Anti-grand and suck it to el Cap-e-tan Suck.

Ugh that's so annoying. Here I am, skipping about and fixing to go read a very promising new book that I even bought at full price, and I stumble across your dumb little blog and your philosophical thinking triggered mine but I don't actually want to write them down but then that'd just feel like a waste to think important thoughts and not do anything about them and basically apathy, but then isn't it conceited (conceited not conceded that's always bothered me) to assume their important thoughts?
I don't think I will explore the depths of my brain and excavate the thoughts that cavernous realms of my mind may or may not be sheltering. What's the point? Who reads this? Even more, who reads this and gives a crap? Not many, I dare say, and I do dare to say.
Who says blogs have to be philosophical, anyways. Sure, there are gripping blogs out there filled to the character-limit with mind-boggling stuff, but I never said I'd live up to their standards. Maybe in this blog I'll just prattle on about insignificant things. You can read if you like, or not, because I don't really care, because I didn't ask you to. I can publish pointless thoughts if I please, and you can waste your time reading them if you please, but if you don't please, please don't.
I woke up today after having a dream about something very interesting, that I cannot for the life of me recall. I then watched a brilliant movie called Defiance, which I would highly recommend to the ones who did please to continue reading. It's another movie about the Holocaust, but it's from about the Bielski brothers, who were Russian Jews and who have a great story. The movie was produced really well, too, so there's that. Then my Dad came over, and after assuring us kids that he had no money, asked for money from my sister (she's got it because she just graduated) then did us the great favor of buying us a Subway with my sister's money. Thanks! Then I amused myself for a bit with the third Harry Potter, but at this point I've read them all far too many times for them to actually capture my interest. Except for the Fourth and Sixth, they're my two favourites and consequently the only two not in my possession. Then said sister scampered off to some social event, and I got a good look at myself in the mirror and as a direct result, took a shower immediately. With that accomplishment under my belt, I debated whether or not to walk dear Lily, but she was out of food and wouldn't have any until my mom got home from work, so I ixnayed that idea when what do you know? In walks the mother. Excited for a chance at new society, I greeted her enthusiastically but sadly she was in a hurry to go to a meeting and for a run, and the needs of her last daughter were put off for another day as she ushered my brother and me into our car and off to our Dad's house. We arrived (with Taco Bell in hand, of course, because we figured Dad wouldn't have much appetising food and would appreciate a few tacos) to the Father's apartment and settled in for an hour or two of television. That being taken care of, my Mother showed back up and the brother decided to continue courting the boob tube, so the two of us went for a few groceries at Wal-Mart. Lily needed her food, you see. We went in, and saw a very attractive man, and upon over-hearing that he needed shampoo discovered that we were quite out of conditioner, and then decided we needed mens underwear and some sort of foot medication, all which happily coincided with the handsome man's shopping list, too. Funny, isn't it? With items in hand we managed to loiter around (completly inconspicuously, too) and exit Wal-Mart at the same time, and also magically able to see that he drove a Prius, and somehow found that we needed to go the same exact direction as he did, despite it being the opposite way we first thought we needed to travel. Having had enough fun with stalking for the evening, we stopped off at home where I lectured my uncaring mother for quite sometime on the pitfalls of not taking third-daughters to Starbucks on request, but then saidsaid sister arrived back from her social event and my Mother softened to the idea of a quick cup of coffee. Off we set, and bellowed along with Chris Isaac or something like that whom we've listened to since the early 90's (and yet I can still never recall his name confidently) , had a pleasant rendezvous at Starbee (yes, my eldest sister actually calls it that, and yes, I actually find the term endearing and yes, actually employ it somewhat often) and then rented Frost Nixon from the local Redbox (actually my Mom and I rented it at Walmart way earlier, but for my sake, or the sake of not-feeling-like-going-back-and-leading-the-reader-away-from-the-more-important-part-of-our-Walmart-trip-aka-the-Handsome-Man I'll just interject that part right there). Another good movie, minus Nixon's annoying rambles, but what can be done? The man was a rambler. A sort of disease which, as this blog proves, I am obviously not afflicted with. And after that was over, I bid a very brief adieu to saidsaidsaid graduated sister, and turned to the internet, or more specifically Facebook, for a quick peek into the lives of my loved ones, when my plans of reading Odd Hours by Dean Koontz were foiled by said loved ones blogs and other little writings.
And now I sit here, defiantly typing away pointless nothingness and the thought has just struck me how very fitting it is that it's 2:38 in the morning as I type the skidmark of a blog, and the book that I was planning on reading is titled Odd Hours. Cest la vie, eh? Sac re bleu, mon ami. Oui. Jaune. Rogue. Bonjour. Escargot. Moulin Rouge. Gene se qua. I didn't spell that right-the point is, that the point is nothing. Not in the grand scheme of life, though. I'm talking about the point of this blog. I'm not talking about any sort of grand anything. This blog is anti-grand, and suck it to all you suckers out there who are forced to NOT suck it be el Cap-e-tan Suck himself, the man. Am I right? Of course not, that didn't even make sense. Even still, don't let him get ya down.
I inspire myself with the amount of pointless dribble, meaningless rhetoric, shit, if you will, and if you will'nt, then won't, that pours out of me like something that pours out of something alot. Rain, maybe.

I'm gonna conclude this happy little repreive from anything with meaning with one last sentiment, and that is simply, beautifully, ineffectually, this: catch ya on the flip side LATAAA.