For the past... I don't even remember. Musta been more than ten, really feels a lot more like twenty years. For a long long time now -- do you even remember the previous millenium ? -- I've been looking at these self-same nothings.
These regrettable if coincidental byproducts of the unyielding dedication to lazy idiocy and self-sufficient superficiality of our colonies in the New World. These... how shall I describe them, they all run into each other, melt into sameness, become indistinguishable. A new Steve Pavlina cropped up ; this one's Gary, pleased to meetcha.
A sjsqd walks into a pub, and Stevegarywhatever's going to... what is he going to do ? He's going to yell the loser kid into coallescence. He's going to scream substance into the wastesack. Somehow, magically, this "expert"/magician's outright psychotic self-presentation is going to "scare the kid straight" or something. Is that it ? What exactly is the contemplated outcome ? We know, we all know it ain't gonna do anything, even those "of us" who didn't bother spending their time and resources running experiments on the topic. If the kid was worth the price of a decent burial he wouldn't be there. If he's there... well, bury him. Don't look at me, I didn't invite him. You invite the zombies, you bury the zombies. Doesn't that sound reasonable ?
Instead, Gary's gonna parent the decrepit remains of a hundred million narcissistic fathers' perigenital experiments, fifteen to twenty years neglected. That's what he's gonna do. And he's gonna do it by... yelling. It truly worked so well the first time around. It truly worked wonders the last time someone half-ass "tried" that, three to nine minutes one week before last Christmas. How much and what exactly must one be snorting for this kinda absurd nonsense to start appearing like it's making some sort of sense ?
I can't imagine what decerebratedly ahistorical approach to one's own existence could be leveraged to justify the activity to oneself ; but this aside what the fuck is he snorting, seriously now ? That's neither the demeanor nor the comportment of the indemn human being. That's the very typical presentation of some boring white middle class schmuck who's so hopped up on dusts and pills he can't even recount what the fuck all he's taken for the benefit of the typical nurses in the typical ER setting.
And what's with that little bitch voice ? All that whistling and falsettoing, what's this, a jailhouse punk turned tout ? The big tough whatever the fuck man sounds just like Mae West for fuck's sake. What the fuck happened there!
But anyways, congrats to the winners, you be you & good luck with all that or whatever. I'm quite as happy to not have any horses in that running now as I was ten, or twenty, or however many years ago.