Part of me just wants to make a joke blog. Where the only gag is a bunch of posts going “Bendy and the —- Machine.” Where the missing word is just a random word that rhymes with ink.
I’m sitting at home, minding my own damn business when fucking Yorick (my personal skull, an old decoration that told jokes before it died a couple years ago) tells a fucking joke. Out of the blue. Not even a joke. “1…2…Boo!” He says cryptically, then he laughed and I fucking turned in my chair, pausing in my leisurely screening of Halloweentown 2 and drawing Hamlet. I put down my fucking tablet pen and go to Yorick’s spot on top of the microwave. He is silent, as skulls should properly be.
And I fucking turn him over
And I look at his fucking power switch even though I’m Positive this guy died years ago.
And It Wasn’t Even On Boys. It Wasn’t Even On.
Power switches mean nothing when you’re a fellow of infinite jest
Is it infinite jest if it’s one a.m. and it made me piss my pants
me: hmm… i wonder if the reason im doing this unhealthy thing… is because it’s at least something i know how to control… unlike that glaring problem in my life that i dont understand how to fix?
the microsoft paperclip that lives in my brain and thinks it has a phd because it took a semester of ap psych in high school: hi! it looks like you’re using language of introspection. are you trying to self-actualize?
