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The thing(s) about not smoking

Ok, now that I’ve quit smoking, there are a few things that are annoying me.  (fuck off, it’s not that I’m irritable, dammit!)

  1. I have no clue what time it is, or how long I’ve been doing anything.  The body-clock cues are all broken.  I suppose this is fine on a weekend when I’ve no set schedule, but it’s still disconcerting.  What time did I get up today?  How long have I been fiddling about on the internet?  No clue.  Not an iota of an idea.  It’s spooky.
  2. Further to 1., I am rather less mobile when at leisure.  The urge to just sit like a lump for hours has no breaking point, whereas before I would get up, go out for a smoke, get a drink / snack, etc.  I feel as though I need to set alarms just to remind myself to move, occasionally.  Am I that dumb?
  3. The “replacement therapy” stuff (in my case, the gum) is NOT AT ALL like actually smoking a cigarette.  I suppose I could have bought the inhaler-types, but didn’t want to go ‘round looking like I had a tampon applicator stuck in my face.  The gum and its “bite bite stop” protocol is slow and prolonged.  Smoking a cigarette takes 5 minutes, give or take.  Not take a drag, wait a minute, repeat, for 30 minutes!  I’ve had one piece of the gum.  Never mind that it tastes pretty friggin’ nasty, it’s just not at all the same, and not worth it.
  4. All the happy sunshine benefits of not smoking haven’t really started yet.  I never had a problem with my breathing (except in winter, which it isn’t), nor were my tastes in food affected, so I don’t expect miracles of WOW!  OXYGEN!  WOW!  THIS IS SO YUMMY!  What are the other happy sunshine benefits?
  5. There are two reasons I quit.  One, because it’s “bad for the baby” and I don’t want to knowingly put the kid at risk.  Two, because cigarettes are bloody expensive, and we need to be saving money while we can before the kid arrives.  I admit both of these things make me more than a little resentful.  

That’s it.  

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Sunday morning, dude.
thatrevchap:

