Allow Myself to Describe Myself

I recently received my first comments regarding my species' extinction post. Let me be very clear about this: I absolutely love to hear feedback about my writing. I don't give two shits if it is the most inane drivel I have ever tried to decipher, the fact remains that if people take time to write comments they more often than not have at least skimmed through my writing. As an aspiring writer, as well as an English major, I cannot begin to describe how cool that is, and as a service to the three of you reading my weblog I'd like to take this opportunity to talk about my favorite subject: me.

I was born December 17, 1985 in Milwaukee, WI. The doctor who delivered me has gone on record as saying that I had "the largest penis [he] had ever seen" and that "within an hour [he] feared for [his] life" because I was quite the infant badass. Then I grew up. Now I attend Marquette University where I study English and Economics in hopes of finding a job for which I can regularly show up late and slack off.

I enjoy rock climbing, playing the guitar, beautiful women, and anything else that I have listed in my profile. One of my favorite things to do, though, is use large and obscure words when conversing with people. Is it because I'm a dick? Possibly. Is it because I'm smarter than most people? Of course. Is it because I want to make sure everyone knows how intelligent I am? You better believe it. Is this indicative of some sort of inferiority complex? Quit asking such intrusive fucking questions.

The real reason I wrote this post, though, is to address something that was said to me in those much-appreciated comments. "K" Fingerett (whose weblog "Another Fingerett" is actually quite well written and very diverse in content, check it out) told me that after reading my posts I seemed to her to be a very angry person. The fact of the matter is, however, that I have never been happier in my entire life. The reason I sound or seem so angry is that the ideas I had for my first few posts were angry rants about things I had observed or thought about, not because I am generally an angry person. Also, I think I possess a rather eloquent writing style, which does not seem to lend itself to angry, profanity-laced tirades. By merging an articulate style with childish humor and profanity I feel like I produce something different and funnier than the usual writing I, or anyone for that matter, encounter. Now, does this mean that from here on out its all puppy dogs and roses? No fucking way. The funniest stuff I produce is angry and full of swearing and jokes about fat women and stupid people, but that does not mean that I write only in that vein. I will post serious thoughts from time to time and I may even post something sad or (the horror!) emotionally gripping. However, if you think that I'm going to stop writing about animals I want to maim or taking a shit the size of a small hippo you are sorely mistaken.

Please, everyone, anyone, someone, continue with the comments. Tell me what you think is funny. More importantly, tell me how I can improve. Writing may be personal therapy, but it's better and more meaningful when it's read by someone else. And seriously, check out "K" Fingerett's weblog. I'm serious. Don't try me. It will end bad for you if you don't read it. Go now. Fuck.