Smithschick
30 Orlando, FL
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Smithschick
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My self-summary
Well, I am some what of an anarchist in the sense that I like to masturbate. Most of my free time is divided equally between masturbation and church activities, with a strong emphasis on masturbation DURING church activities. Often times I find myself masturbating to after school specials. If you are a lonely male who enjoys the smell of rotting meat, I will probably bang you.
What I’m doing with my life
Turning weird into a science, apparently. Majoring in eccentric cat lady with a minor in self destructive fallacies. Fluent in drunk languages of all sorts.
I’m really good at
Transcribing American infomercials for third world countries.
The first things people usually notice about me
"Hey, you look just like Juliette Lewis' less retarded sister. Can I buy you a drink?"
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Asimov
Bukowski
Huxley
A. Miller
Vonnegut
Hemingway
Kafka
Burroughs
Tolstoy
The game
Fowles
R. R. Martin
The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich
Hyperion
Poe
Oates
D. Adams
Tolkien
Hunter S. Thompson
All things World War ll related

Apocalypse Now
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Waking Life
The Human Centipede
Clockwork Orange
Dr. Strangelove
Kontrol
Chinatown
Taxadermia
Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?
West Side Story
The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Game of Thrones
Breaking Bad
The Twilight Zone
The Walking Dead
Unsolved Mysteries
Star Trek TNG
To Catch A Predator
Kitchen Nightmares

Buddy Holly
Sam Cooke
Smiths
Eels
elefant
The Bee Gees
Sneaker Pimps
Dandy Warhols
Fugees
Blonde Redhead
Billie Holiday
Ramones
Massive Attack
Velvet Undergound
Libertines
Kid Cudi
Ween
Ella Fitzgerald
Beach Boys
Elliot Smith
Portishead
Anything you can cry and fuck to simultaneously.

Oh and hummus. Lots and lots of hummus.
The six things I could never do without
Terrible question. Who arbitrarily capped the number of necessary things in my life at six? I'm getting performance anxiety just thinking about it.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Buddhism, crossword puzzles, stimulating reading material, crygasms, helper elves, drunks waxing philosophical about life, trip hop, dive bars, scepticism, human depravity, cats, serial killers, obscure ways to say fuck off in old timey slang ("go push a trolley"), Epicureanism, the lost art of self depreciation, moral ambiguity, tzatiki, how to avoid my mother's phone calls, insomnia, infomercials (see: insomnia), lucid dreaming, making matzo ball soup, science fiction, declaring unsatisfactory places as dead to me (e.g. Red Slobster), whether or not craigslist missed connections bare fruit, coffee.

Heavy shit, bro.
On a typical Friday night I am
Ideally, engaging in a mutual blowing of minds with a mysterious stranger. Realistically, floundering about like a gin soaked degenerate in a shallow attempt to distract myself from the futility of life. Then, IHOP.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I was fired from my first job under tumultuous circumstances.

Remember those poor idiots at the mall dressed up as giant ice cream cones condemned to hand out free samples? That was me.

Until the day they found me bawling my eyes out in the ladies room trying to shovel half melted butter pecan through the screen of my cone suit.

In my defense, I was tripping my dick off on mescaline at the time.
You should message me if
You have a picture of yourself grinning and holding a fish you just caught.

You're already composing an overly ambitious response that details your fifth grade masturbatory efforts.

You want to buy the movie rights to my life and turn it into a PG-13 romantic comedy starring that girl from my 600 lb life.

You reek of the sour musk of desperation.
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