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To Be BFP

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Many people wonder how a typical day in my life unfolds. This isn't surprising, as I am amazing, and so their curiosity is perfectly merited.

Let me start by saying there's no truly accurate way to describe my day. An exact description would, in fact, only induce violent aneurysms in the brains of those who can not comprehend the magnitude of its magnificence. (Which would be all of you. Especially rednote, because he is a douche) Any feeble attempt to understand it would be akin to the scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey where Bowman peers inside the monolith. Of course, if your mind weren't shred to ribbons, you would walk away with a profound enlightenment of the true nature of the universe, exquisite charm, and a massive dick. Alas, that would not happen, as you are not me.

But I digress...

My Marvelous Mornings:

My day begins unlike any other. I am awakened by an alarm clock, which I designed myself, that transforms into a vicious robot hell-bent on killing me. The desire to murder my ass with a variety of chainsaws and flamethrowers isn't what's irritating, it's the fact that the alarm doesn't actually stop until I destroy the robot. After the swift end to the fight, I proceed to leap into my pants with both legs simultaneously. I do so as the thought of sharing any similarities with how you lazy, insipid simpletons start your menial days disgusts me. Afterwards, I stomp down my stairs made of servants, blessing them by spitting in their stupid faces on my way, to enjoy my usual breakfast of Captain Crunch and whiskey. They are mixed together. (Some of you may note that I haven't taken a shower yet. I do not take showers. I've never smelled like bullshit, only the pungent scent of awesome. Which is indescribable and causes instantaneous orgasms in every woman that smells it... as well as some men.) As I'm eating, I like to enjoy some light reading: Joyce, Dante, Erickson, etc. Finishing such books takes, on average, about 5 seconds and then I am greeted by my chimpanzee butler "Milton", who is offering me my morning coffee. Coffee which is prepared to my liking: two spoons of sugar, one packet of cream, and four grams of pure, Colombian cocaine. I finish the invigorating beverage in one delectable gulp, smash the mug over Milton's face, beat the living shit out of him, and remind him that he is, and always will be, my little, monkey bitch. Then I put on my headphones, begin to bump "If You Must" by Del tha Funkee Homosapien, and strut from my house and down the street in the most baller fashion possible.

The Day Goes On:

I am now effectively shitfaced and wired beyond belief despite only being awake for the grand total of 30 minutes. My walk, which is being ruined by fat mothers and their ugly babies out for a stroll, consists of me screaming at these children, ripping them from their strollers, and beating the parent with their own kid. I don't know why I do this. I just attribute it to the exorbitant amount of cocaine and alcohol coursing through my being. After that, I walk into my favorite convenient store, ask for my daily carton of cigarettes and complimentary $50, which is given to me in ones. Then I go to the nearest titty bar and enjoy my lunch of hot wings and stripper pussy. This lasts for about an hour or so until everyone in the club leaves due to the strippers being incapacitated by bone-shattering orgasms. (I am not allowed at any strip club within the greater Houston area as a result, but I'm not a pussy and don't let others tell me what to do.) So, stomach full and penis satisfied, I continue my journey through the city. More often than not, I jaywalk through busy traffic (this frequently includes highways) and laugh as people slam on their bakes and bitch about how their bastard children received whiplash. Sometimes, I am confronted by a bum asking for change. This tickles me inside as I take their cup, pour the change in my pocket, take a sour dump in it, and hand it back to them. I subsequently skip away in the gayest manner conceivable (arms swinging, fingers a-snappin', the whole shebang), as nothing lifts my spirits more.

"Nightlight got me when the Daylight went to Evening:"

By now, I have come down off both alcohol and cocaine, and am in a perpetual state of being pissed off as a result. The incessant honking of cars, excessive jabber of bystanders, and horrid, artificial lighting all make me feel as if there's a tornado ripping apart a razor blade factory inside my skull.
The urge to end my life as well as everyone within a mile radius acidly dissolves any sympathy I may have for those inherently shittier than myself. But, alas, I do not, as I enjoy my amazing self more than my momentary hate for reality. So, I decide to make my way back to my lavish mansion. Of course, by then, I don't feel like doing shit anymore. So I finish off whatever alcohol I didn't drink with my breakfast, put another deadly alarm clock on my nightstand, and pass the fuck out.

Also, I go through the entire day with a facial demeanor that looks something like this.
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Enjoy your shitty day.



--BFP 

BFP2 Uploaded 09/12/2011
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