The Suckiest Blog Post In The World

Because I’m lazy and today, easily, is the busiest work day I’ve had the whole year (Read: Offline NBA Fantasy Draft! Huzzah!); I have nothing to offer you guys but a portmanteau post made up of one part depression and one part lust.

Depression

Most of the time, I’m really not sure of anything. I am sure of one thing though: I will have a fucking emotional breakdown in about two days’ time. This is inevitable and I’m pretty much resigned to my fate. I don’t know if I told you guys already, but my psychiatrist decided to cut my anti-depressant and Xanax scripts by half.

Now, I find myself struggling with intense bouts of depression and horribly vivid dreams–dreams which are either extremely terrifying or extremely erotic (these I don’t mind at all). All of these might be just a case of Seasonal Affective Disorder something which isn’t new to me, but I decided to call my shrink anyway just to be sure(and maybe coerce her into writing me new Xanax scripts or something).

But because, like God, my shrink hates me, instead of prescribing more pills, she just went ahead and told me to “Go talk to somebody about it” since she says it just might be work-related stress.

Are you fucking kidding me? What’s so stressful about my work? The two hours I spend on managing my fantasy NBA team? The three hours I spend making personal phone calls to my friends? Or maybe it’s the four hours I spend listening to music everyday? God, give anyone a diploma and a lab coat and they act like they know everything.

I still think it’s Seasonal Affective Disorder. I mean, after all, every Christmas eve, I usually sob uncontrollably, pass out, wake up and realize that I wet my pants, then my slutbag cousin Ella would say something like “That was funny last year, now it’s just disgusting.” and I tell her “Well at least I don’t suck Bisaya cocks for weed money” and then she snaps back with something like “Yeah because you’re a fag, and you do it for free! (Because apparently, in my family, the fact that you never brought home a girl for dinner and the fact that you can speak straight English makes you gay)” Then my mom walks in on us having a fistfight and she cries because we ruined Christmas for her and the kitchen smells like urine.

So again, an emotional breakdown is imminent. I can see myself ungracefully leaving the glamorous world of internet marketing to pursue a life of severe self-discipline and abstention from all forms of indulgence. I’d probably travel the country on foot, haunting Gasoline station restrooms offering oral pleasure to weary travelers for a small fee of 10 pesos. An amount which I will promptly donate to my favorite charity.

THAT or I start picking people off with a sniper rifle from the top of a building in Cubao. If it goes down like this, I just want you to know that the innocent blood spilled would be on your hands Ms. Psychiatrist. Because you were too stupid to just prescribe more drugs to a patient who’s clearly an addict.

Lust

You guys remember The McDonald’s Drive-thru girl I sent an open letter to a couple of month’s ago?

Well I saw her yesterday in the same McDonald’s parking lot toking a cigarette with a guy who’s apparently her boyfriend(they were holding hands).

Well McDonald’s Drive-thru girl, I have nothing to say to you except: I wish you didn’t have a boyfriend. But since you do, I hope he dies. I know it’s mean for me to say that because it’s not like you said “I’d totally fuck you right now, but I have a boyfriend.”

If you had said that, I would most certainly be in the Quezon City Regional Trial Court right now awaiting arraignment for murder.

That is all.

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