The Information Victim

If you're lucky enough, your brain chisels information into knowledge and morphs knowledge into wisdom.
Unfortunately, not all of us are kissed by lady luck. Sometimes, you read too many of the same books, you obsess over some addictive nonsense, and/or you've got a chemical imbalance in the brain. The information isn't processed correctly and instead, generates a hazardous overload in your head. Like Chernobyl, it builds up until a meltdown that either dives you into depression or triggers a manic episode. Either way, your soul burns into madness. 
In this information age it's easy to be dragged into fiery tornadoes of nothingness spewed out by our favorite social media devices and the inexhaustible virtual libraries. It's easy to be a victim of information. This was the fate of Kostya.


The Dragon Slayer

Once upon a time in a faraway bar, a group of friends and I were feeling rather bored. Fortunately, thank the gods, there was enough beer money for us to come up with some form of entertainment. We courageously drank ourselves into a discussion about the coolest "impossible" job to have: 1930's Hardboiled Detective? International Hitman? Cold-War Honeypot Spy? Space-Age Superhero? For Sebastian, it was Medieval Dragon Slayer!
I busted out into laughter when I heard him say it. The reason why lies in the fact that I've only ever seen Sebastian get into a fight once, and before I was able to separate him from the other guy, they knocked each other out cold with a single synchronized punch each. Just like that. A single punch each was all it took. Now, I've seen and been involved in my fair share of bar fights, but I had never seen something like that. It took me awhile to get over it. Only then, did I finally try to wake Sebastian up and unglue him from the sticky beer soaked floor. So, based on his battling history, I told the others that I had a pretty good idea about the end result of Sebastian's dragon slaying day: 


The Pimple Popper

Different strokes for different folks.
It never ceases to amaze me how sexually deviant we can be. From the fondue cheese to the dildo gas mask to the Cthulhu tentacles, there's always something surprisingly new... and weird. If you can think it up, I guarantee there's someone getting off on it.
Once, while we were hanging out, my friend Zoe noticed that I had a few pimples on my back. She begged me to let her pop them and thinking it'd be funny, I let her do it. Zoe wrapped her legs around me and every time she popped a pimple, she squeezed me harder and whispered "mmm, half an orgasm". We didn't see anything wrong with it until her boyfriend found out. I guess seeing his girl quivering from pimple-popping induced half orgasms wasn't that funny. His jealousy also came from the fact that he was unequipped to satisfy her pimple popping needs. They broke up soon after. I haven't seen Zoe in years, but I wonder if she still gets that explosive discharge whenever she pops a pimple or if she's forgotten all about it.

To be honest, having her crotch  press against my lower back every time she squeezed her legs, turned me on.


The Compassionately Impaired

"Just because he's in a wheelchair, doesn't mean he's not a fucking asshole. I don't want my brother to suffer any more pain then what he's already been through, I just wish I could chop off whatever is making him prey on people's sympathy and take advantage of their kindness. The little prick even laughs when he sees someone struggling and in pain. It's like he lost all his compassion when he lost his legs. Life fucked him up, I know that, but bitterness is no excuse to exploit and fuck people over."
The words of a friend of mine on his younger brother, Luther. Among Luther's many sins, there was the time when he made fun of a kid who's kitten had just died. Dead kittens are no laughing matter, I don't care who the fuck you are.


The Relentless One

There is something fundamentally wrong with me: I always go for the most unstable of girls. Every single girlfriend I've ever loved has teared my heart out with her madness. It's not that they're mean or selfish, or even that they break up with me; it's just that they are so fucking crazy. Too jealous, too in-love, too unstable...
My tornado... Her name was as unique as her soul, but we'll call her Marilyn. It started beautifully... Promises of a never ending love, a relentless love, enough to rip the world apart. And it did. My world. How can such a dazzling unstable universe promise a relentless love? It can't. Doomed from the start, it was obvious to all except to us, the blinded lovers. Like a kid who believes in Santa Claus, I thought she would be the relentless one.  And maybe some day she will, but for now, the only truth I know is:
Love will tear us apart. Relentlessly.


The God Seeker

Someone told Vincent there were only two places where he could find God: Inside a church or at the bottom of a bottle.
Since Vincent's been fruitlessly going to church all his life, he recently chose the second path. Because of his pansy taste buds, Vincent is also forced to look for God through a crate of beer instead of a single bottle of the hard stuff. He drinks himself into oblivion seeking the answers that no one else can give him. Whenever I see him hungover the next morning, I ask if he's found God yet. His answer is always no. Vincent likes the feeling he gets from the process, though. He finds a certain peace in it. Personally, I prefer the godly peace I find in between a girl's thighs, but that's me. Vincent, he's the God Seeker... I hope he finds what he's looking for.


The Voyage (interlude #11)

Temperature: -67ºC
Velocity: 813 km/h
Altitude: 12182m
Flight: TP107

It's been 2 decades since I've set foot on the land that witnessed my unholy birth. I know it's been awhile since I posted, but the motherland and I have a lot of catching up to do. Everyday, people restart their lives. Now, it's my turn.
Posts will resume shortly and some new stuff is in the works. Hope you guys are all doing well. Will visit each of you soon.


The Shooter

We drag a lot of bullshit with us. Arrogance, hypocrisy, self-pity... 
Sometimes, we don't even realize it. Most times, we let these feelings linger by making  excuses for them or by finding someone as miserable as us. Misery loves company, right? My friend Rita has no patience for any of it. She has a thing for dressing up and wearing masks, but she's as honest as they come. She's her own hardest internal critic and has the same attitude towards everyone else. Rita will be your best friend if you've got a genuine problem, but she'll shoot you down like a mutant dog if you annoy her with your bullshit drama. With sarcastic fire and a witty hammer of irony, Rita will mold your bullshit into bullets of clarity and shoot the ugly truth into your soul. No mercy.
Shooters like Rita might wound our feelings (ego), but they help us see the truth.


The Collaterally Damaged

It doesn't matter if Donnie also wanted to get in her pants. What matters is that he was nice to her... and paid for it. Sometimes, you try to be nice to a person and all you get for your troubles is shrapnel in the soul. Donnie didn't even get the sympathy you would give a victim. She was the victim here. Him? He was nothing but the collateral damage... less than a footnote in someone else's love story. What a shitty fate.


The Fake Celebrity

Some bloggers are just so full of themselves. This guy Anton has a celebrity blog and he's always hungry for followers. What's the point of having a thousand followers if you don't care what any of them has to say and if they don't give a shit about you? He gets comments on every post, but they're all the same: "Hi! Amazing blog! Let's follow each other?" What's the point of these meaningless spews of nothingness? He also calls his readers 'his fans' and highlights his blog awards in a disgusting way. Singers give us songs. Actors give us characters. Even models give us sexy photos. Why do these kids act like celebrities when all they have to give are their vain dreams of being famous?
The internet shouldn't be a popularity contest. We should be using this platform to have fun, know other people, and maybe learn a few things. I'm not a hypocrite, I like having views and followers and I know it's impossible to keep in touch with everybody. However, I try my best to get to know other people and I look for meaning... This douchebag is as meaningful as a skid mark on a celebrity's pair of underwear.