That being said, SPOILER ALERT, my ending will probably consist of at least one major organ ceasing its primary functions. You can stop reading now. You already know that Dumble---- me, I, this stranger you're reading about, dies at the end of the 6th book.
And now, completely out of sequence, here's some other shit you can read:
Me = music x beach volleyball - television that didn't begin its run in the 90s + gourmet, gluten-free cooking x writing - cauliflower + tennis + music
Don't bother checking the back of the book on that one. Math is pretty much my strongest suit; I failed algebra 152 on purpose and at that point I felt college level mathematics were just too far beneath me to bother with. I have algorithm-offs with every Greek mathematician every time I pop down to the Elysian Fields for a drink.
Which would be fantastic and vital and lively and lovely... If I was actually doing anything.
Working various food service jobs for shit pay, waiting until my mastery of derogatory admonishment becomes sufficient for professional chef-work or stand up comedy... hardly counts as a thing.
If I were more muscular and my accent more distinguished, maybe the movie of my life where I star as a rapidly aging man still stuck immature in his mothers house would be charming like it was for Matthew McConnick Jr. or whatever. But I'm not, it's not, and it's really just not.
So, you know, I'm pretty successful.
Craftcrafting (I made a boat once. Put a lizard in it and sailed it down a drainpipe. The lost voyage of Captain Greenscale....)
I'm guessing. It's been at least a year or two since I fell out of the habit of asking new acquaintances, "Excuse me, new acquaintance, but would you mind telling me exactly what you thought of me when first we met?"
And, because all of a sudden I'm compelled to give less sardonic answers, probably just whatever painfully bright colors or clashing patterns I happen to be wearing?
As for movies, I'll watch anything as long as it isn't nominated for an Oscar or an MTV Award. Favorites include The Princess Bride, The Usual Suspects, Galaxy Quest, Dark Days, Star Trek 4 (the one about whales), 500 Days of Summer, Paranormal Activity and Pokemon: The First Movie
Shows: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Xena: Warrior Princess, Hercules the Legendary Journeys, Farscape, Sex and the City, Degrassi: the Next Generation... y'know, manly shows like these. As far as stuff that isn't horribly dated and/or eerily estrogenic... Shows about psychosis and or death I guess? Breaking Bad, Dexter, American Horror, Walking Dead. Joel Osteen. Things like that.
Music: I have music phases. (which is way less exciting than having music phasers) Currently hipping and hopping around the underground to inspire an inexplicable desire to turn my poetry into rhyme. Favorite rapper... Probably Gift of Gab or Pharoahe. Favorite genres though? Probably always metal, prog and jazz. Random artists:
... and August Burns Red's Christmas Album, definitely.
The longer my beard gets, the more indie hippie ukelele music and/or Viking metal I find myself listening to.
Food: I have an autoimmune disorder of the intestines. Due to this I've been prescribed a diet, customized to fit my needs. I don't eat wheat/gluten, certain grains, and try to avoid too much meat. It takes some getting used to, but luckily I'm an excellent cook... Also Cheetos and skittles are gluten free, so....
Consumption (mostly food and media, occasionally booze and Stevia)
Functional Ears and Taste Buds (the rest of my senses I could do without [and to some extent do without already... I'm half blind and don't have functioning nerve endings in my hands because soy oil...)
Pencils (number 2s. Ticonderoga. Or those ones that look like dollar bills, for motivation... Get out of here with your mechanical pencils and your stylus that only writes on pixels and your three dee printer!)
Potato Chips (waffle cut. unsalted.)
I imagine I think a lot about food and sex, too, but definitely not as much as rhythm.
Perhaps rhythmic sex could work, but I'm skeptical towards rhythmic food.
The reason why the righthand curl of my mustachio never curls quite right, and the lefthand curl is left bereft of a curling partner....
What causes people to take things so seriously, and where I can get a sweet purple coat to go with my neon green shirts.
Participating in pogo-stick competitions with zombified gerbils.
Expectorationg from a bridge onto passersby below.
Spirit-walking through Indonesian brothels.
Pedantically projecting prose onto pixels.
Tossing salads, covering chopped catfish in cornmeal and hot oil, getting people drunk and fat for tips, scrubbing tile, herbal tea nightcap, half-remembered Netflix bedtime story.
But then a combination of drugs and me realizing it didn't matter made me an idiot.
I used to be fun, but then a combination of mild narcissism and sober living made me a complete bore
Oh, and, I've probably cyberstalked the profile of just about every human in the area, and several whose humanity could be questioned. Why are all y'all bitches so attractive!?
I'm a weird kind of vaguely defined queer. I have plenty of theories on sexuality that we should totally talk about, but for the sake of conciseness I'll just say here that I'm picky with personalities and not so much for anatomies.
I am forever torn between my love for beards and my proclivity to cross-dress.
I am wildly inconsistent, though the more kind among us tend to call it mercurial or creative or ultraspiritual, which I guess sound nicer, but mostly means I'm erratic and have been yelled at many times by bandmates and sous chefs for unexpected improvisation.
Most importantly, if you understand the distinctions between sarcasm and cynicism; between satire and malice; between the buried and me; between between and betwixt, etc....