Hello, Here Are Opinions No One Asked For

So, here I stand upon the proverbial internet roof and yell my presence to anyone who may listen. It’s difficult to write a sufficiently engaging introductory post without it feeling a lot like an AA meeting so I think I will follow that format, for now. Let’s get into an uncomfortably stare-y circle and make horrible eye contact as we get to know each other.

Hi, my name is Megan, and I am an Internet Narcissist with a chronic case of Word Vomit.

Hopefully your little reading voice chimed back a half enthusiastic, “Hey Megan!” – if it didn’t, you are clearly unversed in AA meeting etiquette and I invite you to reread my name introduction until your reading voice has gotten some manners.

Yes, I am an Internet Narcissist in many regards. I post often about everything and anything so thereby it is only right that I complete the transfiguration; from a lowly female with lots of internet opinions, to an Impressively Knowing and Intellectual Blogger. I didn’t choose this lifestyle – it chose me (after I sat and fiddled with buttons and menus until I made the ugliest home page possible, gave myself an @ name, and hurriedly told my friends to address me by said lifestyle title).

On this brand new, exciting, shiny (and only SLIGHTLY shite) blog, I’m going to talk about a multitude of topics: from my own personal experience as a student living on Rustler’s burgers, dirty looks from my disgusted peers and pints; to pop culture and politics; and other miscellaneous subject matters I just generally think I should spew word vomit on.

No: no one asked for my opinion, but when has that stopped me before? I hope it’s slightly amusing for anyone who peaks on it and I’m sorry in advance for being a grumpy guts.

 

 

 

Piece of Poop Poetry: Honestsea

Her hands bled.

Setting down the tools she had,

She admired her work.

A mighty tribute to her time spent

Weaving masts, welding wood,

Whittling down rough edges

Which were never really an issue to her-

Naturally, she knew where to tread

To avoid a nasty scrape.

Instead,

It was for shoulders towering over unfamiliar footsteps.

The ghost crew she always envisioned

That would, surely, inevitably, probably,

Materialise before her very eyes

Now that the pieces were all in place

To conquer the horizons yonder.

She bounded onto the ship

And set sail immediately.

(The fatal flaw!)

Compasses hold more value than hammers at sea

And as she had no place to be –

She floated

Directionless

And that was all.

Her work

Pretty

And that was all.

Billows, bluster and steam

Sometimes it really hurts to dream.