 
Yeah, that’s right, I’m Nicolas Cage. I’m so fuckin’ hardcore I don’t need no fuckin’ H in my name. You see how I fuckin’ roll? Everyone’s all like, “MAN! Where’s your fuckin’ H? You’re crazy!” and I’m just like, “Dude, it’s cool, I’m cool, not everyone needs an H.” And then I like lean back, you know, all like “yeeaaaaahhhhh” and those motherfuckers look at me and they KNOW I’m cool. They just fuckin’ know it.I don’t even need to put a G at the end of FUCKIN’. Just a fuckin’ apostrophe. No fuckin’ G THANG. Word. I’m so cool, I’m fuckin’ Ice Man. Look, I did it again. Just “fuckin’”, NO LETTER G. I can do that, because I’m NICOLAS CAGE and I’m AWESOME.So, yeah, I’m here. I hacked into the Tumblr of some retard, because I’m like that. Anonymous and shit. Fuckin’ undercover. UNDER the COVERS. You know what I’m sayin’? I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE and I’m FUCKIN’ HERE. ON TUMBLR. JUST SPEAKIN’ MY FUCKING MIND TO YOU. Yeah, I know, I’ve blown your tiny little minds. You’re all like “Oh no! It can’t be the real Nicolas Cage, he’s too awesome and famous to be here” but, no, it’s fuckin’ me, for real. FOR REAL, guys. I HAXXORED the shit out of this fuckin’ Tumblr piece of shit just to hang with you guys. Fuckin’ “thatrevchap” whatever that fuckin’ means. No doubt some motherfucker livin’ in a basement with fuckin’ MEGABYTES of porn on his floppy fuckin’ disks and a World of Warcraft account. He’s probably an elf or some shit. Fuckin’ really dude? An elf? At least be a skeleton or somethin’, somethin’ with balls. Fuckin’ stone, bone skeleton balls and grin like the first night you got some. But I bet you never fuckin’ got any, did you? Virgin fuckin’ retard with a fuckin’ keyboard instead of a dick and mouse instead of a ball sack. Get a fuckin’ clue. Delete that fuckin’ porn. What good is it to anyway, you dickless fuck? Go outside. Breathe a little. You know, fresh fuckin’ air? Anyway, fuck off. This Tumblr is mine now, bitch. No more fuckin’ pictures of babies with shit captions and links to nerdy fuckin’ nerd stuff. JESUS. You don’t fuckin’ need it and I need somewhere on this crazy fuckin’ Internet where I can just BE ME. You know? The real me, the fuckin’ awesome real me, where people aren’t all like “IT’S NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE! WE’RE NOT WORTHY!” where I’m just like a normal dude, even though I’m not, because I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE. All anonymous and shit. So don’t tell anyone, okay dudes? Keepin’ it real, under your hats, all that shit. Yeah?Not that I need a hat. No sir. I have a fine, fine full head of hair, I don’t need to hide my head under some fuckin’ hat like some head-hidin’ bitch. FULL FUCKIN’ LUXURIOUS LOCKS, that’s what I’ve got. I’m running my fuckin’ fingers through it now. Yeah, right now. Both hands, running through my hair. Fuck, yeah, that feels good. Oh man, yes. OH FUCKIN’ YES. I fuckin’ love my hair.So how am I typing, if my hands are in my hair? I’M TYPING WITH MY DICK, MOTHERFUCKERS. BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT FUCKIN’ AWESOME. It’s fuckin’ PREHENSILE man. Like a fuckin’ monkey’s tail. I can fuckin’ work that dick. SIXTY FUCKIN’ WORDS A MINUTE. Ohhhhhhh yeah!You know how much getting my dick altered cost me? You know how much? SIXTY MILLION FUCKIN’ DOLLARS. And you know what else, you retard fucks? I can fuckin’ afford it. It’s just pocket change to me, because I’M NICOLAS CAGE. Man, I can pay for that with a couple of movies, because I’m the world’s biggest fuckin’ star, with the world’s best hair and the THE WORLD”S BEST MOTHERFUCKIN’ DICK. And they threw in a fuckin’ scrotum-smoothin’ just because they liked me. It’s fuckin’ sweet bein’ me.
