Wah boo hoo whine some more
Isn't it great to spend night after night online in the company of your best friends? Nothing like shooting the shit with your pals after a long day of watching Star Trek VHS tapes. After the long walk upstairs, it feels so good to sit down in the Archthrone of your Painkeep, rip open a new Pringles can and start sipping a freshly concocted Mountain Dew-Quik shake you call the "Polyjuice Potion" in honor of Harry Potter. (uNF Ginny!!) You call it that because after you drink it, you transform into something completely different. Your deep cyst acne clears up, you forget about your obesity, and you can chat about anime with people who genuinely care about you. After a few hours, the chat slows down and you wander over to some Russian child porn sites you subscribe to. Here's hoping the feds don't track your Citibank card! Hehe. A good long session of stroking your four inch penis finally results in a few drops of clear semen on your flabby fist, which you wipe all over your lips and chin, inhaling deeply. Finally feeling a bit drowsy, you click off your monitor and crack open your Gentoo laptop so you can finish explaining why Babylon 5 shouldn't have been cancelled while in bed. You fall heavily onto your greasy mattress which has a stained pillow and a discolored blanket half draped on it. You sleepily type in a few lines of chat while popping some throbbing zits on your cheek, making more pin point stains on your pillow. Just as you see some orange glow around the edge of your sheet draped window you decide to catch some sleep. You hate this time of night (day?) Now your loneliness hits you like a wall. Almost every real friend you've ever made has forgotten about you or is disgusted by you. Why do you act like that? Why do you LOOK like that? You represent everything they don't want to be. Why couldn't you just stay on a diet? Why carve up every last pimple until yet another bloody crater has been dug out of your cheek? Go to sleep...go to sleep, you plead to yourself. Tomorrow is Season 4 of Voyager... Seven of Nine. You like to imagine that you're on that spaceship, part of something, part of a group. But you never will be. Tears mingle with pus stains on your pillow as you squeeze your eyes shut trying to push the terrible reality of your singular aloneness. If only you had done better in school, if only you could find a job... and you remember Mom wants you to mow the lawn tomorrow morning. Goddamn it, you're turning 30 this November and you're still doing this shit. Your life is a prison and there's no chance for parole. Seven of Nine...
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