There's a compulsion in me to remain as solitary as possible. To be honest, I have a feeling that I won't ever have anybody special. I've had offers before from some folks, advances from others, and I've shot them all down. Guess I'm just not a people person.

Already, the longest amount of time I've spent in total, complete isolation by myself with no human contact whatsoever is around three months, and I was happy as a clam.

You'd do great in prison. All you'd have to do is keep landing yourself in solitary confinement.

Relationship, if done properly. With my current mate, keeping him pleased is not a chore.

Is it your dog?

I know those feels. Just don't try to fuck it.

My cocker spaniel didn't respond well.

I'd kill a person if I thought I could get away with it.

Yeah you fuckin' are!

Let's say a water main breaks in downtown Los Angeles and it floods an electrical substation, knocking out all the traffic lights and tying up the entire city and emergency vehicles can't get through. And at the same time, one of those month-long global warming heatwaves comes along but there's no air conditioning, there's no water for sanitation, so cholera, smallpox and dysentery break out and thousands of people start dying in the streets. But before they die parasites eat their brains and they go completely fucking crazy and they storm the hospital, but the hospital can't handle all the casualties so these people rape all the nurses and set the hospital on fire.

And the flames drive them even crazier so they start stabbing social workers and garbage-men, and a big wind comes along and the entire city goes up in flames and the people who are still healthy - they get mad at the sick people and they start crucifying them, nailing them to crosses, trying on their underwear, shit like that. Then everybody smokes crack and PCP and they march on city hall where they burn the mayor at the stake, strangle his wife and take turns sodomising the statue of Larry Flynt.

And at this point, at this point it looks like pretty soon things are gonna start to get out of control. So everybody panics and tries to leave the city at the same time, and they trample each other to death in the streets by the thousands and wild dogs eat their corpses, and the wild dogs chase the rest of the people down the highway. One by the one the dogs pick off the old fucks and the slow people because they're in the fast lane where they don't belong; get the fuck out of the fast lane if you're an old fuck or if you're a slow fuck, get over on the right. And then the lucky ones, the people who manage to make it all the way out of town, they discover when they get there that big sparks from the city have lit the suburbs on fire, and the suburbs burn uncontrollably, and thousands of identical homes have identical fires with identical smoke. Killing all the identical soccer moms and their identical kids named Jason and Jennifer.

And now the fire spreads to the farmlands, and the farmlands burn intensely at 425 degrees creating millions of baked potatoes. As the farmlands burn, thousands of barns and farmhouses begin to explode from all the hidden methamphetamine labs. And the meth chemicals run downhill into the rivers and streams where wild animals drink the water and get completely geeked on speed. So bears and wolves amped up on crank start roaming the countryside looking for people to eat, even though they're not really hungry.

And the fires spread to the forest and the forest burn furiously and hundreds of elves and trolls and fairies come running out of the woods screaming, "Bambi's dead! Bambi's dead!" And he is, he is, finally that fucking little cunt Bambi is dead. Dead! Now hundreds of regional fires come together into one huge interstate inferno and all twelve of the western United States are burning out of control, except Utah where the Mormons don't allow fires. And the fire spreads across the Great Plains, roasting the wheat, cooking the cattle and producing. . . hamburgers, actually.

Then it leaps to Mississippi and races through the South, blowing up stills, interrupting lynchings and killing millions of inbred people. And then it turns northeast and it heads for Washington D.C. where George Bush can't decide if it's an emergency or not. He doesn't know. It's hard work. He can't decide because Dick Cheney is in prison, so instead he takes a nap; he puts him empty, fucking brainless head down on the little pillow his mother gave him at Christmastime, and he takes a fucking nap. So the fire moves to Philadelphia, but it's a weekend and Philadelphia's closed on the weekend. So the fire moves to New York City and the people in New York tell the fire to go fuck itself, and it does.