I’m so fuckin’ awesome I even managed to get a fuckin’ career in Hollywood after changing my fucking name. You know what I was called, do you? COPOLLA. Yeah, like the fuckin’ GODFATHER GUY. Yeah, he’s my fuckin’ uncle or some shit. I dunno, it’s a big fuckin’ family. But I was like “Man, I don’t need this fuckin’ name to make it!” so I changed my name to the name of a fuckin’ comic character - A FUCKIN’ COMIC CHARACTER, HOW FUCKIN’ COOL IS THAT SHIT? - and still managed to fuckin’ make it in the movies.BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT FUCKIN’ AWESOME.You know how fuckin’ awesome I am? People don’t think they like me. No, for serious, dude, they don’t. They’re all like “Nicolas Cage, funny looking motherfucker, I don’t like him much,” but they’re WRONG. They do like me. THEY FUCKIN’ LOVE ME. They think they don’t, but put me in a fuckin’ movie and it’s like “WHOA! NICOLAS CAGE IS IN THAT! I BETTER GO SEE IT, BECAUSE IT’LL BE AWESOME!” Yeaaaaahhhhhh. You fuckin’ love me.So, yeah, I’m fuckin’ awesome. Yeah. So, you’re like, “Nicolas Cage, you sexy motherfucker, if you’re so fuckin’ awesome, which you are, why do you always look so worried?”Ah well, there’s a story to tell there. Yeah. Life being Nicolas Cage is FUCKIN’ AWESOME, because I’M FUCKIN’ AWESOME. But, like, it’s not all French fuckin’ champagne, barely legal hookers and arcade machines for me. No fuckin’ sir. Well, fuck it, it is now. I’M NICOLAS CAGE, I DO WHAT I WANT. AND YOU FUCKIN’ LOVE ME.But do you know how many times I had to bend over and take it up the ass to get where I am today? Do you? SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY SIX. Yeah, that’s a lot of ass fuckin’. I’ve got a little book, I wrote an “O” every time I had to take a fat one up my poop chute. I just counted the “O”s. SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY SIX. I bet you retards can’t even count that fuckin’ high. And most of those movie guys, those studio guys and directors? TINY. FUCKIN’ TINY. Like putting a drinkin’ straw in the GRAND FUCKIN’ CANYON. Sometimes I wouldn’t even know they were there. But some of them? FUCKIN’ HUGE. One of those Wienstien guys shoved in and, man, I swear I thought he was picking my fucking nose. Couldn’t even fuckin’ eat anything for weeks. Jesus, I thought I was going to explode. Or implode. Or somethin’.So, yeah, all those ass fuckin’s, they fuckin’ ruined me. You know, DOWN THERE. The docs say there’s nothing they can fuckin’ do. They try to fuckin’ repair my ruined sphincter and it could just fall out. FALL RIGHT OUT. You know that goatse guy? He’s got nothin’ on me. NOTHIN’. Like comparin’ a drinking straw to the GRAND FUCKIN’ CANYON. I said that before? Yeah, what ya going to do? I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE, I can say what I fuckin’ want, when I fuckin’ want. SHUT THE FUCK UP.So, yeah, my ass is ruined. Fuckin’ ruined. So wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I’m wondering if there’s shit leaking out my butt without me knowing. I just can’t feel it, man. It’s so fuckin’ loose down there that it just fuckin’ dribbles out whenever it feels like. And that’s why I always look so fuckin’ worried. Because I don’t know if my pants are turning brown. It’s a fuckin’ curse.Still, I wouldn’t change a fuckin’ thing. Not one fuckin’ thing. Because I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE and I’m FUCKIN’ AWESOME. And, man, I wouldn’t give this fuckin’ dick up. And this fuckin’ hair. Oh man, this hair. I fuckin’ love it.Wait bitches, yeah. One thing, I’d change one thing. You know how I love Elvis? That’s my thing, right? Loving the King, uh huh, uh huh?Well, I’ve got a fuckin’ confession to make. I fuckin’ hate the guy. I wanted a hook, you know, so when I was startin’ out, people would say, “There’s that new guy Nicolas Cage. Handsome fuckin’ feller, great hair, loves Elvis.” Something to remember me by, you know?IT’S A FUCKIN’ MILLSTONE.I’m there, in my crib, listening to some Mahler or Beethoven or whatever, kickin’ it old school, then someone comes over and I have to press the fuckin’ Elvis button on my stereo. Yeah. I’ve got a fuckin’ Elvis button. A button marked ELVIS that plays Elvis when I press it. That’s how fuckin’ much I have to listen to Elvis. He’s got his own fuckin’ button on my fuckin’ stereo. Yeah, that’s some custom made shit. You could not fuckin’ afford it.And my fuckin’ house. It’s fuckin’ huge. Nah, scratch that motherfucker, it’s fuckin’ PALATIAL. That means BIG, retard. And every fuckin’ inch, covered with Elvis. Posters, gold fuckin’ discs, statues, the fuckin’ works. I hate it. I hate it all. I’ve got ONE FUCKIN’ SECRET ROOM in my house with no Elvis shit. That’s where I am now. In my one fuckin’ room, with no fuckin’ windows and no fuckin’ Elvis, touching my hair and typin’ with my dick.BECAUSE I’M FUCKIN’ NICOLAS CAGE, BITCHES. DEAL WITH IT.Peace out.

