Brian Hates You All

Let The Shit Storm Commence

(Yeah it's kinda like that.)

So here's my new sunny disposition on life. Everyone is an asshole. It's just in our nature to be, we just can't help ourselves. We will eat each other to get ahead of the lunch line, then eat that horrible tasting mac and cheese too--because honestly, who gives a fuck? 

We live in a time where everything we do is quantified and monitored through the scrutiny of our friends and strangers on social media. Our fuck ups last a lifetime boys and girls. Hash tag "fucked." Things typically restricted to a circle of friends in a hangout spot are not restricted anymore at all. Word spreads like a wildfire. With any luck I'll never have a picture posted of of my ass looking like Miley Cyrus--that giraffe tongued pancake assed twerk machine. With that said, I've done a few things I'm not too proud of--and oh yeah it has been spread like peanut butter.

What am I ranting about? I am very flawed, very flawed indeed. There are people that will remind me of this, do they honestly think that I don't know? Idiots. Like many other people, I am definitely my own worst enemy--I destroy most things in my life that have meaning. Things that have no meaning? Oh I can master every meaningless thing you throw at me. Drinking? Oh yes. Video games? I will own dat ass. Calculus? Derivatives solved, bitch. Want an angry post? Here it is because, I, am definitely having a bad day folks. Oh and I do solemnly swear I am up to no good.

Short Story Bakery: A Night To Remember

Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

8:17PM A Cool Huntington Beach California Evening     

     "Leave her the fuck alone Megan!"

     "Priscilla stop fucking defending Quasimodo, she's going to see just what happens when she fucks with other peoples' boyfriends!"

     "She didn't do anything Megan! HE started talking to HER!"

     Megan pushed Veronica down in the middle of the quad, dozens of curious eyes bearing witness to the event. Shouts of "Quasimodo go back to your bell tower!" Could be heard among the trickles of laughter. 

     "Oh look, are those spots of dirt on your face? Oh no? That's natural isn't it Quasimodo?" Megan said as she looked down at Veronica.

     "I...I didn't do anything, I'm sorry Megan," Veronica said mortified with tears in her eyes. 

     "Have some milk, you ugly bitch," Megan grabbed a carton of milk and poured it all over Veronica, "Don't ever fucking talk to MY boyfriend again," Megan said as she walked away triumphantly.

     The school staff intervened, herding the gathered students like cattle to their classes. Priscilla returned after everyone dispersed to see Veronica sitting outside the school office in her change of P.E. clothes with dried milk in parts of her short wavy black hair--the milk remnants giving off a sour pungent scent. Veronica was staring down at the cracks in the concrete floor.

     "Vee...don't worry, you only have two more years at this school," Priscilla said quietly.

     Veronica looked up at Priscilla, speechless, with tears in her dull green eyes.

     "Vee, are you okay honey?"  

With Friends Like These I'd Love Some More Enemies

You're my best friend, but I'd love to see you fail so fucking hard.

(This bitch.)

The "frenemy": people in life who remain close, portray themselves as a "friend" when, in fact, they'd just love to take a shit on your day.

 "OH WOW BRIAN I HAVE SO MANY PEOPLE IN MY LIFE LIKE THIS!" Oh don't we all? At one point or another I've had to cut them out like the intake of rotten foods from my diet, because these people are indeed rotten. I COULD just rant about these shit disturbers, but I have a theory as to why these people love to act like Judas. I mean understanding the "why," that's how we get to the root of any problem right boys and girls?

Social Network Validation and You; "Likes" For All

Braggarts, Villains, Theives, and Stalkers--We Love You Internet

(I'm pretty sure we were supposed to be riding light bikes guys.)

See this picture of Mahi-Mahi I just posted? I'm about to eat that. Mahi-Mahi doesn't even know what's about to go down. Jealous? I know you wanna like this picture, if you don't--I'm going to be upset, but not only am I going to be upset...see this picture of your dog you posted 42 minutes ago? Want another like? NOPE. And that brilliant Mark Twain shit I said earlier? Really? Only TWO LIKES!?

