Everything About Me, But Nothing Really

Hey, you! Whoever the fuck you might be, you are about to read everything about me. Who am I? You may wonder. Why the fuck do you care? You found this entire thing funny. Now you are about to close the tablet and read other shitty writings on the Internet, possibly about living a healthy life style, diets, dating tips, work out practices and porn but that’s not gonna be talked about. What a good use of your time.

Now we’ve got a problem here. Why are you browsing shitty stuff on the Internet? Is there nothing better to do? What intention brought you here in the first place?

Do you know me personally? It is totally cool if you do or don’t. I can’t give less of a shit. I don’t even care if you’re a robot, let’s just get some deep dark substances on the table. Both of us, you and me.

Whenever you want to talk about life nowadays to anyone, it is considered politically incorrect to be negative. Everybody is “working on themselves”. Such a fancy fucking term. Whenever you hear someone say that, it’s almost like he or she is the sunshine boy or sunshine girl whose life is immersed into either school or work, combined with either going to the fucking gym or some sort of artistic hobbies. And all you can do when they say that, is just putting on a smile that no one can tell is fake and half scream with a seemingly impressed tone, “GOOD FOR YOUUUU!” (You do know your face looks ridiculous after saying “You” with your eyes wide open don’t you? Like a fish blowing bubbles. Try it right now, seriously.)

It is totally fine if you want to objectifying your own identity into someone who studies hard and works out, someone who likes to travel, but is that really a person?

Don’t waste my time, give me something solid and real. Get over what modern society taught you that are courteous and acceptable. Tell me your childhood trauma and curse out all the people you hate. I will sit and listen and curse them with you without ever telling you to get over your past or learn to fucking forgive. Disclose something you don’t like about me if you will, and I guarantee I’ll make some valid judgement before I punch you in the face. 95 percent of the chance I will punch you in the face. But hey, what’s the harm? You’ll go to work on Monday with a black eye but a week later you’ll come back fine. It’s not like it’s still gonna be talked about when you’re 75. If you ever live that long.

Now, let me show you the correct way of introducing yourself by introducing myself:

Nice to meet you. Why do people say that? I don’t know if it’s really “nice” to meet you. This entire connection between us, whatever it may be, can be disastrous. So why don’t we just say “Hi, my name is Frankie. It is a fact that I’ve met you. Maybe I’ll like you, maybe not. We’ll have to see.”

How old am I, where do I live, what race of people am I, what food do I like, what do I do in the free time blablablablablabla, all those are not important, because they don’t define me. All you need to know is that I think a lot about everything and whine about them very often. When I do that in real life, people end up hating me. That’s why I’m going to do it here. I went through my whole life in bizarre situations. I found almost everything awkward, wrong and intolerable, then over time I became the awkward one. Bummer. 

So welcome, to Frankie’s life. It’s essentially a very very long satire play. If you want to leave, please stay. Because if in the end of the day you’ve got nothing to live for, you can still laugh at me. 

p.s. I am not actually emotionally or physically capable to produce any writing of any sort right now due to inside and outside factors and some alcoholic stimulation, mainly. Therefore any offenses you might feel throughout the reading of this barely readable material, I apolo… fuck it, I honestly cannot even apologize for this in a conscious state of mind. 

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