Hmm... I always hate doing this crap. It's so lame typing rubbish about yourself. I mean, who the heck cares anyway? So you like taking dumps in large crowds? Who gives a flying marshmallow? I know I don't. But what blog isn't complete with out a profile to match? For all I know most out there are just as bored as me, and they might actually enjoy reading about what some other sod across the other side of the globe enjoys doing, or what they think about certain things. But enough of me going on about how I don't like doing this. I'll just get it out of the way and never look back.

My name is Chikory O'riley. It's not my real name, it's the name I use on the Intermanet. Like I'd tell you my real details, I'm too paranoid for that. Especially when it comes to the Intermanet. After all, there are people like me out there! So that having been said, I've got good reason to be worried.

Next up. I tell people that I'm 84. It cuts down on those fags who think that to have a conversation with you, or to play a game in one of the gaming rooms that allow chat, they need to know details like your "ASL". Lazy pricks. I hate people that abbreviate so much that their sentences turn into words consisting of no more than 3 letters. That is, if you can even call them words. And what about those fags who use the term "lol" too much? Half the time they're not even laughing. In fact, these days it's more of a conversation gap filler.
"So I went to the cafe and ordered a hot pie, but it was cold. So I asked them to heat it up and they did."
"lol"
Okay, jack ass, what the hell was so funny about that? So his pie was cold. So he needed it to be heated up. So they did it. Why the need to pretend you're laughing?
But that's not what I started talking about. I said I was 84. I'm not. I'm actually between the ages of 1 and 100. That helps a lot, I'm sure. But that's all I'm going to give you.

I like the number 2. Two twos are better than one. Hence the reason I say that my birth date is the 22nd of the 2nd month, 1922. Wow! For anyone that didn't cotton on to that sooner, here's a tip...
You're a friggin' moron.

I have a pet rock. I carried it over 3 kms, and I estimate that it weighs over 5kgs. It was tough balancing it on my head and shoulder while I navigated my way over a rocky creek bed with very little water inhabiting it. But it was worth it. I actually originally got the rock as a joke for a "friend" who said he would've liked to join me on my trek through the mountains, but wasn't able, due to unforeseen circumstances. I think that was a load of shit. But I grew attached the rock, even named it Wilson when I almost lost it down a ditch in some weeds (the scenario reminded me of Wilson the ball from Cast Away). So having grown such a strong bond with this lump of hard matter, I decided to keep it and I got him another rock; just as big but not as cool. Then I put eyes on it, and now it resides in my room. Wilson is cool. You are not. Don't you ever forget that!

My real living and breathing pets consist of 2 ring neck doves, 1 fluff ball (more commonly known as a dog), 1 rat, 10 mice (and more on the way), and 24 pigeons. They're all cool. They all kick ass. They are all, also, better than you.

I work in the customer service industry. I hate my job. I hate a vast majority of the people I work with. I also hate a vast majority of the people that cross my path throughout the course of my day. Everything they want grates on my nerves. Every question they ask irks me. Everything they say makes me want to jump over my register and wrap my hands around their neck until their eyes roll back into their idiotic skulls and they turn blue. I won't even touch on how their actions make me feel. I'm tempted to, but I shall spare you that inner rage.
Which brings me to my next point; my reason for having this website and blog.

I made this place because if I don't piss and moan in my own little corner of the Intermanet I will go absolutely insane and go through with my dastardly plans of mass destruction upon the entire human race.

I like to make websites. I like to do wacky things. I like to have fun. I like the peace and quiet of natural habitat. I like horror movies that suck so bad they become funny. There's nothing funnier than a serious part of a movie involving some screaming whore teenager running away from a wacko with a chain saw, only to get her head violently detached from her body. The graphics usually suck, the scene is usually unbelievable, and the acting almost always has a lot to be desired. But that's what makes it funny.

When I get pissy I go for a drive. I do this a lot. I go through a lot of petrol. I need to replace my front left tyre and get all four of them rotated. I'll do that when I get around to it.

Society hates me. But that's okay because I hate society.

I can't hold a conversation with someone my age. I just suck at it. They don't say anything that interests me. They don't talk about anything that interests me. They don't even come close to holding the same interests as me. But give me a 40 year-old and I can talk for hours.

My idea of having fun is to steal abandoned witches hats, or set up a tea party on the foot path of a main street and ignore the strange looks I get from passers by. Most people my age enjoy going out and partying like the skanky hoes they are.
They have no scruples. They have no common sense. Hell, I don't even know if their heads contain a full sized brain. All I do know is that they suck, they're boring, and they're all complete and utter stamentards.
Stamentard is a great word. It sums up 98% of the world's population.

I like to draw. I like the English language. I like to read. I like to play the violin. I like music. I like my car. I like animals. I like writing stories. I like abusing people in chat rooms, usually people who deserve it. Hell, they might as well have a neon sign flashing next to their screen name stating "I'm a moron. Pick on me!".

I like old music. There isn't much that today's artists come up with that doesn't sound anything more than a high school group playing from their parent's garage using nothing more than tin cups and cardboard boxes for instruments.
And what's up with heavy metal? How on Earth can that even begin to constitute music? People spend up to 30 bucks on a cd filled with pointless banging and some idiot screaming "DIE!" over and over again.
There are people out there starving and you idiots are wasting cash on that? I'll tell you what's cheaper. Get the fag getting a free ride in your rust bucket "pimp mobile" to bang on the dash board and scream obscenities. It's cheaper, and you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that freeloader you're driving around is actually paying his or her way.

I live in boganville, Australia. I love the UK. I am going back there. I will live there. I just need the money. But mark my words, the moment I get it I'm so out of this shit hole, and the people that inhabit this country can rot in hell.



There. That wasn't any where near as hard as I expected it to be.
Have a nice day.