So instead it burns down Long Island and Connecticut, killing all the rich white assholes and completely destroying their evil, faggoty golf courses. And while all this is going on, Canada burns to the ground but nobody notices. And now the entire North American continent is on fire, producing a huge thermal updraft and creating an incendiary cyclonic macro-system that forms a hemispheric megastorm, breaking down the molecular structure of the atmosphere and actually changing the laws of nature. Fire and water combine, burning clouds of flaming rain fall upward, gamma rays and solar winds ignite the ionosphere creating huge clouds of ionised plasma, bolts of lightening twenty-million miles long begin shooting out of the North Pole and the sky fills up with green shit!

And then suddenly, the entire fabric of space-time splits in two; a huge crack in the Universe opens and all the dead people from the past begin falling through - Babe Ruth, Groucho Marx, Davy Crockett, Tiny Tim, Porky Pig, Hitler, Janis Joplin, Alan Ludden, my Uncle Dave, your Uncle Dave, everybody's Uncle Dave; an endless stream of dead Uncle Daves falling through the crack. And all the dead Uncle Daves gather around the heavenly kitchen table, they light up cigarettes and they begin to talk; they talk about how they never got a break, how their parents didn't love them and their children were ungrateful, they talk about how the government screwed them out of money and how they just missed out on a big job. They say the Jews own everything and the Blacks get special treatment, and all the hatred and bitterness drips out of these people and forms a big pool of liquid hate.

And the pool of liquid hate begins to spin, round and round it spins, faster and faster, and the faster it spins the bigger it gets. Faster and faster, bigger and bigger, until the whirling pool of hate is bigger than the entire Universe and suddenly it explodes into trillions of tiny stars. And every star has a trillion planets, and every planet has a trillion Uncle Daves. And all the Uncle Daves have good jobs, perfect eyesight and shoes that fit. They have great sex lives and free healthcare, they understand the Internet, their kids thing they're cool and they all love their neighbours.

And every week, without fail, Uncle Dave wins the lottery. Forever and ever, until the end of time and every single Uncle Dave has a winning ticket. And Uncle Dave is finally happy; now do you see why I like it when nature gets even with humans?

I have no problem with this.

Somewhere around 20

When the fuck will plug.dj be back up?

Dustin, you have a problem.

We're here for you.

You are a top-tier pleb, although,has the police contacted you yet?

Naw.

There are ways of evading that, you know.

I fucking hate it when people do this. Why are you bothering? It's a thought experiment, not a plan of action.

Just accept the terms and come to a conclusion, that way you actually fill the requirements of the discussion.

Provided that the country will lose millions of dollars in tourism.

You snooze you lose.

Get the plague, take the blade.

You know how it goes.

Let me go look at my bookshelf. 

Fiction:

- 1984 and Animal Farm by George Orwell

- The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, Stranger in a Strange Land and Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein

- 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke

- Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig

- Ringworld by Larry Niven

- Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

- All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Remarque

- Planet of the Apes by Pierre Boulle

- Forever War by Joe Haldeman
 
- Dune by Frank Herbert

- To Kill a Mockingbird by Lee Harper

- The Fort by Bernard Cornwell

Non-fiction:

- God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens

- The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins

- Band of Brothers by Stephen E. Ambrose

- Anarchism by Ruth Kinna

- Profit over People: Neoliberalism and the Global Order by Noam Chomsky

I'm currently reading:

- Liberty Defined by Ron Paul

- The Failure of New Economics: An Analysis of Keynesian Fallacies by Henry Hazlitt

- The Necronomicon by H.P. Lovecraft

Books on my shelf I really want to read:

- The Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith

- The World as Will and Representation by Arthur Schopenhauer

- Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals by David Hume

We'll the first problem here is that she held a party in a place she didn't own. When you're underage you never host parties. Only go to them.

That way you don't land yourself in the position she's in.

Second problem being that you apparently haven't been able to get it through to her that it wasn't you. Don't know how dead set she is on it being you, but you can bet your ass the other two will use you as a scape goat if word gets out in order to cast off suspicion.

Lay it down on the dumb broad and explain to her why it couldn't have been you if you haven't already done so.

Done that. She insists she doesn't care who it was, and just wants something to be done about it.

I insist on not doing anything.

With your record, you prolly did do it.

I actually didn't.

Whoever did do it, however, did it by accident.