Unforseen Circumstances

Note : The title of this post doesn't reflect the 3rd chapter of the famed Half-Life video game. You fucking geek.

Instead, I am wondering about certain things in life that kind of seem to be completely out of your control yet sort of totally in your hands, but at the same time out of them.... wait...

Okay, it's like this:

There's an apple you need to eat. Not want, you NEED to eat the apple. You can get to it, and you can eat it. However, the apple is poisoned. And you only grow aware of the poison recently. However, you still NEED the apple.

Now, you can grab the apple and eat it, and in turn you will die.
But, there is nothing you can do to un-poison the apple.
The poison in this case is simply the unforeseen circumstance.

See? In your hands, and out of them at the same time.

My case is similar. If I go to that item that I 'need' then a lot of things will fall out of place around me, however, without it, I am going to be just as fucked anyway, and the only reason things will fall out of place is because of circumstance.

Fuck circumstance.
Seen or unseen.

So, what are your thoughts on this. Have you similar issues in your life? Does circumstance influence conclusions? Share your opinion here, motherfucker. SHARE IT! SHARRREEE!

Well, fuck, shit, asshole, cunt. What a puzzle life can be sometimes, don't you think so?

Peace out, and don't forget to

~love yourself~

Giving men wings.

Fear, in my opinion, is man's worst enemy and greatest motivation of action.

It is fear that gives men wings.

Hate, anger, frustration and emotional attachments have similar results. But, to me at least, the greatest motive generator and extreme result bringer is, indeed, FEAR.

Fear goes well with pride.

Let me explain.

You > Fear > Pride > Results.

You are driven by your fears, and your pride entices you to face adversity and in the end you will come out on top.

That's how procrastinators meet deadlines. Really.

My story with fear is this, I realized that fear gives man wings when I had to face mine.

It was 2005, I believe, around 7:30 in the morning. I was skipping school and heading home. There was a house with a rottweiler. Never bothered me, barked alot, but no issues. Except that now, the owner had put in a large dog house. The dog saw me walking by, jumped on to his dog house and over the damn fence.

Now, if you know me, I can't run. I don't like running, I hate running.

I ran.

For everything it was worth, I ran. The walk home was usually around 45 minutes, I cleared that in less than five minutes with a crazy fucking dog behind me. I didn't make it home. I got to the highway I had to cross, stopped, couldn't run anymore, couldn't breathe. Turned around to see the dog closing in.

I braced myself.

Breathe, I thought. Breathe!

The dog leaped towards me, and without the slightest bit of hesitation I swung my fist as hard and as fast as I could. I hit that fucker right in the face. The dog fell, scrambled, yelped and ran away.

I fell on the pavement, caught my breathe.

FEAR gave me wings. FEAR gave me strength. FEAR pushed me. FEAR consumed me.

Do not be afraid to be afraid. Face your fears, pussy.

Doctor Gill says

~love yourself~

I am everything, I am nothing

From the gate, you betta watch ya muthafucking mouf.
- The Wu

Hello,

Doctor Gill here with another pointless and addictive post. How was your weekend? Mine was good. I discovered the closest I can get with a girl at a house party is when she's running out the door. Serious. True story. It happened. It was sad and hilarious at the same time. Oh well. What can I say? I am a doctor in many things except a doctor of love. I leave that to Gene Simmons.

(KISS reference)

Anyway, I have an announcement. It's been bugging me.

I have a very very small fan base. People sometimes post a comment. Sometimes, despite me asking them to post a comment. Sometimes.

Well, usually the comments are not relevant to the post.

See, when I ask you guys to comment, I don't mean comment on me. I am quite aware I am a freakie-deakie fuck.

I. Do. Not. Need. You. To. Tell. Me.

So, when I write a post and I get a comment that says "You're a retard," it has no effect on anything. I want to read your point of view on the topic, or lack thereof, in the post. Not me.

So, go back and re-read some of my posts that you liked and write a real comment. Come on, people. This blog is to watch you watch me, not watch you judge me. Though that is welcome in moderation as well.

My next post will be on racism. Enjoy. bitches.

Oh and do

~love yourself~

The ever friendly poopsicle

Ladies and gentlemen, and ladies.

I am making it, people.

www.redblacklabs.com

And there you have it. After years of trying to save and scrounge and not having the time and all that, I finally, finally, finally have a registered website. My own dotcom website. Yes, yes y'all! to the beat y'all! Non-stop, y'all! Making it hot y'all!

