Sellout or Survival

Guess who’s back?

Alright. I’ve got some more shit to complain about. Brace yourselves!



I’m sick and fucking tired of all these little shits constantly complaining about people ‘selling out’ if they ever bother to endorse anything or advertise anything in any way shape or form, regardless of whether or not said endorsements or advertisements are invasive, unfit, and/or just plain useless. Listen here: what the FUCK is wrong with trying to make money?

I understand if someone changes their entire presentation and mutilates their content beyond recognition just to endorse the shit out of a product. I’d be pissed, too… but what the hell is wrong with just saying what you want to say for an endorsement or advertisement, then just continue on with presenting their content without changing the actual presentation in any way, shape, or form? Some people who bring entertainment to you, for example, perhaps a channel on YouTube, have no other talents other than presenting that content to you. In fact, that’s one of the many reasons people turn to the Internet in the first place!

Not everyone is cut out for work. Some of us are fucked up in the head, or physically incapable, or just incapable of interacting and cooperating with other humans on a regular basis. Those who can’t work and will only cause distress to both themselves and their colleagues can always find their place in the Internet. This means their ONE AND ONLY SOLE SOURCE OF FUCKING INCOME can come from advertisement revenue! Are we really going to get THAT pissy at people for trying to make money, especially if they have no other source of income?

Come on, humanity. We’re better than this.

At least, we like to think we are.


Excuse me, good sir, what have you proclaimed is beyond my understanding.

I say, what the devil did you just audaciously proclaim about my well-being, you trollop? I shall inform you that I have graduated top of my class at the Gentleman’s Academy of Sophisticated Persons, and have been involved in numerous endeavors with the Ruffians down the street from my abode; might I also add that I’ve accumulated over 300 pieces of antique furniture? I am educated in fine dining and high class catering and I’m the top Victorian era furniture appraiser in the entire high society. You are naught to me but a simple, uncouth brute. I shall embarrass the dickens out of you with class the likes of which has never been witnessed before on this humble planet, I solemnly promise. You assume you can disrespect my image on the internet? Think again, savage. As we speak I am contacting my diligent secretary to arrange a brunch together at the finest coffee shop in town, so you had better prepare a fetching enough outfit to compete with my immaculate attire, barbarian. The brunch that sends you packing back to the countryside. You are inevitably defeated, heathen. I can be booked at any appointment, any hour, and I can educate you in over seven hundred cultures, and that’s just with the literary selection in my guest lobby. Not only am I extensively fluent in in several languages, I have access to the entire Giorgio Armani fall collection and I will flaunt it’s finely tailored mastery to outshine your drab, common appearance off the face of humanity, you slob. If only you had foreseen the kind of comeuppance your inflammatory “insignificant” comment was bound to earn you, perhaps you would have tempered your words. But you insisted, and now I will teach you manners and grace and you will learn dignity and poise, yet. Consider yourself in etiquette school, peasant.

Oh god, why?

The Return of Fuckshit



Guess who’s back.

Back again.

Isoya’s back.



Greetings, you little chunks of carbon, despite there only being maybe 6-7 people that actually read this shit.

I’ve got something else to complain about today! I’ll start with a little thing I say when I am hurt, pissed off, or whatever, and someone says…

“Are you okay?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Something of that nature. Listen VERY carefully.

The moment you ask whether or not I am okay, I become not okay. Fuck. A number of suicides is probably caused by people being overconcerned. The reason someone seems to be deserving of concern is because you’re fucking concerned. Until you say those fucking words, EVERYTHING is fine. Listen, humans are modest, and for good reason. Most of us get over injury or emotional harm pretty quickly and/or easily. No reason to get your titties in a twist, because once you do, that’s when shit hits the fan.

So, if you ask someone if they’re okay at the first tiny little sign of unusual behavior, wait it the fuck out. They’re probably just pissy about something insignificant that will pass in mere minutes.

That’s all.



The Wuss Homeworld

When I was younger, maybe about 8 or 9, I was under the impression that as the world went on, things would become more and more depraved, but in a good way. We’d be having gigantic orgies in the middle of highways, people would be streaking through cities repeatedly firing rifles into the air.

I thought we would be setting abandoned buildings on fire and tossing squirrels into the inferno, and shooting out windows just for fun.

Young Isoya hoped for this with all her little messed up heart, and as expected, it never came.

The new generation is one of the few without that figure, or multiple figures that angered your typical parent beyond comprehension. We don’t have any people who are like “DAT GOD DAYEM [insert person here] BE BRAINWASHNG R KIDSS!!1!!!!!”

Instead, we have people who try to make themselves look at least a little bit out of the norm, but it’s so scrubbed down that it’s really just a bunch of overly colorful drivel.

My point is, this planet has turned into a planet of absolute pussies.

Live a little, you hunks of shit.

Starving Kenyan children = BEAUTIFUL!


So, I’ve taken issue with yet another pointless so called “issue”.

You know how there’s these people who have the idea that everyone is beautiful? These people who think they’re these mega-righteous moral crusaders and think that everyone is and everything is awesome and beautiful?

Allow me to show you. Image


Consider this, people.


Imagine in your mind, an extremely morbidly obese guy, around 600 pounds, spying on children at a playground, behind a tree. His torn wifebeater is covered in the juices of everything he’s drank and eaten in the past 6 months.

His face looks like a glob of acne and zits with a head attached to it. He licks his lips in anticipation and tosses out some candy, but then suddenly, this ‘beautiful’ guy gets a heart attack and makes the most terrifying noises possible.

Isn’t that beautiful?


Imagine a group of starving Kenyan children with guns to their heads, being screamed at to pick some tea leaves so slave drivers can get paid a few pennies to sell them to rich American slave drivers that get paid a few million.

Isn’t that beautiful?


Imagine a mutilated walrus floating in a pool of shit and piss while barfing up half digested infants.

Isn’t that





My point is, quit lying to yourselves so you can look like nice people. You fucking aren’t.

Stop it.



Exhaustion, sleeping, thinking, butts.



Glitchy glitchy goo, you little bastards.

Listen, you 4 or 5 magnificent bastards, I’ve got my titties in a twist about something retarded again!


Wait… what exactly is on my mind?


Can’t tell…


Wait, is that some brain activity?



Can’t sleep. So, so TIRED, but I just can’t sleep. Too many thoughts, too many totally irrelevant things streaming through my mind, incinerating my willpower and exhausting my ability to talk about anything meaningful. That fucking noise is back, and my head starts pulsating every now and then. My mind is summoning landscapes of fire, it’s summoning the future. Everything that I thought was going to happen repeats itself in my mind over and over again, and worries me over something that may happen long after I am gone.


My point is…

I can’t fucking sleep.