Sunday morning, dude.

thatrevchap:

Yeah, that’s right, I’m Nicolas Cage. I’m so fuckin’ hardcore I don’t need no fuckin’ H in my name. You see how I fuckin’ roll? Everyone’s all like, “MAN! Where’s your fuckin’ H? You’re crazy!” and I’m just like, “Dude, it’s cool, I’m cool, not everyone needs an H.” And then I like lean back, you know, all like “yeeaaaaahhhhh” and those motherfuckers look at me and they KNOW I’m cool. They just fuckin’ know it.

I don’t even need to put a G at the end of FUCKIN’. Just a fuckin’ apostrophe. No fuckin’ G THANG. Word. I’m so cool, I’m fuckin’ Ice Man. Look, I did it again. Just “fuckin’”, NO LETTER G. I can do that, because I’m NICOLAS CAGE and I’m AWESOME.

So, yeah, I’m here. I hacked into the Tumblr of some retard, because I’m like that. Anonymous and shit. Fuckin’ undercover. UNDER the COVERS. You know what I’m sayin’? 

I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE and I’m FUCKIN’ HERE. ON TUMBLR. JUST SPEAKIN’ MY FUCKING MIND TO YOU. Yeah, I know, I’ve blown your tiny little minds. You’re all like “Oh no! It can’t be the real Nicolas Cage, he’s too awesome and famous to be here” but, no, it’s fuckin’ me, for real. FOR REAL, guys. I HAXXORED the shit out of this fuckin’ Tumblr piece of shit just to hang with you guys. Fuckin’ “thatrevchap” whatever that fuckin’ means. No doubt some motherfucker livin’ in a basement with fuckin’ MEGABYTES of porn on his floppy fuckin’ disks and a World of Warcraft account. He’s probably an elf or some shit. Fuckin’ really dude? An elf? At least be a skeleton or somethin’, somethin’ with balls. Fuckin’ stone, bone skeleton balls and grin like the first night you got some. But I bet you never fuckin’ got any, did you? Virgin fuckin’ retard with a fuckin’ keyboard instead of a dick and mouse instead of a ball sack. Get a fuckin’ clue. Delete that fuckin’ porn. What good is it to anyway, you dickless fuck? Go outside. Breathe a little. You know, fresh fuckin’ air? Anyway, fuck off. This Tumblr is mine now, bitch. No more fuckin’ pictures of babies with shit captions and links to nerdy fuckin’ nerd stuff. JESUS. You don’t fuckin’ need it and I need somewhere on this crazy fuckin’ Internet where I can just BE ME. You know? The real me, the fuckin’ awesome real me, where people aren’t all like “IT’S NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE! WE’RE NOT WORTHY!” where I’m just like a normal dude, even though I’m not, because I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE. All anonymous and shit. So don’t tell anyone, okay dudes? Keepin’ it real, under your hats, all that shit. Yeah?

Not that I need a hat. No sir. I have a fine, fine full head of hair, I don’t need to hide my head under some fuckin’ hat like some head-hidin’ bitch. FULL FUCKIN’ LUXURIOUS LOCKS, that’s what I’ve got. I’m running my fuckin’ fingers through it now. Yeah, right now. Both hands, running through my hair. Fuck, yeah, that feels good. Oh man, yes. OH FUCKIN’ YES. I fuckin’ love my hair.

So how am I typing, if my hands are in my hair? I’M TYPING WITH MY DICK, MOTHERFUCKERS. BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT FUCKIN’ AWESOME. It’s fuckin’ PREHENSILE man. Like a fuckin’ monkey’s tail. I can fuckin’ work that dick. SIXTY FUCKIN’ WORDS A MINUTE. Ohhhhhhh yeah!

You know how much getting my dick altered cost me? You know how much? SIXTY MILLION FUCKIN’ DOLLARS. And you know what else, you retard fucks? I can fuckin’ afford it. It’s just pocket change to me, because I’M NICOLAS CAGE. Man, I can pay for that with a couple of movies, because I’m the world’s biggest fuckin’ star, with the world’s best hair and the THE WORLD”S BEST MOTHERFUCKIN’ DICK. And they threw in a fuckin’ scrotum-smoothin’ just because they liked me. It’s fuckin’ sweet bein’ me.

I’m so fuckin’ awesome I even managed to get a fuckin’ career in Hollywood after changing my fucking name. You know what I was called, do you? COPOLLA. Yeah, like the fuckin’ GODFATHER GUY. Yeah, he’s my fuckin’ uncle or some shit. I dunno, it’s a big fuckin’ family. But I was like “Man, I don’t need this fuckin’ name to make it!” so I changed my name to the name of a fuckin’ comic character - A FUCKIN’ COMIC CHARACTER, HOW FUCKIN’ COOL IS THAT SHIT? - and still managed to fuckin’ make it in the movies.

BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT FUCKIN’ AWESOME.

You know how fuckin’ awesome I am? People don’t think they like me. No, for serious, dude, they don’t. They’re all like “Nicolas Cage, funny looking motherfucker, I don’t like him much,” but they’re WRONG. They do like me. THEY FUCKIN’ LOVE ME. They think they don’t, but put me in a fuckin’ movie and it’s like “WHOA! NICOLAS CAGE IS IN THAT! I BETTER GO SEE IT, BECAUSE IT’LL BE AWESOME!” Yeaaaaahhhhhh. You fuckin’ love me.

So, yeah, I’m fuckin’ awesome. Yeah. So, you’re like, “Nicolas Cage, you sexy motherfucker, if you’re so fuckin’ awesome, which you are, why do you always look so worried?”

