An Endless Redundancy with Olly Woods
Much like a Dating Profile of mine, I am doubtful of the true costs of being part of some people's Community. What Agenda. Why must we engage...? Alas, most problems are caused, escalated, exaggerated and Calculated by engaging with near-enough anything. Why bother now...?
Good Question.
I am trying to bring Irreverence back, in the vain attempt to become at least... Heard. As Pitiful as that sounds, I'd rather not even have that from you for what it's worth, so that just shows you where I BLOODY STAND. Hopefully that example can express that I'm able to be more self-aware than some Comedic-Voices. That'll be a string in my bow. GUESS WHAT ELSE?! WHO LIKES IRONY! Bit sickly, but there's fucking loads of it, as I LITERALLY LEARN LIKE RAINMAN, MYSELF/my 'isms, and all we absorb within our Lifetime period. Maybe I ought to avoid phrases like that if I want you focussed, and honed-in to me. BUT, without engagement, we know bollocks and fuck and no less, just merely bullshit, so we all need some light/thought/another white-washed Bri'rish los(n not v, am not an emo joker rip)er, with a difference. NO. GAMING. CHAIR.
; W
hilst I make myself maniacally laugh, I've brought in a Microphone, and probably copies of things (not carrot top, but 'slyly' ginger in sunlight) that make me laugh, or to build upon in an attempt to share some (probably frail in your own shite opinion) bars of Originality, from a largely Impoverished/Out of work, Creative-Waste. "Waste...": I adopted that word/phrase (I already knew the word for objects, or rotten food) when I felt I was myself, and the S fights the M ; Forevermore discovering, uncovered idiocy, that frailly encapsulates my passion for Art, Humour, and.. clearly an (in)eminent element of what I don't understand. All running through me, like Wagyu-fat. Just... 25% fat content. Porky, porky, what a malarkey. Doesn't rhyme. Waste of mine. Time, fine, over-the-line. Half-rhymes hit, some of the time. More syllables, but less of what's mine. TIME.
(lost dramatic weight (/+wait to my sex life) recently, due to an existential crisis. Lovely to grieve, even in the bonds of love. Already losing my sense of humour.)
"This guy's rhyme is a waste of my time. I feel unsettled, but, then again... I believe in Ghosts." -A review I made up
"Actually.. Not bad." - Has been the general sentiment when I really offer original ways of creating humour to others, when it works- for them too -, when other times I'm immobilised by depression. I bring boasts of adolescent wonder at 27 years old, as I've been (in my opinion), an aspiring Comedian my whole little hole, life. (pBPDoe)
Avid Question answering may or shall commence whenever you see it fit to deem me worthy of recompence(/"pounds and eskimo pence") I MEAN, THAT IS USUALLY HOW BRITAIN SOUNDS, BUT HERE IS THE E-MAIL ADDRESS FOR YOU, 'BUDDY':
sermonofdoubt996222diddlyi@mailfence.com
An Endless Redundancy with Olly Woods
#20: Set of Bollocks//#1; actually. Bingefest '24.
Bollocks
But, honestly: Bollocks and bullshite to you all.
I've understood where in which I fell to the path of the grey, but, in large to me having Social-Deaths/Living within my meansmentum/"Ah, I suppose it isn't All Bad.", I suppose it's been something to ponder, and whatever withering sentiments people have to propel who you are anywhere that you haven't solidified for your own means.
Or. Politely: Get fhhuuuuuHhcked, is an echo to life that has sailed through everybody's days, and sentiments, I'm sure. Harder to tempt in a (Fuck)Love-er. Harder to see where people are at, if they're feeling unweathered by tainting whoever, and whomever, they please, (supposedly). Perhaps, and within-0-respecting-ways, I'm poetically speaking through the level of alcohol in my system.
Life occurs within a fucking bored glass of tonic, and then people/Folks, add their sprinkley fucking cunt gin intio a bit of fucking glassware, and ANYBODY IN THEIR RIGHT MIND, is supposed to gel with people, that, at a distance... I expect I would HATE to spend any amount of time-with.
Add it up. But, get fucked.
Over it, over and up with being an Average-Good Cardio-Levelled-Male-of: 20-29. I'm planting my newfoundland over somebody else's tummy. Not to be too innuendo-ridden... But, act as if you'd be a good shag, then you might accept notions to get fucked more often.
"what a bone-headed/autistic mistake",
Perhaps I'll understand social-cues, as indeed I fucking already do, ;
But, anyway. MORE power to you, if-anything. Bye, though.
Yeeeah.
Sorry about, that.
Aside: Fucking derilict building headed fuckwomps - What, mate? Didn't say a word.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"I never thought to say this originally, because I wouldn't like to lose myself in a Social-Vacuum-Esque Hellscape.
Purely if you think I have something to be understood, or anything of value...
Then, and, only then.
Be a Fan.
I'm opening up the idea of conversational ramblings. I think I'm naturally born reactionary, but instilled within silence. Don't be silent...? I'm a rational Human-Rights advocate, and I create my own kindness adverse to systems of Politics, wherever possible. However I'm Just not a fan of Tories. Irony, however... makes me look at Hugh Dennis differently. Like a Human. Not a Toffee. Or John Cleese. Or countless other wealthy Artists I, "couldn't possibly", relate to."
{Poddy e-mail address coming soon.}
