punk'd, personally
surmised last night that ashton kutcher is sitting in a trailer somewhere near my house, laughing his skinny iowan ass off as he pulls the most drawn-out torturous gag on me, the least-interesting target on earth. there he is guffawing into his oversized headset like a drunken fratboy…
“send in the incompetent and manipulative coworker!”
“yeah, now tell jimmy to put the dent in her car!”
“ain’t it time for her laptop to crash again? do it!”
“cue gina to phone her as the crusty collections officer!”
“get that slimy political guy to fuck around with the stupid election”
"ooh, that's a good one! k, now get that karaoke hostess to slip 'er some tongue!"
then again, oprah and chopra and this life strategist with the freakishly large face tell me that i alone determine my fate. and thanks to this movement of science made cool, i’m doing the requisite peptide work to de-program my neurologically-based addiction to victimization. and i try to create my day. i’m journaling, stretching, meditating. i mantra all the livelong day about my optimal self. i’m getting professional help. and i’ve even got fridge magnet poetry… still in the box, mind you, but the intention is no less valid, muthafucka.
gets me thinking… everytime i pop a vein about some stupid job stress, put off booking a doctor’s appointment, dab on the cologne of a former lover, replay that song, eat another bite, curse that mistake, spend another second with him on my mind … i’m pretty much punking my own damn self. punking myself into thinking that this might, in fact, be as good as it gets. ok, so like, if the sheer silliness of the shit going on lately is a personal episode of punk’d, AND if i'm actually in charge of my own destiny and shit, well then i’ve got it pretty good, cuz my life doesn't actually suck ass, i’m ashton, i'm banging demi, and i'm fucking loaded.
1 Comments:
you kissed the Karaoke hostess too?
*sheesh*
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