No Better Company Than My Own

Hmm. Sounds like something a salesman/CEO/delusional worker would say, doesn't it?

Anyway. What I'm trying to say is, I'm my own best friend. No shit.

What, you want evidence? You want proof?! YOU WANT ME TO PROVE IT TO YOU?! FINE, I WILL!! AND... AND I'LL LOOK REALLY PISSED OFF WHILE DOING IT, TOO!! AND I'LL POUT!! AND GLARE!! LIKE SO!!

Proof that I am my own best friend:

1) I never disagree with myself.
Isn't that wonderful? Just think! Someone who will always share your opinion and views on everything! What can possibly be better?

2) I never quarrel with myself.
This is, of course, extremely logical following the reasons stated in 1). If you haven't read it, then there is something very wrong with your reading method. Or your way of counting. Or maybe both.

3) I'm always there for myself.
It's so amazingly amazing, I'm still trying to believe it. Whenever I need a friend to talk things over with, lo and behold, I'm already there! Which, of course, brings us to...

4) We spend every waking moment together.
It's like being conjoined twins, except without being conjoined! Or being twins! How cool is that?!

5) I don't ever need to worry about my feelings.
Let's face it, the problem with friends is that you must always be careful not to hurt his or her feelings. Otherwise you wouldn't be a very good friend, would you? Telling a friend you think his/her shoes are ugly is a no-no. Throwing a friend out the window because he/she thinks your shoes are ugly is an even bigger no-no. Telling a friend his/her shoes are ugly and then throwing him/her out the window is a TOTAL no-no. Don't even think about it. Fortunately, I don't have to worry about stuff like that with myself, since I wouldn't ever voluntarily throw myself out the window without good reason. That and the fact that I know exactly what she's thinking. All the time. I'm psychic, oh yeah.

6) I can buy her birthday presents I want and then own it.
Have you ever found yourself in the Friend's Birthday Dilemma(TM)? It's a pain in the ass, innit? You have absolutely NO idea what to get your friend for his/her birthday, since all you can be 100% sure of is what YOU'd want to receive for your birthday. Then you proceed to suffer a mental breakdown as the dreaded day looms ever nearer, and finally, FINALLY, you can't stand it anymore and proceed to the nearest Generic Giftstore #20938091 and buy Generic Gift #2303810921, which your friend will no doubt be very happy to receive, put it somewhere safe and promptly forget all about it. Said Generic Gift will then immediately be transported into a parallel dimension where all forgotten gifts eventually end up and start plotting their Dastardly Revenge Against Mankind. But I digress. The point here is that I am free to buy any birthday present for myself, since I'd be sure to like it anyway (see #1 and #5). Not only that, I can treat the birthday present as my own, and I wouldn't even mind! Isn't that the bestest best thing ever?!

7) I never fail to amuse myself.
And I do a darn good job at it too. I have recently made the startling discovery that if I draw/write/create/do something, I will always, always be surprised with the results. I can write a silly essay today, come back tomorrow to read it and laugh as though I wasn't the one writing it the day before (which, technically speaking, I wasn't. But I did). I can draw something today, come back half and hour later and think, "OMG! I drew that?!". With me around, I'm never bored. Like this blog, which I constantly use to entertain myself. What, you think I wrote it for you? How narcissistic can you get?!

There you have it. 7 good reasons why there is no better company than my own. But why stop at 7, you say? Why not 10? Why such an odd number? Oh, there's a perfectly good explanation for it, alright.

But I'm not gonna tell you, 'cuz you're not my best friend. So there.

Here's a question for myself, should I be reading this: Why is the moon made out of cheese?

A Galvean Valentine

Whee. I know, I know, Valentine's Day is over. But Galvea's Law defies everything, and thus Valentine's Day is whichever day I say it is.

I was going to draw a short, fluffy Shoujo-y manga for the occasion, but an alien mothership appeared and started a pizza party in my backyard. Then the FBI came over and ate my manga. With Tobasco sauce. Bastards!

