Entry 1

I don’t think I have the need to introduce myself, because , although my blog is destined to be the most popular website in world, there will be 3 people reading it for the first 8 years. Of the 3 people, one will be a family member (who will stop reading after the first entry), one will be a friend (who thinks I’m hilarious), and the last will be one of my roommates (keep in mind I have 3 who could show me support, but would rather watch streamed videos). To those of you who accept my link but never open it, I pity you, but even more I pity myself for being associated with you. Too harsh? Doesn’t matter because they’ll likely never see this.

I’d like to start off with a recent interview I did with an anonymous interviewer:
Your name?: My friends call me Mort.
Is that an invitation to be your friend?: *wink*
Was that a wink?: No, my eye twitches when I’m nervous or when I have to pee.
How old are you?: You coming on to me, or starting a fight? *blank stare* I’ve been very confused by that lately. I’m mature at a 50 year old’s level, but have the mindset of a man in his late 20s or early 30s, and have the goals of an immature 13 year old girl. Oh, and libido of a wild stallion….in heat…in the summer….somewhere near the equator….right around Cinqo di maio.
I have no idea as to what that could mean: I’m complicated.
What would you like to do in the future?: The obvious answers are drive flying cars, time travel, and obtaining super powers to fight injustices of the world (including but not limited to: tube tops on bigger girls, skinny jeans on larger guys, and most importantly, making the drivers who don’t wave when you let them in learn their lesson.) I would also like to go back to the future.

To be continued….

February 5, 2009.
Location: Ryerson University, business building
Time: Approximately 2:37 p.m.

I dropped my cell phone while walking in school today. I didn’t realize it. Luckily, a fellow student took the time to pick it up and bring it to me. He couldn’t have walked more than 20 feet to catch up to me. He then proceeded to yell at me. “You dropped your phone!” he exclaimed. I wondered why he would yell at me, but regardless, I smiled and said “Thank you!” He then gave me a dirty look, and walked away slowly, I can only assume to make the scene more dramatic. Maybe next time I will try NOT to drop my phone by accident, and try NOT to walk away unknowingly, by accident. Has the role of ‘Good Samaritan’ become so difficult for this person that he must now yell at people that he is trying to help? I hope so, you angry bastard, wherever you are (second floor of business building). I bet you were just extremely disappointed because it was a Bell phone, and your sim card wouldn’t work. You couldn’t just take the back of the phone off, and slip your dirty disgusting sim card into my phone’s special area. Maybe you should have tried to date rape it like you usually do, you son of a bitch. You make me nauseous to the point where if I want to throw up, I could if I tried. And then maybe I would use that as an excuse not to go to work, because I REALLY don’t feel like going to work. Maybe then I would just go home and play video games all night long with my friends, because regardless of the abuse you’ve taken due to your long-standing addiction to fetish pornography, playing video games all night IS awesome. Then maybe I would finally get to watch Gran Turino, because it’s been on my tv stand waiting for me for about a week. It is desperate now to the point where it’s sitting there all ready to go and its like, “come on mort, come to bed, just me and you, im ready for you big boy”. And Im like “shut up bitch, I’m busy. You’re a fat cow and unattractive anyway, no one wants to see you”. That wouldn’t be true, because it got great reviews. Then it would cry, and pack its bags when I was in the bathroom, and move back to its mothers place. I’d start drinking again. My friends would try to help me, but I’m a lost cause. I would try to get her back, but she would reject me, saying I need to clean myself up and such. I would try, REALLY try. I’d start the program, get into the steps, but we both knew it wouldn’t last. I’d call crying, not saying any real words. It would sound like a child; a big, drunk, lonely child, who needs to shower, but contrary to societies views prefers baths. My rubber ducky would go missing, and then things would go bananas. I’d go on a killing spree, known only as the santa claus of death (I would not have a white beard or be very fat at this point, so it would be a very confusing name). Eventually, the police would find me in a tim hortons getting an iced capp because I would also be addicted to those delicious cups of heaven. The cops would say “you’re coming with us bad santa!”, and I would respond “that was a pretty good movie!!!” but in a slurred high pitch voice. They would sentence me to life and I would die in a pool of horse urine and key lime pie. Is that what you want ‘“Good” Samaritan’? Is that how the story’s gonna play out? Another poor soul dead in bloody horse urine? Fuck you. Next time don’t pick up the phone.


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