Dear Life Cereal...

I wrote this on the 26th of January, before I had a blog. Ha-ha.

3:09am

Interests - Music, writing, reading, motorbikes, sleeping, sex, other people, organized religion's continued existance, food, ranting, the mind

Music journalism? Journalism in general. Get to see interesting places, travel the world, still academic. Would probably have to talk to shit bands though.
Be in a band? Unfortunately, not enough drive to learn an instrument properly, get frustrated too easily.
Sleeping is not a career choice. Best to let this one go.
Erotic novel writing? ... Gay. Could cause death by lulz
Sexual psychology could be interesting. Although would probably involve boring stuff and would annoy me. And bit of a bullshit subject rly
Psychology related subjects in general? Need to look into this more.
Theological studies? Possibly. Although would probably be full of bible bashers. Consider, theological psychology or something. Effects of organized religion, controlling aspects etc. Theological history? Could essentially be sunday school without the propaganda... Come back to this
Food critic. Could be a very enjoyable career choice, although would probably have to eat something tomato-based at some point. This could end in nervous
breakdown. Reconsider, look into. Do I have a choice in what I eat? What is the probability than in the future I would have to review a restaurant that serves only tomato-based products?
Professional ranter(ist? ite?) Is this a job? If not, contact Department for education. Suggest new option for universities. This could tie in well to journalism. Consider contacting Jeremy Clarkson. Or, become famous in order to secure weekly column in newspaper. SERIOUSLY THINK ABOUT THIS ONE.

In conclusion, it appears my talents lie in writing nonsensical and pointless lists at 3:17am in the morning, therefore leading me to believe I should probably pursue a career in something writing-related. Find a niche. Don't want to study something shit like English Literature at A-Level though, would probably eat own head. Consider proof-reading as a part time endeavour. I WISH I WAS A SUPER GENIUS OF SOME SORT.

Things I am definitely not interested in:
Biology. Study of the human body can fuck off. I don't want to know how my ovaries work, they annoy me enough already. Knowing that plants give out oxygen is more than enough on this subject thank you.
Geography. Nuff said. Earth's crust? Paah. I'm more interested in pizza crust.
PE. LOLOLOLOLOL WTF? Was this subject created for people who can't think? I mean, really. I'm sure about 98% of child molestation in schools is linked to PE teachers. [Footnote: Incantation are fucking awesome. I wish I had been part of the early 90s New York death metal scene. They must be super self-actualized].
Mathematical Statistics. Aite, I love maths and only wish that others could see it's horrifying relevance in the modern world, but come on. Nobody likes stats. Even statisticians.
Anything to do with nursing, or old people. Props to nurses and shit, but I personally would not like to get sicked on by other people. Thanks. Also, I have no heart and do not care whether other people are ill or not. I would be instantly fired if I purused a career in nursing or care (jajaja lol). "We think
this man has been having pulmonary embolisms," "...Fuck off, I'm trying to eat my sandwich. I mean, Christ. Look at this thing. It's like a... A god in sandwich form. Not that I believe in god, mind. Leave me alone." And I concur.
Anything remotely linked to teenagers. I am one myself and I can't stand them. I'm quite sure I am a 67-year-old allotment keeper stuck in a sexy, sexy body. Damn.
Anything to do with the council. Fuck. That. Shit.

Consider a teaching job, possibly headmaster position. I love talking about how wonderful I am, isn't that what they do? I could get someone to do filing for me. Not that I can't file documents, I could do that shit onetime. But when one must devote one's time into thinking up elaborate ways of working oneself into casual everyday conversation, one cannot concern oneself with the menial task of filing one's documents. Booyah.

I have really not helped myself at all. Once again, what started as a serious foray into my own mind has become a one-woman comedy show that I am writing solely for my own amusement. Education? PAAAH! Give me a textbook and a packet of crisps, I'll have learnt this shit in a day (unless a new Assassin's Creed game comes out, in which case it will take me a week and a day).

Secondary conclusion: I am destined to roam the Earth trying to find my niche. Will probably find niche in a burger joint in Tenessee or somewhere equally tragic. Hopefully will get talent scouted by dude in tight trousers looking for charismatic and feisty frontwoman/lyricist for his super-original doom-glam
metal band. We will storm the underground and become a national sensation, all eventually dying from overdosing on our own awesomeness, or consuming too much chocolate brioche. One day, tight-trousered dude. One day.

3:36am.

