A Little Positivity (for once)

Somebody told me I’m a very negative person. I told them to go fuck themselves. However, they countered my excellent argument by pointing out that I focus far too much of my valuable energy on hating things. While this is something I an absolutely fine with, and will undoubtedly continue to do until I’m inevitably punched in the face by someone who I’ve annoyed (most likely a religious person on account of A: They’re retarded assholes, and B: I repeatedly refer to them as retarded assholes), I will attempt to be positive for you people, the cry-babies.

In the spirit of positivity, I’m going to list for you lucky people, a few things I actually like. Hopefully this will make cute little puppy-dogs, with daisies in their mouths rain down on your life, like some kind of fluffy love-storm. Look at that. Completely by accident, I’ve just discovered my pornstar name, Fluffy Lovestorm. This is turning out to be a very positive experience already.

I’m not going to beat around the bush here. I like kittens. Kittens are wonderful, with their tiny little kitten faces and their propensity to beat the living shit out of one another (in a playful manner, of course) as they compete for our affection. But no need to worry, little kitten friend, we humans love you soooooo much, there’s plenty to go around. But it’s still just so adorable the way you try to bite things. Look at your little teeth. Meow, little kitten. Meow.

Euro-Disney. Disneyland in Paris. That’s a fun place. It’s like Disneyland, but without all those pesky Americans. Sure, it’s in France and thus over-populated by arrogant Europeans, but their silly languages and accents are more amusing than the actual  park attractions. Plus, the likelihood of finding a Disney-hooker is heightened ten-fold. I would never use such a facility (is it right to refer to a prostitute, essentially a human being, as a facility? ah who gives a shit) but it’s exciting to know that the odds have risen.

Shiny stuff. I like shiny things. This may cause you to think I’m very simple-minded, and you’d be right. Look at my keys. Aren’t they lovely. Shiny AND jingly. Is there anything more alluring? I could (and probably will) look at them for hours. Well, there goes my afternoon.

Rainbows. Who has ever looked at a rainbow and said “Stupid rainbow. I hate you and your colours and whatnot!”? Nobody, that’s who. Nobody has ever said that. You know why? Because rainbows are awesome. You couldn’t make something that cool, so don’t diss. Don’t diss the sky-elves (I’m assuming sky-elves are a real thing and have something to do with rainbows. There’s no way rainbows can be explained by science. No way. No way at all. It must be sky-elves. It’s the only logical answer. If you think this is a ridiculous hypothesis, then you can’t be a Christian. If you are a Christian, then get off the computer and go annoy some people.)

Gingernut biscuits. They’re biscuits that taste like ginger and they’re great for dipping into hot chocolate. Finally, we have something to dip in our hot chocolate, that is infulenced so heavily by ginger. I’m quite certain humanity has reached its full potential. We might as well give up. We’re not gonna top Gingernut biscuits. For any Americans reading this far (I thought you’d get all hissy and give up after the Disneyland incident above) you may be confused. A biscuit is what you would call a cookie. What you would call a biscuit… is some retarded scone-type thingy. Moving on.

Gingernuts: Better than Jesus, Buddha, and that Muslim dude combined.

Monkeys. We came from monkeys (yeah take that, Jesus!) and we all want one. I can see it in your eyes. As soon as you read the word “Monkey” above, you went “Damn I want one of those.” Don’t worry, that doesn’t make you a freak. What you keep in your basement makes you a freak. The desire to have a monkey makes you normal. They’re kinda like people, but not quite. Like a baby (a hairy baby) that won’t eventually grow up to be a pain-in-the-ass teenager who’ll like stupid shit like Twilight and probably go all emo and say things like “I’m gonna wear make-up, and black clothes, and I’ll dye my hair, just like every other person my age… because I’m an individual.” Your monkey won’t do that to you. He may throw his poo. But you can turn it into a game, by throwing your own poo right back at him. He’ll like that. It’s nice to share things.

Monkeys with musical instruments. I don’t even care if that hairy little bastard can play the damn thing, you give an instrument to a monkey (even a faggy instrument like a violin or oboe) and it instantly raises the awesome factor to almost-melts-your-face-off levels. If he CAN actually play the instrument, then give him money. You’ll never witness anything better than that.

I could make a bad joke here about a monkey rubbing a pussy... and I just did. Deal with it.

Nice fonts. I like to use fonts when I write to people. I think it says something about my personality. If I use Arial, then I’m very straight-forward and literal-thinking. Sometimes I use Bradley Hand ITC, because it has my name in it. The actual font is quite stupid, but the name makes it awesome. I would use wingdings, or something similar, if I was a prick. Nobody wants to read your stupid logo-language. Circle, fire hydrant, smiley face, goat testicles, burrito… I’m not Egyptian. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Good fonts are good.

Thesauruses. Thesaurusi? Thesaurisessies? Thesaurizzle? Whatever the plural of thesaurus is. I love my thesaurus. I love it so much, that I don’t dare to open it. It has made itself a permanent apartment in between some of my other books and what-have-you. I don’t wish to disturb its slumber. If I had awoken it (and almost certainly unleashed some sort of high-vocabulary-wrath against myself) I would have been able to write a much more intelligent-sounding sentence above, than “Good fonts are good.”

I sincerely hope that this overflowing soup-bowl of positivity and love and fruit and dreams and cake and chocolate and low-fat berry yoghurt and peace for all has left you feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside. If it didn’t, then you have no soul and God will destroy you and you’ll have eagles shitting on your brain for the next seven months while all you can think about in your feable little mind is the horrible music of Lady Gaga.

Ha, I’m only kidding. There is no God. Happy trails, kids. Stay in school.

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