One time I wrote a 43,000 word novel (estimated, of course. but was at least that).

I have an excellent time and passion for killing and raping characters. I don't know what it is. The most innocent ones, too. It's not like, challenging issues to overcome approach and depart from a character and he/she walks a way a better person in a different universe, rather, challenging issues approach my characters (especially the good ones) then when the time is set, usually after friends become friends, I rape one and the other goes missing or dies.

And man do I love describing rape scenes. It's so bad, sometimes I stop so I don't get too overwhelmed afterwards. I don't know what it is, raping innocent characters is fucking fabulous. The only problem is, I can't just whip 'em out in the storyline whenever I want (even though I sometimes do and delete them later); the character has to be just right. He/She has to feel strongly about something or nothing at all to get raped. Otherwise my books would just be innocent people trying to find a way but instead get raped by the Man time and time again. That's tedious and insane. Shit is Stephen King crazy (that's not good).

Now here's the thing: I can't rape my victims like I used to. I can't just kill people anymore, I can't. I accidently deleted my book when my computer got a virus and I had to wipe it out. It blew directly into my idiocy line. I'll write about some self-respecting person with a cigarette and maybe a douche bag line here and there, but it never goes anywhere. I'm like a tease to a guy I know really needs some. And I've been pushing it so far, it's like I'm a tease staring at a massive boner and giggling out the door.

*teehehe*

I've got to say, there are a lot of owls around lately. Ever since the fourth kind came out, my views on owls have stretched dramatically. I went to a thrift shop- FILLED with owls. Owl fucking everything. Owl cup, owl shirt, owl clock, glass owls, clay owls, brass owls, owl coasters, owl brochue. There are owl eyes in designs all the time, owl feathers, pictures of owls everywhere, everwhere... Next thing I realize there are owls on top of buildings downtown. Those things are frakking everywhere. If owls really are mystical creatures that capable of many things, wtfuck are we doing?

Going after Simon Cowell, that's what.

I had this fascinating idea of writing a world where comment bubbles exist in common day, but I am terrible at dialogue & have no confidence to post my failure. Here is a taste of unedited freshness:

"Can I buy you a drink?" I asked the woman in the cliche red silk dress, leaning myself against the crowded bar.
"I'm not here to flirt," she looked back at her friends chatting frantically then looked back at me eyes full with contempt. "I have a boyfriend." She turned her back, but I could still see her streaked hair crossing atop her breasts creating a most tempting shadow. My comment bubble came with out effort, bold and unexpected in my own italic font, Well I have a goldfish. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted me."Excuse me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," I began. "I thought we were talking about shit that didn't matter.

In this world, you could send comment bubbles through texts as well.


He made himself a whiskey sour, it's bitter taste suiting his mood. Sitting himself on the familiar worn leather padding of his couch he stretched for the TV remote but could not reach. Exhausted, he snatched the stereo remote and pressed play pointing off in the distance. It did not work. Taking a gulp from his drink, he simultaneously bashed the remote against the wall then pressed play point in the same place. It worked, but the music had an unsettling tune in comparison to his mood. He tried to make the remote work again, but failed. Adjusting to the music he pondered his day with a scratch in his head from the curiosity of what band was playing. Curiosity getting to the better of him, he rose with a stretch followed by a shiver from the surprise of his cellphone vibrating so close to his balls. It was a text from Hailey. Thought bubbles crowded his flat, Do I have to spell out my detest for this woman? I don't see how I can provide more obvious hints. And who the fuck names their daughter Hailey? She wouldn't be so bad if she didn't live up to every bimbo stereotype she has at her disposal. He contemplated opening her text, thought bubbles disapparating into thin air.I'm too fucking nice. With a simple tap came a large comment bubble. hay! jsyk just cuz you + liberty rnt together anymore dun mean we cant still be friends! hopefully ill c u l8ter, i miz ur face lol ;P
Timothy Larks hands cringed as the pink font faded, then wondered why he deserved this as the comment bubble disappeared. He was a nice guy, just beaten down by work and women. He tried to think of something to say, to think, anything to feel the relief that you feel when you let it all out, the satisfaction of your handrwiting being sprawled effortlessly in the air. Deciding to ignore Hailey's text, he began to walk to his stereo. Unfortunately, Timothy Larks was interupted by a rainbow butterfly fluttering suddenly from his phone. No. He thought, No. His mind buzzing frantically, he texted: OH MY GOD IF YOU SEND ME ONE MORE ABBREVIATED TEXT THE ONLY THING YOULL SEE IS MY FIST IN YOUR FACE. When Hailey recieved his message, it appeared strongly in a plain bubble. Hailey's smile faded as her friends resisted laughter. Of course there were the select few wanted to press charges immediantly.
Tim finished his now delicious drink with a geniune smile on his face as Muse blasted from his stereo.
This band's not half bad.

I just wrote these. No rewrite. I'll see how I feel about it later, I guess.

Also, I've been working on a comic book in a completely different drawing/writing style. It's more challenging than I thought it would be, I may potentially scan some pages.

My sister's birthday is coming up. I've decided when my sister leavies for college, I'm going to make her a gift basket with all the essentials. You know- Ramen, a 12 pack of PBR, some leftover Plan B pills and a laminated business card for a good lawyer. Damn I’m a good big sister.

This is my first blog. To be true to Taiwanese Snape, I write at least one essay or short story every week. I just wrote this, which actually happened, & there will be more entertaining blogs to come. It's small I know, but I'll have better ones up soon. Thanks for reading!

The assholes at taco bell drive through wouldn't serve us last night even though we said we were on small motorcycles that were too small for them to see & weren't heavy enough for the sensors. We made noises and everything. We ended up getting food, but as we were eating minding our own business, the guy who got us food started up a conversation. Seemed normal at first, stocks, bonds, etc... then he said, & I quote, "I can push a bowling-ball up a flight of stairs with my tongue." As we awkwardly laughed he broke out, "I bet you I could bite the head off of a rabbit."