#nut-case

[hollifo]

Nya~ | Art Fight Revenge | Photoshop

Nut Case for Nut-Case; She's just so durn cute and fun to draw

[madstoner704]

Tales of the Angry Stoner: You Live in Hicktown, for Fuck’s Sake

Since 27 November 2015, my family has turned me into a black sheep of the family. I am the only one in the household that does not get the family’s blessing of trying to get my licence, the only one in the house who has a required time to get home every time he leaves the fucking house and the only one in the house who has to deal with the Mecklenburg County Courts system because of some raging lunatic who will end up getting shot if he keeps fucking about with people. It makes absolutely no sense that my mother is being overran by my aunt who, apparently still has the insurance to our car in her name, and she thinks that I’m some fucking drug addict. Right, I may beam up twice or thrice a day-- proudly, and not A GODDAMN THING will change that. The only thing I will beam up is a blunt of loud.

My aunt lives in one of the hickest parts of Metro Charlotte, where they are only on the news for either murders, trafficking in methamphetamine, or some other hick shit. Like seriously, what in the hell do you think I am? I’m not on any hard drugs like meth, cocaine, heroin or any bullshit; I mean, for fuck’s sake, I barely even take the medicine my GP prescribes me to take! And plus, do you or do you not know that if it wasn’t for marijuana, I would have been lost my job a long time ago? In my book, it’s worse having a hick on meth on North Carolina’s roads instead of a city-slicker on a good ass blunt of doja on North Carolina’s roads. But you know what? I don’t even give a fuck anymore, because had I not went to my running group to try and kill off chitterlings fat, this motherfucking pot ticket would have never made it to fruition. In other words, I could have still been at home, rolling blunts and took the 10:37am bus to my running group, instead of taking the 9:37 bus to my running group. More time for me to look at the absolute best in gay pornography, rolling up blunts and bitching on the phone to people, about people. So, that was a fuck-up on my part; I should have just earmarked time thereafter to go to Planet Fitness and run the chitterlings fat out, instead of dealing with reckless bastards who are just mad because they are still going to get their ass beat or tased.

That pot ticket has changed everything. I was supposed to declare the ticket to my manager, yet my manager still does not know, and he will not know. I could get a $250 fine to pay just for a fucking roach. I’m gonna pay the ticket... in pennies. My mother thinks that we are about to lose the apartment. We are not about to lose the apartment, unless she decides to say “Fuck it all, we are moving to Hicktown”. I’m not moving out of Charlotte. Not negotiable. My aunt was looking up home drug testing kits. If I see it in my apartment, I am throwing the shit in the trash. I’m not pissing for employment or freedom, I’m only pissing for the sake of my own personal relief and enjoyment. And the state of affairs with my running group has only gotten worse. I have been notoriously unable to get any official with my running group to answer their phones. If I pay $40 to MetroPCS faithfully and answer their calls, they can pay their Verizon, AT&T and Sprint bill and answer my call. They only now call to give me 12 hours notice of a race. Yet, what all came of this? Nothing. I won silver medal and a fucking headache to and from Salisbury, the person who made the entire situation happen is banned from the programme and what’s else? Nothing-- because he did the exact same shit he told the police that I was doing.

Now I may have autism, but that means I can tell you every Goddamn thing that happened on 27 November.

0630- I woke up and my computer was still on MyVidster on a film with Mr Marky piping down some skinny ass white boy.

0637- I came.

0638- I turned on my cable receiver and my television on Channel 4.

0643- I went to the bathroom and I pissed.

0644- I went to the kitchen to turn on the coffee percolator. I scooped 1/3 cup of Seattle’s Best Coffee (4).

0714- I returned to the kitchen to get a cup of the aforementioned coffee.

0730- I went to the bathroom to take a shit and called one of the people from the running group.

0740- I returned to the kitchen to get the last cup of coffee out of the carafe.

0742- I cussed out my neighbour who was asking me for a Newport cigarette, which I had a loosie at that time.

0755- I returned to the bathroom to take another shit.

0915- I walked to the bus stop and SMOKED A BLUNT WHILST WAITING ON THE ROUTE 3, which was operating with regards to the Saturday bus schedule. 

0938- The bus approached my stop, bang on time for that stop.

0959- The bus reaches Davidson Street and Belmont Avenue, where I pull the ding cord to walk up 12th Street to get to the running group.

1001- I lit up a NEWPORT CIGARETTE WHILST ON THE WALK TO THE RUNNING GROUP.

1016- Matthew Hoffman went to the police at the Urban Ministry Centre and told the officer that I had reefer and I was chasing him up and down North Tryon with tasers and canes.

1026- I was given a pot ticket.

So, what the fuck else you need to know? The fact that Matthew Hoffman needs to be locked into Billingsley for at least 5 years to get his mind back on fleek, the fact that at any point in time between now and 23 March, I can go to Ashley Park and fuck his little ass up and won’t think twice about doing so? You already know what the deal is.

[kristenplescow]

Commission for Nut-case. :D

If you could get cancer from looking at colors... I'd probably have it. A lot.

[neonlung]

today, a rainbow.

i've barely mastered lefty loosey, righty tighty.  strange manifestations of dislexia. Today I was trying to get to class on time, after hitting up the bank, to deposit a cheque for a modeling photo-set I did for a friend of mine. She wrote "being sexy" in the memo. The teller Melissa didn't look twice. She confessed that she's mildly embarrassed that The Cake Boss is her favorite show. I said "don't be embarrassed, Melissa. You watch that Cake Boss with pride!" She agreed. I got lost, rode my bicycle all over kingdom come and felt effing bike fit! I had to ride all the way up the hill on Howard, right by Western Michigan which is quite large if you've ever been to Kalamazoo. Instead of grimacing I smiled and focused on my heart-beat. I was thinking of things I'll say in my fund-raising Bike & Build zine... Here's some rough brain storm-age:   I ride my bike because it calms my anxiety. It's the closest, most accessible thing I know to flying. It makes me high. I feel morally right eating more so I can purchase less oil. In life there are unavoidable hurdles and uphill battles. Instead of avoiding them, I embrace them on a daily basis, slowly sometimes, but surely. When I reach the top, I feel a kind of one-ness, a divinity. I was 20 minutes late to my first class because someone told me that Moore Hall was a dorm. They lied. Blatantly. OOH the most important part of the day; there was a rainbow, a full arched rainbow! It touched the ground on both sides. I saw at least 10 people on my ride home and got excited about it with them. It's so nice to see people getting excited about the world, instead of bent over their cellphones. My professors like me. I am taking 17 credits but am unemployed and think I can handle it. I want chocolate, why do I always want chocolate?