Nice Night for a mini-anxiety attack

Some of you may know, some of you do not. But if I let that little notification ticker build up past a certain point. It feeds back in to it self like your mom at an all you can eat abortion clinic. It's known officially as Big Giant Pussy Bitch-itis. It was so high this year (6969 BTW), that I had a new identity ready to go... even to the point of a 9 page backstory about losing my virginity at 9 years old (to myself in a cool twist you probably wouldn't have not unliked) back in the late 80s (I call it early 9/11).

I thought maybe I was finally banned this time for being a dick head. So far it's that I'm invited to draw the My little Pikachu thing from PBS kids or whatever it was. Rest assured I'm not above any of the peasants that dared correspond with me. I look at each and every vagina, boob (man, lady and few cat knockers too I'm sure), sext to speech and piece of art. I am the universe experiencing itself and sometimes the universe is a frightend little diet jizz flavored faygo that imagines that the internet fired his useless ass.

Why should you care? You shouldn't actually... Oh and I'm in between laptops for attempting to make a seriously ultra satanic Xmas card for the badge thingy. My karma backed up and I literally had the really bad version of diarrhea of the karma that the families on the old Oregon Trail pc game die of (I want to say conjunctivitis and cirrhosis at the same time). I don't believe in all that shit, but lucky for me it believes in me.