Shout out to Prabz. He be one o'mah homeboys who hooked me up widda site, 'chall.

It's kinda empty now. But, once I have a free moment to myself when I'm not in the office or in transit, I will plot and plan an actual launch. But, still muhfucka, I done gots me a site!

In the mean time, you can see some of my work here

redblacklabs.wordpress.com

Oddly enough, the day after I made this wordpress site; I got my domain. Strange how things work out, huh?

Anyway, I'm off to ponder more nonsensical nonsense that emerges from notorious notions inhabilitating the noble nothings never to be networked under the near yet far noon sun, nearly drowning in the nearest possible nether region of null.

In short, you can call me N. N for Nutsak.

(For those of you who haven't figured it out, that was a spoof of V for Vendetta.)

The point is moot.

~love yourself~

bitches.

Softening the blow, or blowing harder?

Doctor Gill : And the results are in!
Patient : And?
Doctor Gill : Well, based on the blood test, cat scans, two dozen needle samples, 1400 hair samples from every hair cluster on your body, twenty-eight nail clippings, sixty-two -
Patient : Just fucking tell me!
Doctor Gill : I'm sorry to tell you this, but, you'll be dead in not more than two weeks.

Doctor Gill's eyebrows raise at the same time his patient's does.

Patient : Wha- what?
Doctor Gill : Yeah, sorry about that.
Patient : Well, what is it? What's gonna kill me?
Doctor Gill : We're not sure. We've never seen anything like it.
Patient : What's it related to? Blood? Skin? WHAT GODDAMMIT! WHAT?
Doctor Gill : Calm down, buddy, you'll be fine.
Patient : But, you just said -
Doctor Gill : Yeah, I was joking.
Patient (Shocked): What? You asshole!
Doctor Gill : What? Come on, it was funny. You should've seen your face, it was-
Patient : You son of a bitch!
Doctor Gill : It was a joke!
Patient : You'll hear from my lawyer!

The patient storms out. The door slams shut behind him.

Doctor Gill : Well, now he'll never know about the cancer.

.....

Greeting fellow fuck-wits.

I have been pondering a question while taking massive dumps for the past week. When is it okay to soften the blow of bad news?

In the instance above, it was not okay. But, still for personal amusement it was hilarious, unfortunately my patient didn't see it that way. Hehehe.

So, if say, there's a person you know. We'll call him Bob. Bob Titts.
And you, through some divine method, discover that Mr. Titts has an ulcer in his colon. Not just any ulcer, this ulcer is placed nicely on a fist-sized tumor.

You know this information, and somehow, fail to find the appropriate time or situation to tell Bob Titts. Bob's mental and physical condition is now suddenly tossed in to your hands. Why do you have to deal with it? What the fuck?

Now, to make things more difficult, Bob's fiance, let's say her name is Jane, Jane Vulva (though, she used to be known as Jeremy Shaft, but, you'll tell Bob about that later.) If Bob heard the news from Jerem - sorry, Jane, he may take it better. That makes sense, yes?

What would you do? You and Bob Titts go back fifteen years. Highschool, prom, first gang bang, first time getting gang banged, all the good stuff. Jane and you go back a to a few years before he/she and Bob met, you know, when she was still Jeremy. Who would you tell first? Well, to save you valuable thinking time, I went and thought out three possible out comes.

OUTCOME ONE

You tell Jane.

Jane tells Titts.

Jane : You have an ulcer in your butt, honey.
Bob : Butt honey?
Jane : Err... Yeah, and there's a big ass tumor attached to it.
Bob : Butt.... Honey...

(I may have forgotten to mention that Bob is slightly retarded.)

Jane : It could possibly kill you, baby.
Bob : I see. Thank you for telling me.
Jane : We'll get through this. I love you.
Bob : I love you too, honey.
Jane : Too ... Honey...

OUTCOME TWO

You tell Bob.

You : Hey, Bob.
Bob : What's up.
You : Remember your pet dog, Dragonshit?
Bob : Yeah, I loved that dog. He was and forever will be the coolest dog on the planet.
You : Remember when he died? We found him under the tire, his stomach squeezed out of his ass, fucking brains all over the place, his tongue unrolled next to what was left of his head.
Bob : ... Yeah... I -
You : His intestines spread out. At least forty something feet of it. That's how we found out it was a girl, because all the puppies she was gonna have were thrown around like RAG DOLLS! REMEMBER?!!
Bob : Yeah, I -
You : Dent in my fucking bumper.
Bob : What? Dent in your -
You : Never mind that, what I am about to tell you will be less painful than that.

