I've Upped My Standards.

Time:

12:30 am.

You would think that, by now, when I'm faced with the remarkably petty actions of someone who, for whatever reason, made their self out to be a kind of "friend," it wouldn't surprise me.

And yet, I still find it astonishing on occasion.

But hey, those that have stuck around long enough know that you can't be the shallow, thin-skinned type to accept who I am. I make no apologies. If we're going to dance, you have to know I'm not the best dancer so I'm bound to step on your toes from time to time. Act like it's personal and, well, looks like we won't be dancing anymore.

I just try to be honest. Some people can't handle honesty.

(Read 3 orsell your soul)

Subject:	Observance
Time:	2:41 am.
Music:	Misfits Mommy Can I Go Out And Kill Tonight?.

Since the advent of Rock music, people have engaged in pretending they are stars. It almost seems to be a compulsion. A song comes on that you really like and, whether you're in the shower or in your bedroom you grab something ridiculous, like a hairbrush or a loofah, and sing into it as though you're on some kind of stage, destroying the precious vocal melodies in ways only you can. Yeah, it sounds good to you. But it's truly awful, and there's a reason you work in a factory that manufactures urinal cakes and don't record/perform music for a living.

At various times these indulgences are discovered, as someone suddenly enters the room and discovers the sheer horror of another person intoning the words they can't seem to suppress while naked and under the mistaken impression they are alone. It happens all the time and it's embarrassing for everyone involved. Nobody escapes from such a situation without feeling completely humiliated. Yet, this absurd tradition continues on.

And not only does it continue on in the perceived privacy of homes the world over, for some reason it's repeatedly being recorded and displayed on fucking YouTube now.

Have we no shame? Seriously. What. The. Fuck.