In the beginning; there was mediocrity.

Hello,

If I had any acquaintances I would appreciate it if they referred to me as Snide. I am a middle-aged man of no particular skills and talents and I still live with my mother. When I'm not filling myself with fit for human consumption content, I'm thinking of filling myself with fit for human consumption content.

I have no real life acquaintances in particular, but I boast that I've managed to survive in this cruel harsh world for over 30 years without them. That is because I am an satisfactory organism, and before extraterrestrial creatures reek atomic death upon the plague known as the human race, they will send down brain-devouring parasites to look for adequate hosts that will hold significant positions in their new world order, and I shall be first in line.

You may laugh that I still live with my mother, but that is because I am in training. Copyright laws do not allow me to discuss my epic quest in scrutinizing detail, but I can tell you that it involves saving the universe, non-lethal, pacifist-friendly laser-guns, neat gadgetry that allows me to rip into the fabrics of space and time to open up a warp hole, effectively allowing me to lick my own elbow, and some self-discovery of my inner-soul.

My likes comprise of smouldering objects with fire, conversing with the entity that occupies my cranium, collecting bottle caps in the vain hope that it will one day be appeal a significant sum of money, which I will then use to assist the muscled figure that is confined inside my fat exterior to escape.

Mortals have requested my realistic likes. Realistic likes? Utter nonsense. Conversing with the voices in your head is seen as unrealistic these days? The youth of today is a squirming miniature rodent, nurturing on blissful ignorance and arduous arrogance. I am the size forty-fucking-eight, Addidas-supporting, bionic foot that crushes this rodent. Feel free to quote me on that, servant of civilisation.

Anyhow, I like to engage in one-sided conversations with books. Books fill in the hole in my life which, society would have you believe, should be occupied by specimens under the category known as 'friends' In one of the many hundreds of thousand parallel universes, I exist. However, instead of reading books, and training my self for my imminent, gallant quest, I am a social chameleon, blending in and making friends. I am happy. But I would be a civil servant, just another blurred pair of motion-sickness-inducing features. A particle of mist in the sickening stench of stupidity.

I also do enjoy producing ripples in the pond of the universe with my thoughts. Through vigorous ancient, long forgotten training of my mind, I have achieved the otherworldly state of Kickhhaarse Phula'Ness, which allows me to convert the waves of my brain into powerful, destructive seismic waves of death, with just a few spastic twitches of my eyebrow. So, theoretically, a glance from me could bring down the Roman Empire all over again. In practice, however, it just freaks female organisms out, provoking a poisonous 'shtop laakin' at meee like dat, ya freak' followed by a swift clap around the ears. They so love it.

Mortals have expressed a great interest in my musical tastes. I can only speculate as to why anyone would care, but it's probably that prying into others business brings them a divine thrill, allowing them a peer into the window of tomorrow. Why else would they care? When you rhythmically nod your weightless skull to the nauseating noise of Beyonce's latest heresy, your eyelids half shuttered as if in a trance, your frail fingers pointing up and down, you incite a battle in the depths of my innermost self. My soul tells me to point at the offenders, while clutching my ribs and bursting into spasms of laughter, while my heart begs me to think of their feelings, and giggle privately to myself. It's always a difficult battle.

Blog Spot's feeble hosting services can not handle the corollary weight of my dislikes, so I will not list them.