Ah well, there’s a story to tell there. Yeah. Life being Nicolas Cage is FUCKIN’ AWESOME, because I’M FUCKIN’ AWESOME. But, like, it’s not all French fuckin’ champagne, barely legal hookers and arcade machines for me. No fuckin’ sir. Well, fuck it, it is now. I’M NICOLAS CAGE, I DO WHAT I WANT. AND YOU FUCKIN’ LOVE ME.

But do you know how many times I had to bend over and take it up the ass to get where I am today? Do you? SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY SIX. Yeah, that’s a lot of ass fuckin’. I’ve got a little book, I wrote an “O” every time I had to take a fat one up my poop chute. I just counted the “O”s. SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY SIX. I bet you retards can’t even count that fuckin’ high. And most of those movie guys, those studio guys and directors? TINY. FUCKIN’ TINY. Like putting a drinkin’ straw in the GRAND FUCKIN’ CANYON. Sometimes I wouldn’t even know they were there. But some of them? FUCKIN’ HUGE. One of those Wienstien guys shoved in and, man, I swear I thought he was picking my fucking nose. Couldn’t even fuckin’ eat anything for weeks. Jesus, I thought I was going to explode. Or implode. Or somethin’.

So, yeah, all those ass fuckin’s, they fuckin’ ruined me. You know, DOWN THERE. The docs say there’s nothing they can fuckin’ do. They try to fuckin’ repair my ruined sphincter and it could just fall out. FALL RIGHT OUT. You know that goatse guy? He’s got nothin’ on me. NOTHIN’. Like comparin’ a drinking straw to the GRAND FUCKIN’ CANYON. I said that before? Yeah, what ya going to do? I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE, I can say what I fuckin’ want, when I fuckin’ want. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

So, yeah, my ass is ruined. Fuckin’ ruined. So wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I’m wondering if there’s shit leaking out my butt without me knowing. I just can’t feel it, man. It’s so fuckin’ loose down there that it just fuckin’ dribbles out whenever it feels like. And that’s why I always look so fuckin’ worried. Because I don’t know if my pants are turning brown. It’s a fuckin’ curse.

Still, I wouldn’t change a fuckin’ thing. Not one fuckin’ thing. Because I’m NICOLAS FUCKIN’ CAGE and I’m FUCKIN’ AWESOME. And, man, I wouldn’t give this fuckin’ dick up. And this fuckin’ hair. Oh man, this hair. I fuckin’ love it.

Wait bitches, yeah. One thing, I’d change one thing. You know how I love Elvis? That’s my thing, right? Loving the King, uh huh, uh huh?

Well, I’ve got a fuckin’ confession to make. I fuckin’ hate the guy. I wanted a hook, you know, so when I was startin’ out, people would say, “There’s that new guy Nicolas Cage. Handsome fuckin’ feller, great hair, loves Elvis.” Something to remember me by, you know?

IT’S A FUCKIN’ MILLSTONE.

I’m there, in my crib, listening to some Mahler or Beethoven or whatever, kickin’ it old school, then someone comes over and I have to press the fuckin’ Elvis button on my stereo. Yeah. I’ve got a fuckin’ Elvis button. A button marked ELVIS that plays Elvis when I press it. That’s how fuckin’ much I have to listen to Elvis. He’s got his own fuckin’ button on my fuckin’ stereo. Yeah, that’s some custom made shit. You could not fuckin’ afford it.

And my fuckin’ house. It’s fuckin’ huge. Nah, scratch that motherfucker, it’s fuckin’ PALATIAL. That means BIG, retard. And every fuckin’ inch, covered with Elvis. Posters, gold fuckin’ discs, statues, the fuckin’ works. I hate it. I hate it all. I’ve got ONE FUCKIN’ SECRET ROOM in my house with no Elvis shit. That’s where I am now. In my one fuckin’ room, with no fuckin’ windows and no fuckin’ Elvis, touching my hair and typin’ with my dick.

BECAUSE I’M FUCKIN’ NICOLAS CAGE, BITCHES. DEAL WITH IT.

Peace out.

2 notes

I was going to send a submission to the-unpopular-opinions blog, but I don’t know how to work a simple graphics editor program.  So here’s my unpopular opinion:

I cannot take anything you say (on the internet) seriously if it contains spelling errors.  It’s a text medium.  Spellcheck.

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Seriously - look at that Andy Six guy.  He wants to be Joan Jett when he grows up.

Seriously - look at that Andy Six guy.  He wants to be Joan Jett when he grows up.