Snarky Rant O' The Week Number 3.

Just a forewarning: I'm sick with the flu right now. When I feel like shit, I have absolutely no filter as to what I say and who I offend. My apologies in advance.

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I swear, the next time I see a “Story Of My Life” story I am going to stomp on the owner of said story’s puppy, then scoop up the remains with a piece of paper upon which a Holocaust denial is written. Is your life really so extravagant that you feel the need to write a story about it? Are you some sort of assassin working for the Australian government sent on a mission to destroy Canada before they use up all the maple trees? I highly doubt it. Your life isn’t that interesting, and nobody wants to read about and subscribe to it.

Now Keelan, isn’t this a bit hypocritical of you? Aren’t you the queen of internet narcissism? Yes, I am, and that is not the point. Call me a hypocrite all you want for joining so many social sites, thinking people give a shit about what I think. BUT there is a line to be drawn before you cross over from the internet narcissist side to the twat side. I understand perfectly that nobody is going to like a story in which every chapter consists of:

I walked downstairs to find my brother eating a bagel. He took the last one, the git. I suppose I just won’t eat today. But wait, I get to school and Mandy decided to bring donuts for the class. Looks like I will eat today. Nothing went on in the Center for Success today; Mr. Vitagliano played some guitar, that’s about it. “Keelan,” Brandon said in English, enticing me to turn and address him with the attention he requested. “Check out how many packs of gum I have.” I look at the stack of twelve gum packets and respond with, “Wow Brandon, that is quite amazing.” I wonder when he’ll ever love me back.

Now to be quite honest, if that was only the first chapter and it set the foundation for Keelan and Brandon’s love to take flight, then maybe it could be a decent three-shot. However, it would no longer be a true story considering Brandon will never grow the balls to admit he likes me, too (but we’ll save that for another rant).

Another thing that bothers me is when these true stories consist of nothing but people bitching about how much their life sucks. Life isn’t meant to be a cakewalk hosted by a team of Welsh male strippers, love. And it just gets plain scary when they consist of the many beatings they receive from their step father and/or boyfriend. If that truly is your life, I would stop writing about it for critique and start talking to the police.

I suppose the point I’m trying to make in all of this is that unless you really are Matt Tuck’s daughter, or have the coolest job in the world as an undersea Cthulhu hunter, I would suggest not even bothering. And please don’t even bother to complain to me that nobody is commenting on the pathetic life that every other person is living, and therefore doesn’t need thrown back into their face.