Salutations from the Summerdrome

Hey everybody. Welcome to my first post on this blog. I'm sure many of you can figure out who this is without much difficulty, and I don't care. Even if I don't have the luxury of one of the highlights of the internet - the esteemed veil of anonymity that's quickly becoming a staple of the human diet, I don't care. I'm here. To write. Some shit. It's exactly 11:30 PM according to my kitchen appliances, it's a Friday night in June, I'm home alone and I have nothing to do. Uh-oh, this must be a pseudo-depressed-half-assed-cry-for-help-sort-of-post, right? GOTCHA. I don't feel like bitching tonight. I don't feel like telling you about how my average smalltown whitemiddleclass life didn't go how I planned it today. Boo-fucking-hoo. Because let's face it, generation, bitching has been ruined by....well....bitches. To me, the only appropriate time to really bitch is when inebriated (preferably by alcoholic means) and in good company. So what would you like to talk about? Philosophy? God? Religion? Music? Art? Maybe we could have a "progressivism-off" in which we pretend to throw groundbreaking ideas at eachother, secretly waiting for that one (obviously ignorant) conservative fellow to come along (he always does), whereupon we berate him with our superior intellects. Sounds fucking cool. Maybe we could do it in a Starbucks or something. Or wait, I forgot, Starbucks isn't cool anymore. Now it's all about "independent" and "free-trade" coffeeshops. Coffee's coffee, dipshit. And don't give me that shit about kids in undeveloped countries. Because you and I both know that you don't really care. Not that you shouldn't care. But face it, you don't. You do it for your benefit, not theirs. How do I know? Fuck you. I just realized how stupid this post is. I'm no more of a non-conformist than you are. But I hope that by admitting that, somehow I am. I hate this post, I hate myself, and I hate all of you. I'm in love.