mercat: (Default)
LJ just ate my whole post.


I was already Not Giving enough Fucks to care, so, sorry. I was working on a nice little almost-carefree and certainly fucksgiven-free* not-exactly-a rant about the stereotypical genderized joke commentary and some strange assumptions and possibly dive into a little of the mysterious dark world of omg me and relationships** but I currently don't have the desire to retype it (no fucks given currently), so. I don't even have the energy to let this paragraph trawl off (that's like trail off, right?) in an ellipsis because there is far too much implied subtlety in an ellipsis and I am not implying anything right now. There is not enough depth in my stream of consciousness, I am that much in not-giving-a-fuck-mode. (I'll probably explain tomorrow.) Critical depth has not been reached. (Ha, hydraulics joke.)

Au contraire, the material may still be ripe for publishing tomorrow, as I try to scrape together a traditional Thanksgiving post because I am really not feeling it this year. I am just... out of food references.

Also let it be known that my cat's breath smells like asshole and I can smell it from 3 feet away. This could be an issue.

*Is that like Thanksgiving? New thing: it is. Happy Fucksgiven! I imagine this is because of the similarity to "turducken" as well.

**Accidentally typed relationshops. I don't know what that is but it sounds like something that exists in a hilarious alternate-reality version of Diagon Alley. [EDIT: It also might be like photoshops. Still hilarious.]

Problem: I think I am a better (read: funnier) writer when I am tired/out-of-it. I think this is because I just stream-of-consciousness better. I don't know how to control this letting-go-ness though.


mercat: (Default)

November 2015

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