Eighteenth Post. The word eight is kinda spelt funny. Does that count as a joke?

Holla! my fellow bloggards,
So what's been gooooooing on? Its been a while since my last post, but I assure you that during in my time off I wasn't loafing around, but rather doing very important things; like saving the rain forest! To burn later. After I'm done with all the regular forest.  But in all seriousness, my lack of time as of late is because I have a buttload of exams coming up, and also I got braces yesterday and consequently have been spending 45 minutes out of every hour swearing at my goddamn, motherfucking, I-WILL-MURDER-YOU teeth. Oh solid food, how I miss you....

  My temporarily revised food pyramid. 

But I realize I'm starting to sound like one of those whiny losers who posts on their blog complaining about their life and personal problems for all the internet to see and mock. Man, ff I could meet any of these people, the one question that I'd like to ask them is "Why?" If they're looking for attention, then they might as well be shoving their posts into a bottle and throwing them out to sea; which would probably result in the same number of views as them posting their problems on some two-bit no-name page in the jaw-dropping enormity that is the internet.

 Day 12: Noone understands me. Noone knows what it's like to be a 13 year old suburban white teenager.

 Are they looking for sympathy or help? You'd get more sympathy in a klan hood otuside the Apollo theatre. The internet is not some sort of hug powered sympathy machine that dispenses hot cocoa and gently reassurances. The internet is a savage place, an unfeeling place, where the only currency accepted is hurt feelings. Where comments like "fag","photoshopped" and "no, ur mom" are scrawled on every wall, ceiling and floor. Where haggard-looking "Nigerian royalty" roam the streets, scouring the bins of personal inforation for anything usable, begging passerbys for help with banking transactions whilst giant sickly-coloured neon billboards  scream at you, promising  "MAXMUM MEAT STICK MALE ENHANCEMENT, ENGORE YOUR SELF WITH NEW PRODUUCT, OVER INFINITY INCHES GUARANTED!!!!11"

Quite frankly, this is not the place you go for psychiatric help, this is where you go when you die if you were a bad person in life.

But just for the helluvit, I decided to imagine what would happen if the Internet were actually a psychiatric professional. Well, not immediately, first I imagined what it would be like if I swapped brains with a cat (We both died during the operation). But eventually when I did get to the internet thing, here's how it went.

Dr. Internet

Gary: H-hello, Doctor. It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard great things about you and your work.

Dr. Internet: LOL n00b.

Gary:Umm, ok? You see,  I was referred to you by one of your colleagues, Dr. Jewishname. He told me that he sent you my file last week. Have you gone through my patient history?

Dr. Internet: tl;dnr

Gary: Well I suppose it can be a bit wordy (Awkward chuckle). So I'll just tell you what we were working on before Dr. Jewishname had to leave for his family vacation. He and I were working on my motorphobia after the tragic loss of my wife Susan in the car accident . If I recal-

Dr. Internet: Pics or it didn't happen.

Gary: What? But doctor, my wife, she-

Dr. Internet: Was she hot? Pics plz. FAP.FAP.FAP.FAP.

Gary: Now I say! This is highly unorthodox, Dr. Internet. I know you're probably joking around bu-

- WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST FOR AN EMERGENCY MESSAGE FROM MY TEETH -

- WE RETURN TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULE PROGRAM, ALREADY IN PROGRESS-

Dr. Internet: -never gonna let you down, never gonna turn around and hurt you!

Gary: That's the fifth time you've sung that now. Can we please get on with the session?

Dr. Internet: Lamesauce.

Gary: Well doctor it's been over a year now since the accident and I still can't seem to get behind the wheel of a car. Whenever I try, I just see Susan's limp lifeless body trapped in that cage of twisted steel and broken glass. The last tim-Wait, what are you doing with those slides? Is this a Rorshach test? Well I'm not sure what this will accomplish, but you're the professional. That first one, it's a cat asking for what seems to be "cheezburger". The second one,uhh, it's two lesbians making out. Doctor I don't see how this could possibly be related to my motorphobia. Huh, now what this third on-OH GOD. Is that a huma- but it shouldn- how did it even get bent like that?

Dr. Internet: Lol, pwned.

Gary: Goddamn it Dr. Internet, I am sick of this. How are you treat me this way! How is anything of this supposed to help me work through my phobia? I came to you, a healthcare professional, in a time of great need and this what "help" you offer me? Have you no shame, sir? Have you no empathy?

Dr. Internet: Cool story, bro.

It was at this time I grew tired of this ,by now pointless, exercise and imagined myself a gun. Which I used to shoot the good doctor several times in the face.Then I imagined him back to life, and shot him several more times. I proceeded to do this for hours on end until my imaginary hand began cramping up.

Well there you are, my readers, a haunting recollection of my brief time with the Internet. Brrr, I still get the chills just thinking about it. Well until next time, don't forget. While the internet may be a scary and foreboding thing, it's even scarier to imagine living without it.