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Christopher M
Bay Area, United States
Sep 19, 2008
Last Login
3 days ago

I'm mortal. I'm embarrassingly average and mediocre. When I try to do even the most pathetic of tasks I fail and collapse and spontaneously combust, only I don't even have a hot fire, but a lowly pile of cold and rubble that makes homeless people even more cold when they try to huddle by it. I've never successfully performed a single task in my entire life and I suck and I'm a failure and I'm horrible. My breath stinks and I bathe myself in dirty dish water and I use my time terribly and never have time to pace. I am failure. I sell failure. One time I had to watch this baby for this couple and they came home and the baby was crying and I tried to soothe its pain with a song but instead of a sweet lullaby it came out horrible and broken like some kind of hellish choir of broken nursery rhymes and then you walked in the room carrying the baby and you spat on me and I accepted it because it was the high point of my life in that instant. Then I jumped out a window and broke both my arms. One time I tried to write something on facebook and I got a papercut that ended up killing every person I ever held dear. Then I pissed myself. I'm weak. Unreasonably weak. I'm weaker than your entire family. One time I tried to lift up a spoon but instead I got a papercut that killed every person I ever held dear. I get my ass kicked by deer. I pace. I pace alot. I pace frightening alot. It frightens people to watch me pace because they know I'm efficient and make excellent use of my time. My hands randomly light on fire and it hurts. I suck at chess. I'm terrible. I try to play against blind infants and I still lose because their parents beat me with spoons that leave vicious papercuts. Then I pissed myself. I eat crackers. I hate crackers. I eat crackers 3 meals a day. People who hate me get respect. They get feared for their lists. But most of all, they get feared. I'm neurotic. It's insane. I'm insane. My friends tell me "Hey Chris, there's something hanging from your nose. Oh wait, you're insane." I wrote a book once and it didn't sell a single copy and its name was Oh Wow I Didn't Realize You Were Naked There But Am Completely Turned Off By The Idea. And of course it was bad, I wrote it. When you meet me in person you're like Wow this Chris guy is as much of a terrible waste of human debris as his facebook had impressed upon me. But I'm already behind you, pissing myself. And it's alright, because not everybody can be a miserable failure. The End. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ From the time I was born I knew I was destined for greatness. And indeed I was, for from that very point on, my life would be nothing less than a tome of endless success. Each accomplishment, though everytime nearly unimaginable in both scope and execution, still bowed out as each new event of legend unfolded. Standing above the cliffs that overlook the world in its ant-like entirety, I was now Lord of the Universe and the official representative of the peaking potential humanity had to offer. Celestial beings from the most far-reached worlds came to battle me at chess and lose. Monkeys, trained in the arts of literature and human beauty from the time they could peel a banana, were put before me and lo, I crushed their very souls in contests of fictional excellence. I could split a square into three symmetrical pieces and still wake up the next morning without a hangover. I had my devilish good looks, which all my life had cursed me with a nearly drowning amount of both male and female attention. And in those moments, I could hardly blame them, even as they crushed me with their love, for who wouldn't want to stand beside me. Who wouldn't want to know me the way that only I could truly know me, for who else sat down beside me for endless hours and drank tea? ME. I tear rainbows into pieces until their spectrum-like nature submits and streams into black and white. I make empowering comments to seagulls who have eaten plastic and aid them in a swift and forever-memorable recovery. I clean oil covered otters with my sandpaper-like tongue and spit gold. I change my middle name at will, in order to have the most impactful nickname possible, depending on the situation. I rollerblade up walls as if the whole universe were a fraud and deep down, every human being dies alone. I know, I'm deep like that. I ask the real questions. I dig up the real answers. I write the real words and speak with deep mention. My thoughts defy exception, my eyes deny intention, my heart it swells with tension. My lines divide with mention, the sky collides in pension. I try for my redemption. Also, I am serene green.

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