Fucker

Always looking for new distractions online, I recently typed "fucker.com" into the navigation bar of my humble, outdated version of Internet Explorer. I had recalled visiting the site when I had a not-so-humble and freshly updated version of Netscape. Why I switched browsers will perhaps be discussed at a later date, but suffice it to say that they both run like arse at this point. In any case, I digress: it would seem that the site I visited years ago, which was a bastion of off-colour comedy (including a non-censored, yet obviously fake photograph of what was made to look like Monica Lewinsky felatiating the last elected president of the United States) is now an online store of sorts. They don't have much to offer in the way of wares, but what they do have is pretty "fucking" eclectic. On the splash page, there is an offer for a "Fucker brand" snowboard and "Fucker brand" coffee, which they claim is "pretty fucking delicious." I don't know about you, but I'm pretty hesitant to ingest anything made by a fucker.

Doh!

It finally dawned upon me that while I loathe reading in other people's journals about how peachy their love lives are, I'm more than happy to spew the same emotional sap when mine is at an upswing. Now that I find myself navigating my twin mattress solo once more and aching for an end to the distance, those entries just piss me off again.

To think, not too long ago, I was writing those types of entries. I'm such a hypocrite...and I miss her...

Insight

Where do I keep digging up these nutcases? Am I perhaps incorrect in the assumption that by being forthright with people, I'll be able to avoid petty little dramas, both online and in meatspace? Why is it that when I directly tell people one thing, they jump to ten other conclusions that have no bearing on the original set of variables?

Oh well...such is life. Somebody else who doesn't truly know who I am hates me by virtue of their own flawed perceptions; I just can't be arsed to care about it anymore though. I have little use for those who build their own little fantasy world over what is really happening because they find themselves incapable of handling the truth.

Honestly though, why do I keep having to deal with these fruitcakes? Am I a magnet for them or something?