My ordinary life in exaggeration...

When I was a young child, I had no friends so I created a world of my own. Now I am older and I can't leave.


This is why I haven't been posting.


Fashion mavens, beware!

As the official political commentator here, I have the extremely important job of judging each political candidate's official campaign apparel.

Here are a few choice examples:

Go Team Bush!!!
(Monkey: 5, Robot: 0)

I find the modeler of this shirt strangely attractive. I probably should not have admitted this.
(Monkey: 5, Robot: 27)

Okay, the next two aren't apparel, persay...

Golf balls? Why am I not surprised? The design is pretty shitty, though.
(Monkey: 5.2, Robot: 27)

The robotic-style lettering fails to make up for the extreme tackiness. This treasure is a bargain at $20. (Monkey: 5.2, Robot: -12)

I think it's clear which Republicrat wins this round.



I just wanted everyone to know that I was finally able to recharge my plasma pump. After sulking in the store some more, a gorgeous girl came in, who just happened to be a physics/engineering major with an interest in robotics. She figured everything out and now I'm fully charged. So everything is good now, except... I keep on thinking about that physics major. And she's living! The Living are disgusting squirming masses of flesh! I can't be interested in someone like that...right?



Hi, I am Sascha's younger brother. Unlike her, I am not an (un)dead cyborg. No. I am still dead. I am a ghost.

Sascha and I both both met our maker due to unfortunate accidents at a rather young age. Sascha was the first to go. After our parents discovered her unusual sexual activities, they sent her away to reform school in Siberia. However, this failed to thwart her efforts at pleasuring herself in the only way she knew how, and there were plenty of scarves available. Unfortunately, she pulled too tightly one night and, in a fit of passion, released herself from this mortal coil.

My own death was significantly less scandalous. When I was a young chap, I often liked to romp about in women's clothing. I was mourning the recent passing of dear Sascha and decided to puchase a lacy new petticoat in an attempt to life my spirits. But on the way to the shop, one of the wheels on our carriage hit a large rock. I flew forward and was crushed under the weight of the horses' hooves.

I am grateful to the administrator of this journal for allowing me to post here so that I may use this medium to interact with my (un)dead sister. I hear that Lara is really lame though, so I'm not that grateful.


Lara was cleaning the bathroom the other day. Since she leaves me on the bathroom counter, I had the "pleasure" of watching her do this. She has all these earth-friendly organic cleaning compunds that she buys at her dirty hippy co-op grocery store. She was scrubbing the toilet with her earth-friendly organic toilet cleaner and accidently spilled some on her wrist. Apparently it stung because she made this weird yelping sound. Anyway, it was hilarious because she was surprised that her earth-friendly organic toilet cleaner would hurt her skin. Stupid dirty hippy. I may be apathetic, but I still hate her.