Bob finds out the truth and decides he will live his life as best he can before he dies a horrible and slow and painful death. Forever pondering the mystery of Dragonshit's death.

OUTCOME THREE

You tell Jere-- fuck, JANE.
Jane can't stand it.

You : Yeah, he's probably going to die.
Jane : How can this be? How could he do this to me?!
You : Well, he's not doing anything to you, per se...
Jane : That sonuvabitch! I hope he dies.
You : He will in time.
Jane : I hate him! I can't stand it! This is so bizarre! How could he not tell me?
You : He doesn't know.
Jane : He kept it a secret! We're going to get married!
You : He doesn't know!
Jane : That rotten bastard!
You : You're not listening you dumb bitch!
Jane : I hate secrets!
You : You haven't told him you're a guy!
Jane : That part of me died years ago in 'Nam!
You : You've never been to 'Nam!
Jane : Besides that's not a secret! You know!
You : But, he doesn't!
Jane : I'm not listening! I'm not listening!
You : You have to-- ahh... fuck it.

So, now you have to tell Bob that he has a tumor with an ulcer and his fiance is leaving him because of it.

Bob : Hey.
You : Jane is a guy.
Bob : What?
You : I thought you should know before the wedding, remember my friend Jeremy? Well... yeah.
Bob : Are you fucking kidding me?
You : No. AND.... you have an ulcer in your butt on a giant tumor. You're going to die.
Bob : What?
You : You heard me.
Bob : This is too much man! Too much to handle all at once!
You : Well, at least you know that Jane really loved you.
Bob : I guess that's a little comforting.
You : Yeah, but don't get excited she's leaving you.
Bob : What??
You : She can't stand your ass tumor. Specifically the ulcer on it.
Bob : I'm freaking out! I'm fucking freaking out!
You : It's okay , buddy. I got something that'll cheer you up. It'll be less painful.
Bob : Yeah?
You : Remember your dog Dragonshit?

The conversation continues...

The next day you are at Bob Titts' funeral. He got frustrated trying to open a can of baked beans. Got out his gun, shot the can open. He thought: that was fun. He put the gun to his head... He held it there, thinking if it would hurt.

He thought long and hard. He realized it would hurt. He put the gun down and grabbed a bent piece of the can and slit his throat. He stumbled around your kitchen, that's right, he's your house-mate, spraying blood all over your new cupboards. In that time, he noticed that his bleeding throat hurt like hell. So, he grabbed the gun and shot himself twice in the foot to distract him from the pain. Then, he hopped and slipped on his own blood and slammed against the fridge and the loose cutlery fell off of it and stabbed him repeatedly. Eventually, after about forty minutes, he managed to get the gun up his head with three fingers missing. Before he could pull the trigger, he slipped again, fell thirteen stories to his 'untimely' death. Meanwhile, you and Jane were exchanging butt plugs via penis in your room.

Guilty yet?

.....

Well, those are my three outcomes, please, comment and write your own. I am curious to see how you would do it.

Oh and remember to

~love yourself~
the way Bob Titts loved Dragonshit, the dog, before you brutally murdered it.

Meine Blog?

Meine Blog - A riveting musical

Ohhhhhh.... the moon calls out,
to my shiny shiny butt.

END.

(Please, hold your applause.)

It has come to my attention, that even though I do not get many comments on this little blog of mine, there is still a 'possible' large number of people that actually come here. I was convinced it was just my buddies and the occasional person who shows up from a link on Face Book.

However, [name] told me that someone else had directed [name] to my blog quite a while back. Thing is, I had just met this person a recently. And, comparing dates, means that [name] had found my blog before I met [name]. I am shocked. Really. I know it's been a long time since I've posted anything, I was busy trying to get laid and meet deadlines. You know, the usual.

Deadlines met, dick unused. Ah... the world stay on it's predestined axis.

Anyway, I ask you to do me a favor. If you come to this blog, no matter who you are, just leave a comment on this post. I want an actual look at how many people actually come here. So, if you are reading this, leave a comment with your pseudonym name and whatever details you want, a link to your blog or site, whatever. Just comment, let me get a good clean look at all the beautiful people who I have the honor of teaching how to

~love yourself~

Ah, Doctor Gill has missed this place.