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.




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.

Ramblings of an overcaffinated schizophrenic.

Behold, it is I, Isoyar. I don’t mean to be pretentious, but as we all know, I am indeed the best human being ever to exist.

Anyway, a legend has been born. This, friends, is my Love Shack. No loving actually occurs in this shack. While you may find this to be disappointing, I ask that you stay, regardless of misleading titles. We will all have plenty of fun times here.

It begins.