So! In order to compensate for the loss of said manga, I shall now present you a short, fluffy Shoujo-y Valentine's Day story instead. It's titled "I'm Gonna Beat the Shit out of You". Just looking at the title makes me feel all warm and fuzzy-feely inside. Say it with me now: Awwwwwwwww~


I'm Gonna Beat the Shit out of You
~A Galvean Love Story~

Once upon a time, in a place utterly insignificant to this story, a not-so-ordinary girl lived with her very ordinary and therefore very unimportant parents/grandparents/family/relatives/random people/whatever. Since all of them except said girl were a) exceptionally ugly and b) had nothing to do with the plot whatsoever, they were therefore c) Very Much Expendable and were inexplicably killed off by some random
Plot Device or another. It was all very sad and tragic. Sniff.

Anyway. It took the not-so-ordinary girl all of 2 weeks to realize that everyone else had spontaneously combusted because frankly, she a) didn't care all that much about them and b) they were really annoying to begin with. She mourned over the sudden loss of people to boss
around for a good 2 minutes before selling whatever stuff she inherited (which was everything) on eee!Bay for a tidy sum. Then she lived happily ever after in a chocolate castle she built for herself on a beautiful island with blue, transparent beaches and white, sandy waters. Or something. Whatever.

But alas! Fate had other plans in store for the main character of our crackpot Valentine maybe-love story thingy.

Which was exactly why she woke up one bright and sunny morning to find herself violently thrown off her bed and her lovely logic-defying chocolate castle shaking and swaying and other such nausea-inducing motions starting with the letter "s". Being the exceptionally bright and
cheerful girl she most definitely wasn't, she immediately got to her hands and feet and started crawling towards her window, cursing in incoherent Spanish all the way. She had no idea what she was saying, of course, but she didn't care. She was the sort of person who enjoyed spouting random words that had no meaning but sounded bad. It made her feel better.

She reached her bedroom window and, gripping the window sill, hauled herself upright on her knees. By this time the castle was swaying so badly the only thing keeping it together was the awesome magical powers of Plot Device #20938021. She poked her head out the window and instinctively flicked Dead Bird #20981 off the crumbly window sill without a second thought. It was completely beyond her why birds kept coming to gorge themselves to death on the chocolate window sill. Damn birds never learn.

A violent jolt through the castle almost sent her flying right out the window and into her untimely demise, but then the story would have to end due to the sudden lack of a main character and that would be, well, really stupid and pointless. So by the mystical powers of Author Will she latched onto the window frame in time to save this sorry excuse of a Valentine fic and also spot the cause of all her troubles.

There was a guy. Eating her castle. Of all the nerve.

"Hey! HEY! HEY YOU!!" She hollered, leaning precariously out the window with all the elegance of a pissed off mad(wo)man about to leap out and strangle somebody. The guy was either a) insane, b) retarded, or, god forbid, c) insane AND retarded. She didn't like any of the
options, but c) meant that somebody was going to die a horrible death and that would be SUCH a hassle. Not to mention there wouldn't be anyone to clean up the mess afterwards since everyone, y'know, spontaneously combusted and all.

Fortunately for her, whatever the guy was, he wasn't deaf. He stopped chomping on a once-exquisitely-carved-but-now-horribly-and-unartistically-mangled pillar to look up at her, squinting against the offensively dazzling morning sun. She sighed, staring at the pillar with
much grief. It was like having a Michelangelo turn into a bad Picasso. Or something.

She sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then she opened her eyes to find that the chocolate-castle-eating-fiend had not spontaneously combusted as she had hoped and was in fact still standing there like her worst nightmare. She cursed under her breath. Damn these non-expendable male leads.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING EATING MY CASTLE?!" She yelled at him. Then, feeling that the outburst didn't quite do her Burning Anger(TM) justice, she shook her fist at him in a manner no decent lady would ever do.

He blinked like an oblivious chocolate-castle-eating-idiot. "You are a princess, are you not?"

For a moment there was nothing but silence. Crickets started chirping, but were immediately run over by a random speeding tumbleweed rolling along at 240km/h from... an absolutely logical place... on a tropical island. Either way, it wasn't important to the story, so it
disappeared off into some other equally logical place to increase its roadkill count.

