Fear, focus, and the future. Here, C.M. Humphries writes about whatever.
No, this certainly isn't about the recent box-office hit, featuring Michael Cera. And by the way, even if you despise Mr. Cera, you might want to check out this flick. It's quite amusing and unique. Definitely worthy of its three stars, but none more. Originality's only two-thirds of the battle.
Mailman at the door--hold on!
Weird. My apartment has this slot in the wall for mail to come in, which in nature is very 1970s. Every time he slips mail through the slot, I jump out of my uncomfortable hotel-furniture chair out of fear for my life. But no, no one is breaking in. Not in the slightest. Just slipping mail into my home. He could probably break in this way. I should leave out the details before anyone with ill-will reads this. My buddy Mr. Wildwig wonders if you can piss in my house. For the record, you can't. Halfway through, I've installed a hacksaw.
Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, myself versus the world.
I've been trying to keep up with 750words.com (I'm failing) and recently I've discovered some interesting stats about my own writing. It takes your writing, breaks it down, and tells you your state of mind, reused words, etc.
For this blog, my interest is my emotional state of mind. It takes your emotions and compares them to that of the world. So according to 750words.com, the following are my emotions compared to several other thousand people:
I could have told you this, but apparently I am more affectionate that the rest of the world. Hear that ladies? I'm an affection straight male, also know as a demon. Sorry, though, I'm taken and happy with it.
Okay, I'm a little egotistical. I mean, that's a gimme, right. You're visiting C.M. HUMPHRIES.COM right now. Go figure.
Weird, their happiness colors remind me of McDonald's fires. I mean, fries. Although if McDonald's sold fires . . .
Anyway, I digress. I think this system is bogus. Do I really seem so unhappy?
Ha, at least I'm not that anxious. Wait, is being anxious a good thing? Does that mean I have nothing to look forward to? Huh?
This isn't so bad. Unless they are saying that I voice my opinions and emotions too much like a prepubescent, heart-broken girl. Then they are assholes. I'm a happy guy.
Just because I write horror doesn't mean I hate the world.
Oh, Jesus-titty-fucking-Christ! I AM NOT A DEBBIE DOWNER. Seriously, which bar is really mine? Someone please comment on this blog and tell me that I am not such a little bitch.
Do you see that? My bar could eat the world's bar. Are they really trying to tell me, based on the sort of stories I write, that I am at 25% (or whatever the fuck percent that is) sadder than the entire fucking world? Next thing they're gonna tell me is that I curse more than the entire world too. Mother fuckers.
Okay now . . .
According to this, I cuss way more than I get laid.
You know what, to hell with this blog.
(To the guys and girls from 750.words: You know I'm just clownin', dawg.)
Fear, focus, and the future. C.M. Humphries talks about writing, horror, and whatever.