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Is there anything wrong with this picture? Well...I can think of a few things to say. Should I say them? I mean...damn I know I've been guilty of many of the same habits...I think it's time for...DRUM ROLL PLEASE!

-Drum Roll-

Social Networking Etiquette

For now, let's just see why we might want to practice this Social Networking Etiquette.

Short Story Bakery: The Vagabond

A Common Cold

9:06PM on a cool Sunday Southern California Evening.  

     "You really want this?"

     "Yes, I'm certain. I want to work this out, even though I like you a lot--I like my boyfriend more."

     Her beautiful brown eyes were piercing--his voice cracked, he was in complete disbelief. This person, this amazing person whom had been around for so long had finally placed all of the necessary nails in the coffin of this "relationship."

     They resembled a young couple attending the Hard Rock Cafe, but this particular moment in time didn't catch the carefree nature of such a couple.Their attire consisted of the casually informal flavor. His tall average builded stature wore a dull plaid shirt made up of greys, blacks, and blues, skinny black jeans, and a pair of black classic Nikes--all complemented his pale complexion and short choppy dark hair. Her hourglass Victoria's Secret model body rocked a black cardigan, black jeans, and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt--her evenly tanned complexion along with her long dark hair placed a dark alluring aura of mystery. Both rock stars in their own right.

     "Are you kidding me? Look at me. Do you have any idea what you're missing out on?" His light brown eyes gleamed under his bedroom ceiling light as he gazed directly into hers.

     "I need to give him another chance, regardless of what we've been through."

     "Do you love him or something?" His high jawline clinched, not because he wanted to be with her desperately, but because of the guilt he would bring unto himself if he may have interfered with her love for another person.

Here Comes A Regular; Good Times At The Bottom Of Your Glass

DISCLAIMER: I am actually heavily intoxicated while writing this. It's going to likely take a dozen proof reads or so, but I hope it's worth it.

(8:35 PM: Fuck.)

I'll have another--and don't forget my orange, bitch

Another Bottle Down

(10:07 PM:  Well that was abrupt)

"Another bottle down; you should really try it sometime cause' it feels so good."
-Asking Alexandria "Another Bottle Down"

Oh Alcohol you can be so classy, but at the same time you can be a savage caveman. You make us do silly things, regretful things ("Oh shit I slept with THAT!?"), violent things (getting straight gangster on unsuspecting people who looked at your girlfriend or boyfriend), and at times you can depress the shit out of us. Our bodies are destroyed on a daily basis by the warm fuzzy feeling we get as we drink you in excess, but we don't care we love you anyway. We're all masochists here and you are the life (or death) of the party! Prohibition in the United States (1919) was an attempt to stop the consumption and production of you and your brothers and sisters, but was of course turned over in 1933. Why did that even take place? Because you can be a deadly mother fucker that's why.

Short Story Bakery: The Exchange

Give me your tired, give me your sick

7:35PM on a warm partly cloudy Southern California Evening.

     The man pulled up to the curb of her house silently--headlights dimmed by dying sunlight, yet still blinding the rear of a red 2001 Chevrolet Silverado. Immediately after placing the car in park, and pulling the emergency brake he hesitantly picked up his iPhone and began to text. 

     "I'm here"  

     This text lit up her phone with an eerieness--her eyes gazing upon the blue screen with full knowledge of what would soon pass. 

     "k" 

     The only text response she could give, and the most indifferent one she could give. She wouldn't mislead, she would stand her ground as a statue carved upon a foundation of granite.

     He opened his car door, then took a box filled with precious memories in the form of belongings from the back seat. Some gifts from her that he couldn't bear to look at, everything else hers. As he approached the driveway towards the front door, a glass fell out of the box and shattered. The driveway now covered in broken glass, so unwelcoming, so fragile to the touch--much like this moment in time. He had replayed this moment in his head over and over again, but he never imagined it would be quite like this. Stressed, he tried gathering the pieces of glass into the box as fast as possible. Part of him was happy that this happened, a subconscious rage of breaking something in front of this person who had done so much damage already. However, the box of precious memories became tainted by the hidden assortment of sharp glass shards provided by the panicked urgency of the man. Irony.