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I’m pissed off with me getting pissed off at her pissing me off.
A friend three drinks down on his love life.
Bliss is not being with the one you love dearly.
Bliss is not living the a beer soaked moment of happy conversation and better times.
Bliss is not waking up every morning with something to look forward to.
No.
Bliss is when you can’t tell the difference between being bulletproof to disappointment or simply transparent to it.
So today it dawned on me that this blog has been around (in it’s many avatars and aliases) for almost 9 years.
9 years.
In Slackerninja-speak, it’s seen me through:
1. Three relationships.
2. Two generations of video game consoles and more games than I can count.
3. A slew of computer hardware, new and old.
4. College and way too many jobs than I should have been employed in.
5. Three sets of friends who have been discarded and disregarded for reasons known and unknown and downright ugly.
6. A boatload of rejections, crashes and burns to count in various facets of my life. Professional, personal and social. I’m a living crash test dummy.
It’s been my whiteboard for all those crazy moments of sheer euphoria, snark, depression, apparent wit and the ever increasing emo-ness that comes along with the sheer attempt at living.
Which is why I find it incredibly funny that this digital journal of sorts, is one of the few things that keeps me sane. Funny how something incredibly simple and potentially taken for granted is all that’s needed to keep one grounded.
Or something like that.
Yeah. 9 years. It’s scary. Almost a decade of half-baked thoughts expressed on the internet and they haven’t put me in a straitjacket yet.
Funny? Incredibly so.
When you throw everything you got at a problem and it still isn’t defeated, you dig deep, deep enough to throw a metric fuckton more. If that still doesn’t work, you can always take solace in the fact that you crashed and burned in a fashion so spectacular that it would history book material. And then they shall know that you did, at one time, take a chance at living rather than just pretending to live. After all, it is better to try and fail than wait out the years for the reaper’s icy touch steeped in morose regret.
Now listening to: Godspeed You! Black Emperor – Sleep
As you all might know, Sony’s posterboy of Greek genocide, Kratos, hasn’t had the greatest of outings. Truth be told, the latest entry in the franchise, God of War: Ascension pales in comparison to what longtime fans have come to expect from the series. No fear however, here’s my pitch on how to make the series infinitely better.
Reboot the franchise to the modern day. Give Kratos a brand new look, like he’s from Twilight and have Ares be a grubby business man wearing a suit. Throw in dubstep and immature dialogue along with (even more) watered down combat and you have a winner.
Fight between Kratos and Medusa:
Medusa: Kratosssss? Son of Zeus? And Calisto the whooooreeee?
Kratos: I’m Kratos the God killer. Has a nice ring to it.
Medusa: You want to kill me? You can’t kill me. I’m perenially stoooonnnnneeeeedddd!
Kratos: Fuck you.
Medusa: Fuck youuuuuuuuuu!
Kratos: Fuck you.
Medusa: Fuckkkkkkkkkk youuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
If you didn’t you get the all but obvious inspiration, here it is:
Then again, you don’t fuck with a god. Or do you?
Bollywood, this means you.
I hear you like games. So do we.
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