Surprise!

Hello peeps. You know a blog is a place where you express your hopes and dreams and fears and such and such. Which is why it should be SHARED. That's why today, a close friend of mine will be guest posting!
Presenting, the one, the only, Emo Ticon with her post on how toast will effect today's society, how it will help the famine stricken parts of Venezuela, and how it will put on our country's economy on rebound!

Toast.

I like toast.

Toast is the only thing that enlivens me. I am toast and the toast is me. In these dark days where the fetid miasma of my worry is blackened and browned and sometimes greened (but only on Tuesdays when they have Teletubby re-runs on AXN at 3:24 in the morning) and very occasionally pinked like, you know, salmon and stuff, yes, in these dark days our love is the single shining hope in the decayed ruins of nobility, the saviour of aristocracy, the young soldier against adversity.

I like toast.

Also I hate my life.

My life is stupid.

Ferrets are tasty.

Yes.

My mother tells me I am not healthy; my friends tell me I am mad; my boss tells me I need to seek psychiatric help; my cabbie tells me not to drink in his taxi or you get out of the car right now, you hear me, you get out of my taxi right now I tell you. And I think it is very unfair of him, very unfair indeed, but I throw my Coke bottle out of the window and the impending sorrow of perhaps striking a hobo on the forehead so defeats me I must sit, recline, quiet my disturbed thought matrix.

I am misunderstood. I am sorrow. I am death.

Toast brings me to life. In my spare time I watch toast. My toast is my friend. It makes me happy. It brings a dark smile to my gloom. Sometimes we play chess together, and often we ice-skate. People despise us. But we are nothing to them, pitiful nothing, dark nothings, nothings that boil and seethe with unending rage and fury and blighted malice.

The sorrow in my madness. The fly in my ointment. The pig in my bathroom. That is toast. That is the meaning of a butterfly’s wing. That is why we pay taxes. That is why you are a dork and can’t get laid.

This is life, and this is toast.

Gardenia. My one true love. In the rain. Yes. In the rain. Yes. Ha. Ha. Hahaha. Yes. Toast. TOAST. TOAST.

Guest post by the author Emo Ticon, now temporarily discontinued.

WELL! Educational and interesting. A double whammy! For more information on the life of toast, please visit:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toast