were great at it it wouldn't make any difference because I'm not really old enough to know dick about dick. I sometimes manage to be smooth. I'm annoyingly good at listening, fucking nice-boy syndrome. My tongue does not cramp.

Pretty decent at embarrasing myself, plotting impossible coups of various governments (Better watch your back Lichtenstien), making apple bongs once, thinking of the perfect thing to say... 30 seconds late, and verbally devestating hillbillies.

Oh yeah, and I'm really good at complaining. I am a whiny bitch.

I want to say hair color, but anymore I don't really do so much of that. It's been purple, blue, green, orange, red, hot pink, and all sorts of combinations. I've pretty much ran out of possibilities. I guess they notice my sarcasm, rook piercing, and honesty. Honesty because I mean seriously, fuck them. I'm also short. Which pretty much fucking sucks. Now the pretty girls are above me literally. What an uncomfortable juxtaposition.

Lately, I've been much less guarded about all my strange ways, so I would hope people have noticed. Just not noticed enough to put me in a little white room.

Movies:
Mallrats.
Clerks.
Chasing Amy.
The Way of the Gun.
The Boondock Saints.
Fight Club.
Death to Smoochy.
American History X.
Nightmare Before Christmas.
American Beauty.
John Q.
Full Metal Jacket.
A Clockwork Orange.
Secret Window.
Ghost World.
Falling Down.
Reservoir Dogs.
But I'm a Cheerleader.
Ghost Ship.
Requiem for a Dream.
Donnie Darko.
Pi.
Seven.
Fallen.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Pump up the Volume.
Punch Drunk Love.
The Manchurian Candidate.
Versus-Maybe you have to be high... It's fucking AWESOME.
This little short in German that was on Windows Media for a while about a business man and a homeless person outside his office. It was so damned beautiful.
Suicide Kings.
The Rules of Attraction - Even if it actually makes me want to kill myself to watch it.
Seven hours of all midget-donkey-latex-S&M-internal explosion-action with guest voice: Leonard Nimoy, Volume 27.

Books:
Catch-22.
The Invisible Man.
Owen Meany.
The Corpse in the Painting (available in print soon)
As I lay Dying.
The Great Gatsby.
Slaughter House Five.
Anything by Hunter S. Thompson.
and once more Catch-22.
[Chuck P. You brilliant bastard]
(I haven't had a chance to be very well-read)
Music: Too Fucking Much.

Food: Mmm Food. I swear I could be the MacGuyver of food. Whatcha got? Flour? Is that all? Hmm. Get me a cup of milk and we're gonna have Bourbon Steaks with veggie kabobs. I have no idea how I do it, I just do. As far as my tastes go, I'll eat just about anything as long as it's got FLAVOR. I've been told I put an unhealthy amount of spice in my food. Admittedly my cupboard is a clutter of little jars of this and that, but I think I have pretty good restraint. Anymore I've just learned to offer to cook for everyone, and never risk their cooking. I do a fairly decent scratch spaghetti sauce, well... I've only had call to do so once. But that's what freaks me out. I can pretty much make it up on the first try.

Fuck... 1) Paper and Pens. 2) Cell Phone 3) TV with DVD 4) DVD's 5) psudo-intellectuals 6) Blowjobs... sure, why not? What the fuck do I need with six things? Either I just need music and conversation... or I need thirty hundred things... there is no in between.

I'm rewriting this. Babbling nonsense is bad.

Working. Fucking bastards. If I have the day off by some stroke of luck I am painstakingly looking for something entertaining. Having a good conversation, drinking, seeing a good movie, anything.

If I had Fridays off though: You would so want my parties. Envy them.

Rewriting this, my willingness is not what it used to be.

You can handle me using the word 'fuck' like a comma.
Or, if you feel like it. Actually you should just probably never ever message me.