#pissing

Do you know which is the biggest? This is shit that at first writes all sorts of vulgarities, all sorts of nonsense that then you feel sick and want to burp from his shitty behavior, and then if he realizes that nothing is working, then he switches to personal insults. I don't think there are enough of them to kill. Because if a person does not understand and does not reach him, that I have my own requirements, and that I do not want to hear about intimacy. The most important thing is that this bastard writes anonymously, it is pissing to write without an anonymous name. And when I put without anonymous, he does not write anything.
They call you a pig when you are thin, and pimply when these acne are simply not there. Calls bad when you have a higher education. Although this person himself certainly does not have a normal appearance, no face, absolutely nothing. And instead of apologizing for writing all sorts of vulgar filth, this schizophrenic turns to personal insults.
And you know, the most interesting thing is that he probably doesn’t even know what I write in English, apparently because he’s also stupid. Let calm down! And then only knows how to call names and nothing more.
I think that this is not normal when you explain normally that you don’t understand Ukrainian well and you already write in English, and still there is an Internet - a dork who will write you some kind of muck
and funny from him, and at the same time sad, because a person does not have everything at home.
It was the limit! and that's the point.

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If there's one thing I'm good at, it's putting people in their place.
I have the amazing ability to recall even the most trivial movie lines. My dad's the same way, my mom and sister refuse to watch movies with us because we're always saying the lines before the characters. I could go on jeopardy and make literally hundreds of dollars.
I like to think I'm good at writing. This year so far, I've written over 30,000 words in music review, adding to my sum of the past few years of 345,000+. I've been told by others that I'm good and I've even had my username noticed on sites separate from my writings because of it.
I've had a fairly multicultural life and love to observe my environment/listen to people, so I found myself quite good at understanding new cultures and adapting to them. I'm also no slouch at understanding people's mental structures. "Beating suitors away with a golden stick" level though... Nah, that's really hard to achieve. So don't feel inadequate, I guess.
Remembering seamingly stupid details of situations, being able to recalll large amounts of data when attached to an event, seeing trends in problems, spotting gaps in knowledge between teams in a work enviroment. Remembering small parts of larger events even if I dont recall the event as a whole. I am also good and finding flaws in others logical progressions. This allows me to reviews the notes of a problem somone is working on and spotting the flaw in logic\decision making that is preventing them from resolving an issue.
I've always been completely at ease initiating and maintaining conversations with complete strangers. I've had a lot of friends ask me for advice, but I have trouble coming up with a set of rules for them. I just have things to talk about, even with members of the opposite sex.
I am excellent at navigating crowds. I will get you to the front row at the biggest concert. I will get you to the exit faster than anyone else. I will get you to the front of the line, through the jam-packed lobby, I will find your friend in the crowd before anybody else. I will do it without pissing people off and without spilling my drink. It's not a big deal or anything, but it does make me damn handy at a big event. And above all other things, I'm a good cook who has developed the world's best BLT sandwich. Sourdough bread, fresh lettuce, Cherokee purple tomatoes, garlic pepper thick-cut bacon, and a pepper-curry aioli. My cooking is the only talent that has actually brought suitors to my doorstep in hot pursuit.

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Pretty tied up, de Guns and roses. Psycho therapy, de The ramones. Psychotic reation, de Sex pistols. Pinhead, de The ramones. Please don’t touch, de Motorhead. Party, de Queen. Pay your price, de Motorhead. Princess of the universe, de Queen. Pain, de Suzi Quatro. Put out the fire, de Queen. Primitive love, de Suzi Quatro. Piss factory, de Patti Smith. Presence dear, de Blondie. Pissing a river, de Patti Smith. Picture this, de Blondie. Promised land, de Chuck Berry. Poison ivy, de The rolling stones. Poor Tom, de Led zeppelin. Parachute woman, de The rolling stones. Plundered my soul, de The rolling stones. Podunk, de Foo fighters. Poprocks and coke, de Green day. Power to love, de Jimi Hendrix. Platypus (I hate you), de Green day. Purple haze, de Jimi Hendrix. Panic, de The pretty reckless. Primal concrete sledge, de Pantera. Peephole, de System of a down. Psycho holiday, de Pantera. Protect the land de System of a down, etc.

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Yep, the same one. Dude I literally lost my shit a bit today.... Got off break, store was dead dead and had been for awhile, everything was restocked and done so I pulled out my phone and she went off on me and told me to put it away and I literally just said no and kept doing my thing. She took my 4:30 break away and makes me go earlier now, and I legit got pissed and tried fighting it but it didn't get me anywhere. Like i'm slowly losing my shit and she knows it but she doesn't seem to actually give a shit that she's really been pushing me and pissing me off. Or like, she'll see that i'm very clearly busy or with a customer and she'll demand I drop everything to do what she wants when she's doing nothing, eating ice cream cones or playing on HER phone which she does all goddamn day long. Like I seriously just can't handle her.

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O kam tau? Estetinį malonumą jauti? :D
65. Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin? (Renton, Trainspotting, intro narration)
74. If you're good at anticipating the human mind, it leaves nothing to chance. (John Kramer, Saw V)
913. Religion is an insult to human dignity. With or without it you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. (Steven Weinberg)
1094. 12:45, Restate my assumptions: 1. Mathematics is the language of nature. 2. Everything around us can be represented and understood through numbers. 3. If you graph the numbers of any system, patterns emerge. Therefore: There are patterns everywhere in nature. Evidence: The cycling of disease epidemics; the wax and wane of caribou populations; sun spot cycles; the rise and fall of the Nile. So, what about the stock market? The universe of numbers that represents the global economy. Millions of human hands at work, billions of minds. A vast network, screaming with life. An organism. A natural organism. My hypothesis: Within the stock market, there is a pattern as well. Right in front of me. Hiding behind the numbers. Always has been. (Maximillian Cohen, Pi (1998))
526. Do not go gentle into that good night;
Old age should burn and rave at close of day.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. (Dylan Thomas)
522.

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