I am I am I am SuperSlammed, and I don’t know what’s happening
I am I am I am SuperSlammed, and I can’t do anything…
Saturday Night Supa Paul
It’s been a whole month since Camp Blownstar! I have been so hungry to tell ya’ll the stories from my perspective. It has been hard on me though. My blog broke and RedNeck did a complete remodel. Then, Denny was kind enough to grant me posting privileges at his place, for which I was extremely thankful, but it began a pissing war for SuperGurl.
Mainly, because I kept leaking my best photos! The first night I uploaded a pic, and it was fuzzy and red-eyed, and I thought, forget this tonight and went to bed. The next day, I pull up Denny’s site and it’s there, posted with Denny’s commentary. I was irritated, but again, pretty much at myself for being a doofus. Again, I think I posted it blank, Denny just added a title to make it not look so gay at his site.
So then, I lost computer access for days. When I got it back, I went back through 400 pics of my vacation and the blogmeet, trying to drunk-correct the exposures with software. As soon as I get done, I send the pics to CharlieDelta, who makes his own motivational poster out of another of my faves and sends it to Denny, who posts it! FUCK, people.
Then they all give me shit because I had plenty of time to post it myself. I am sorry, a-holes (said in the most loving manner), but after your computer locks up for weeks, your patience for spending time composing posts wears paper thin.
Plus, this was my last week of work for the month. Summertime is always slow, but you subtract eight days out of a possible twenty in the office and you have the makings of disaster in the commission only world. In short, suck it, you self consumed mofos that abused your access to SuperGurl. I could almost bear the copyright infringement, if you wouldn’t have been so ugly to me in the commentary.
Let’s establish some boundries, shall we? No matter how much you love the sullied prose that spews volcanically from Supra Gee’s piehole, you must always remember, this is my outlet, not my inlet. It’s not my job, it’s not my priority, and although I lover you all like mad, sometimes you make me a little uncomfortable with your expectations.
It’s just a blown-eyed blodge, folks! Most people on the outside don’t have a clue how we could tie up five seconds with such a voyeuristic habit. And then, the folks on the inside operate like it’s some committed commune where you have to dedicate all your time, efforts, resources. Could we partition off a little middleground, my brothers? Holy freaking mole! I already have a religion, people.
So like my beautiful sonbrother, Paul, I’m taking flight. Remember, it’s why I’m here.
See ya real soon around the sphere, my screaming shit-slinging lovemonkies.