Your Blog Is Giving Me Shingles. Itchy, Sexy Ones.

A review from Rassles. Once more. With feeling.



Dartboard? Okay. Come on, Rass. You can do this.

YOU ANNOY THE FUCKING FUCK OUT OF ME. YOU ARE OBNOXIOUS. IT CAUSES ME BOTH CORPOREAL AND ETHEREAL PAIN TO READ SOME OF YOUR SENTENCES BECAUSE I WANT TO REFRAGMENT THE FUCKING LOT OF THEM.

Also, apparently I am a sado-masochist.

I am fucking irked to the point of shingles. But then, I'm coyly flirting with my computer screen, oggling these sophomoric sketches (which lead into each blog entry with the finesse of a hobbled Tibetan ox), blushing, casting sidelong glances. I'm doing that thing that I do that pisses me off, where I arch my back and half-smile and pull my shirtsleeves over my knuckles. I must be getting my fucking period.

He’s like the friend you don’t want to introduce to people. You’ll hang out with him, sure, and when you share stories about his verbal rampages you call him “this guy I know" but never "a friend of mine." Because you will tell stories about him, because he's entertaining as hell. Just annoyingly so.

Then one day you and a real friend run into him at a bar. You exchange unpleasantries and separate thoroughly agitated. Your friend innocently asks, "how do you know that guy?" and you arch your back, half smile, roll your eyes, shake your head with annoyance and state, "He’s just this guy" or "we were in a band together."

Why don't you want to admit your friendship? Well, he rants about marketing shit and customer service reviews that you really don’t care about. And then he rants about marketing shit and customer service reviews that you don’t really care about. And then? He rants about marketing shit and customer service reviews that you don’t really care about. Has he ever worked customer service, or is he just a dick?

Tonally, he traverses between unnecessary arrogance and berating himself with the proper dash of pomposity. He needs to work on comedic meter, but really, I mean, who doesn’t?

He claims to have destructive apathy, which I would be more inclined to believe were he a careless loafer laced with a thin string of nihilism, but he’s more mean-tempered than that. More callous. And also, more sensitive, which makes the whole situation soooooo much more irritating.

See, you don't want to admit it, but you want to shamefuck him. Like Shia LaBeouf shamefuckin. I can’t believe I’m typing this right now. But you know what I mean: an annoying shit of a dude that is irritating and unattractive and charming and you’re embarrassed because you want to shamefuck him really, really hard.

Back at the bar, after silently imagining (for about half an hour) exactly how that shamefuck will unfold, you explain to your friend that you can’t focus on your conversation because that guy from earlier? You want to shamefuck him. And he laughs and tells you that he feels that way about his friend's mom. And then you buy him a shot and make him swear to secrecy with pinkies and blood, but you still don't tell him about Shia LaBeouf. That one goes to the fucking grave.

Yeah.

Dartboard, you're still annoying. Go fuck yourself. I don't want to give you any stars, but I’m going to, because you're funny enough and good enough of a writer. But seriously, go fuck yourself.

How about this: I want you to go fuck yourself, and then I want you to call me and tell me exactly what you were thinking about while fucking yourself. Okay? Fine.

Son of a bitch.