Damn females.

They fly off the handle at the slightest thing you say. Well, I say 'you say' in the metaphorical, analagous way, to gain a connection with the readership, because in reality I mean 'I say'. Because it's mostly me. Usually, when girls are about, everyone else I know can bite their tongue and not point out an obvious physical deformitys ("LOLZ YOU ONLY HAVE ONE EYEBALL!"), social gaffes ("LOLZ YOU JUST SNEEZED!") or grammatical errors ("Seriously, you need to use "Whom" in that sentence, not "Who", you daft bint") used by the fairer sex. So everyone else just bites their tongue and smiles and says something cute while I'm the only one noticing and pointing out the obvious flaws that would otherwise go unnoticed. Do I get thanked for it? No.

Well I mean, I make ONE comment about a girl's vagina being so big it covers 2 percent of the world (well, I set it as my MSN screen name for like two days) and suddenly she gets all upset and 'livid' and 'you're gonna get beaten down so hard by her on Saturday' and stuff. Why would you get that upset? If anything it's a compliment to be thought of as that much of a ho. Like Annabel Chong: you are a hero to all teenage boys everywhere with your loose ways.
It's like that time I called this other fat girl fat. She acted all surprised and shocked when I accidentally mentioned it. I don't get it, surely she must have noticed that she was fat with the way that her parents had to steel-reinforce the floor and the local kids called her "Whaley" and she got fed a dustbin-liner full of bacon fat every day. SURELY. But no, I say ONE THING, one TINY THING about her weight problem and you know what happens? Well if you've read this blog for more than a week you will have. I get shouted out of the house. SHOUTED OUT OF THE HOUSE. I guess that girls don't understand that when I'm cussing them, I'm only cussing them ironically. As in 'you are fat, but -ho-ho- we don't really like to talk about that much, you see, because I'M JOKING YOU DUMB BINT'. For some reason females lack the part of the brain that is able to decipher 'ironic cussing'. (Ironically, they also lack the part of the brain that is able to decipher 'not ironing')

And I, being the defender of irony and cuss-downery, fight day in day out to maintain the noble combination of ironic cuss-downery, and what thanks do I get for it? None.

Is that justice? I don't think so. Bloody females. I abstractly wonder why they are constantly on the brink of hurting me. I guess it must be all the hormones. That, and the fact that their vaginas explode every thirty days. BLAM. Trickle. Eww.
If only girls would consent to me making sarky YET FULLY JUSTIFIED comments about their size/shape/appearance/mental fitness/smell/personality/face then everyone (ie me) would be a lot happier. But no, I must struggle along, fighting the brave solitary fight on alone. You know what? I'm actually quite a hero in my own way.

Whatever. I did another cartoon.



(That isn't the actual cartoon. It was a three second doodle done on the back of my 'IMPORTANT NOTICE TO ALL CANDIDATES TAKING GCSE/GCE EXAMINATIONS AND THEIR PARENTS' booklet, which neither I nor my parents have read. The actual cartoon was too huge to display on blogspot due to its utter awesomeness. Click on lil' stick man's left eyeball to view the actual masterpiece of ironic comedy)

If you think that cartoon was aimed at you in some way, you are probably right. It was. Seriously, stop texting me every time some random paranoid thought drifts across your frontal lobe. It's annoying. Bug someone else with your neurotic worries.



In this picture I was just testing out my ability to draw a chair.

Why do all of my doodles either feature stick men having gun fights, or stick men committing suicide? Does this say something about my mental state? Whatever, this entire post was just an excuse to post the acid cartoon. As you might have guessed, the rest of it was kind of tacked on as an afterthought.