I go on long rants on the suboptimal nature of society. I'm excellent at strawmanning these imbeciles while I sit back with a moderately top shelf bottle of single malt scotch and a Moleskine notebook.
But let me tell you if you're about to strawman me. You cannot! For my single malt scotch is of high quality and not compareable to the contents of the tin can you drink. You mam or sire are literally ingesting a can of crap.
But I digress. I am livid with the world of literature. Nobody is writing what needs to be written. And their reasons are less noble than mine! My notebook is empty but for a few scribbles and I have my reasons. One day I won't have these reasons. But not today. Today I must finish this bottle. Am I a writer with a drinking problem? Or a drinker with a writing problem?
But let me tell you if you're about to strawman me. You cannot! For my single malt scotch is of high quality and not compareable to the contents of the tin can you drink. You mam or sire are literally ingesting a can of crap.
But I digress. I am livid with the world of literature. Nobody is writing what needs to be written. And their reasons are less noble than mine! My notebook is empty but for a few scribbles and I have my reasons. One day I won't have these reasons. But not today. Today I must finish this bottle. Am I a writer with a drinking problem? Or a drinker with a writing problem?
It's like you're trolling me by knowing who I really am. Ah, except for the Moleskine. I'm much more thrifty than that.