She knew it. She knew it was coming all along. And here it was. No, not the tumbleweed. The Obligatory Male Lead in a Love Story(TM). She cast her eyes heavenwards and wondered, God, what have I ever done to you?

She stared at the Male Lead(TM) below her and gave a defeated sigh. "If I tell you to go away, will you go away?"

He frowned and rubbed the back of his head uncertainly. "Uh... I'm supposed to rescue the princess and live happily ever after with her."

She gritted her teeth. "Unfortunately, that isn't possible since I am NOT a princess."

"But isn't this a castle?"

"Yeah, before you FRICKIN' ATE IT."

He started fidgeting. "But... but... I thought..."

She cut him off. "Why the hell did you eat my castle?"

He tugged at his collar, looking very embarrased. "...I didn't know how to get in..."

She narrowed her eyes. "Somewhere sometime some guy invented something called a DOOR."
She paused. "Assuming that you haven't destroyed it, of course."

By now he was looking extremely uncomfortable. He squirmed under her gaze, suddenly finding the grass under his feet very interesting to look at.

"So... you don't need to be rescued?"

She gave him one of her forced grins. The kind that said I-so-wanna-bash-your-face-in. "From you, maybe."

"So... I shouldn't eat the castle?"

"No." She answered flatly.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Very."

"You don't want me here?"

"Yes." She said, resisting the urge to jump down and beat the crap out of the moron.

"Are you sur--" He began.

"YES."

"Don't you want--" He gestured helplessly.

"NO."

"I..." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "What should I do now?"

"You want my suggestion? Roll over and die."

He sat down cross-legged on the chocolate-coated lawn with a heavy sigh. "I can't do that! I'm the Male Lead(TM)!" He clutched his head and tugged his hair in an exasperated manner. "Dammit!"

She cracked her knuckles slowly and deliberately. Her mouth curved into an Evil Smirk(TM). "Wrong answer."

And that was how our heroine beat the living daylights out of our Male Lead(TM). Needless to say, he was eventually forced to rebuild her chocolate castle into some sort of psuedo-time-space-interdimensional-warping-castle which created so many paradoxes Logic finally surrendered and retired to a peaceful, idyllic life in Hawaii.

~THE END~

Ahahahaha. Nothing happened between the guy and the girl (both of which were inexplicably nameless throughout the fic). Wasn't that the best Valentine story you ever read? Don't you feel all warm and fuzzy-feely inside now?

The sequel (if there ever is one) will, of course, be titled "I'm STILL Gonna Beat the Shit out of You". Maybe there'll be a love story in that one. But I wouldn't bet my lunch money on it. There's a higher chance of there being crazy psychotic rapping eskimo ninjas than there being any semblance of *gasp* an actual love story. Or plot, for that matter.

Don't Fall For My Chatbox, Please

Dear Loyal Reader/Asylum Escapist/Random Passerby/Confused Victim:

As you must have noticed by now, a new chatbox has just taken up residence in my sidebar. It turned up on my doorstep one day, starving, wet, and running from -- in no particular order -- underground mafia, the police, FBI, marine conservationists, Scotland Yard, UN forces, treehuggers and door-to-door salesmen. Being the Very Good Person I am, I took it in with open arms and fed it some soup. Then I enslaved it on my site, where it is now doomed to a miserable life of taking whatever well-deserved praises/questionable insults/wrongly-directed flames/unjustified demands you have for me and eating it.

Please note that the aforementioned chatbox, which I hereby dub "Joe the Unfortunate Chatbox Enslaved On My Site For All Eternity" (or "Joe" for short), takes to strangers quite well despite its shady past. It will not, in any way, bite or attempt to eat you. It will, however, jump out at you and poke your eyes out with a spork should you stare at it for long periods of time without any intention of feeding it.

P.S. Despite it's name, Joe is not male. Or female, for that matter. I have no idea what gender it is. You may ask him/her/it, but I will not be responsible for any damages incurred.

Joe's Owner,
Galvea