Yes, I am still here. I am not sure why, one has discovered the best thing to do is not question it. In fact, don't question anything. It's really annoying. I only wish I could blindly accept what the world churns out. I think I would be a lot happier if I wasn't the stark intellctual force that I am. It's
becoming a problem. Soon I fear it will interfere with my personal relationships, forcing me to chill only with other stark intellectuals. Who we all know, are a bunch of boring wankers who would be even more anal about apostrophe placement than I am. Plus, I dislike chillin wit people cleverer than me, So I suppose I will have to continue habiting among the commoners. What a shame.

I would join MENSA, but I don't like organized groups like that. And organization in general. It's ridiculous that such a boring factor is so important in the real world. I mean, looking at my albeit slightly untidy room, you would never assume it to be the breeding ground for breakthrough intelligence such as mine. Which I think is a damn shame. [Footnote: FUCK OFF FILTER KEYS. WTF IS FILTER KEYS ANYWAY? JUST BECAUSE I HELD DOWN SHIFT FOR 8 SECONDS DOESN'T MEAN I WANT TO TURN THE BASTARDING THING ON. MAYBE I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT WHAT TO WRITE NEXT...?! Fucking Microsoft. It's because of you that people stopped capitalizing the words at the beginning of sentences, in fear that they would accidentally turn on fucking filter keys. IF I WANTED TO TURN ON FILTER KEYS,
I WOULD FUCKING ASK IT. SO PISS OFF]. [Footnote: Wtf am I listening to, btw? I wasn't aware I had any shit experimental dubstep on here. Get off my iTunes, and more importantly, out of my ears].

I've lost my thread now, but I feel it is time to move onto something new anyway as whatever subject I was bullshitting on about before has started to bore me.I'm not sure if any offending culprits are reading this, seeing as only the most dedicated of stalkers will have come this far, but I have a bone to pick with you. What is 'definately?' Do you mean 'defiantly?' Why is the 'a' there? Who taught you to spell definite like that? It's definite, definitely. Not definate, definately. They are not words in the English language. Please man up and use the correct spelling, or expect a visit from the Grammar Nazis very, very soon. We will find you, and we will kill your firstborn sons. ALL OF THEM. NO MISUSE OF LANGUAGE, NO MERCY!

If I was King of England, I would see to it that everybody in the country was to attend a short course on correct apostrophe placement and use of "they're," "there," "their," etc. I understand that the Jews have invented some sort of fantasy disease known as 'Dyslexia', but we will tolerate their excuses no
longer. Dyslexia caused the fall of the British Empire. Dyslexia lets illegal immigrants in. Dyslexia is the reason you no longer leave the house after 9pm.Dyslexia is writing articles for the Daily Mail as we speak. Extra exam time?!?!?! I DON'T FUCKING THINK SO! If you are a not a proven mental retard, you
have NO EXCUSE not to be able to spell and arrange words correctly. If you ARE a mental retard, get yourself to a sanitarium quicksmart. Learn English. Or leave England.

I often wonder if anyone else is as amused by these late night ramblings as I am. I don't really know where it all comes from. It's a rare talent to possess, rambling. I'm still fine-tuning my techniques, but feel I am possibly surpassing the standards of professional ramblerists already, at my tender age of 81
(I wish). [Footnote: I would like to point out I am writing this without a backspace key. Just throwing that out there]. I've been a rambler for a few years now. Hmm, I sense a flashback. Yes... Yes...

On second thoughts, I am not going to write all that down. It isn't actually that interesting, and I also can't be arsed. Plus, to document historical events would be to lean away from the true ramblist spirit. One must not tar oneself by writing about real stuff. There are English graduates who do that,
and shit. [Footnote: Realised that very early Primordial sounds a BIT LIKE Cradle of Filth. A BIT. Not quite sure how to feel about this information].

4:02am.

I think I'm going to smoke a fag now. Brb.

4:05am.

Rolled fag, am smoking now. Also replaced the lightbulbs in my chandelier (yes, that's right. I got me a chandelier. What do you have? Nothing. Because you are a mere piss stain upon mortal peasantry). It's quite strange having light in my room. Found a packet of pez also. Why, and where the fuck did I buy pez sweets? No doubt from fucking Topshop or somewhere else equally as shit and overpriced. This angers me. I am now one of millions representing the blank face of consumerism. DAMNIT!

4:09am.

The intellectual standard of my rant has diminished. I'm going to stop now. If you're lucky, I'll write another one soon. [Footnote: I didn't actually post this with the intention of posting it on Gaybook. It begun as a serious note-to-self concerning my future in education, and somehow turned into pure procrastination. Damn you unemployment. Damn you to hell].


So long, stalkers. Don't get caught, and listen to old-school metal. Somebody told me it's good for the soul.