So Guess I'm Doing This Blog Bullshit Now.

Right, so, since the inception and immediate popularity of the easy (no-html) weblog, I've held a firm stance that no one really gives a shit about me or you or anybody, and only a narcissistic fuckhole or a greasy fanboy loser would assume that their deluded, masturbatory ramblings are remotely interesting to the world at large.

I still feel that way.

But I'm doing this anyway, because my mastubatory ramblings are way better than everybody else's. And because I'm a hypocrite. And because all my friends are and I'm a sheep.
Maybe this could be fun.

I'll do my best to keep the content away from crazy shit I saw on buses (which i currently drive), except for the following:
I saw a woman with gold lipstick today. No Shit.

It's been requested recently that I both register vincible.com's domain name again, and reinstate the periodic VinciMail updates. I think I'll do that here, but since there's not really a hell of a lot going on in the Vincible camp right now, what with Joe's eyes turning into pure cesium and Joel swearing off pants, it'll all be fake. Instead of being ninety-eight percent fake, one percent incorrect and one percent typographical error. So I guess I'll do that.

I spent most of this morning trying not to throw up, and then sort of trying to throw up. That may seem strange, but let me explain: I was driving a bus (Runnymede #71), and I had this headache, like a blinding, white-spots-when-you-close-your-eyes, praying-for-death, not-even-sex-will-make-it-better, would-rather-be-raped-by-tony-the-tiger-than-have-this-headache* kind of thing. And it was one of the ones that makes you nauseous. Now, we all know the stages of nausea that occur before the... event (Why am I mincing words about puke when i just talked about getting ass-plowed by a cartoon cultural institution?). First you feel kind of funny, like you're hungry, but not really. Then you get that barfy feeling, then you get the cold sweat, then you salivate heavily and then you realize that this was maybe not a great time for it to be your turn to be tied up, and forget the safety word. Anyway, every time I almost got to the gastric money-shot, I thought, "Okay, as soon as I get to the station, I'm gonna hurl, and call in sick and go home". I was reluctant to just call in and go home because I am, at heart, a good person. Plus I don't have any sick days left and the TTC really frowns on absences. But every time I got near the station, and really geared myself up to storm the porcelain beach-head, I felt better. Not even just better; I felt fucking fantastic! I could move mountains, I could solve the problems of the world, I was on fire, motherfucker! And as soon as I got to a place that had no door or bathroom or toilet, I felt like a sack of shit again. I'm not a religious man; I know little of the nature of our universe. But I have a feeling someone or something was fucking me today.




*Wouldn't it be crazy to get raped by Tony The Tiger? He'd be so cheerful.