Post a question for the person below you

[eyaf]

some people got way too much time on their hands

cakes are not smart

[cake]

</3

<3

i just meant stylnoob tho, so no hate

[STyL4]

answer: yes
question: if Cake suddenly became 50 % smarter, do you think he could finish high school?

[Fuse]

no

What is your answer to the question above me?

[Nater]

no

What is your answer to the question above me?

No.

What is your idea of a "perfect day"?

[Maddolis]

I wake up to the birds singing rather than the sound of my six year old son Mikey's cries as my oppressive housemate, Gerald, beats him. I get out of bed and for once my work clothes don't have the stench of cheap whiskey, or worse, Gerry's fetid, dried cumstains mixed with my crimson ass-blood. I change into them and look into the mirror, and for once, I don't mind the man staring back at me. No longer do I punch the wall in disgust, nor am I numb to the now-soulless eyes that meet my stare. I am content with the man that I am.
I make my way through the corridor without having to dodge broken beer bottles or used syringes, and my favourite breakfast still has enough for half a meal. Coco-pops. Reminds me of when I was young, an upstart young boy with a clear conscience and a tall back, free from the crushing weight of all my repressed misery.
I eat my Coco-pops, and my teeth are no longer in pain from being unable to afford an appointment with the dentist. Mikey wakes up and asks for some Coco-pops. I share; for the first time in six years I have a full stomach. Mikey eats as I receive a phone call from a criminal lawyer. It's not in response to my fears over Mikey's safety from Gerald, but a lawsuit has opened up against my work, investigating them for underpaying their workers. I haven't received a paycheck in seven months. I'm given the day off while the investigation takes place.
Mikey, though usually too sick to attend school, is feeling well today. I don't take him to school though, instead we decide to visit Jells' Park. It was the last place I saw my parents before the accident.
Gerald is still asleep from the booze, the opiates or the benzos, or a mix of the three. I can't keep up with it all. For once, I don't feel the need to take a Xanax to deal with my anxiety, and, thanks to Gerry's unconscious state, we sneak out and ride to the park. The local hoods haven't stolen Mikey's bike this time, nor has mine been touched.
We play at the park for hours- time escapes us, yet that inescapable familiarity of hunger creeps back. We find a dollar at the park; perhaps not enough for an ice-cream, but enough to fill Mikey's stomach with a couple of onions or, if we're lucky, raw potatoes.
We stop for a bite and ride on further to the science museum. Even with their modest entry prices, we cannot afford to enter, so we sit outside the fence and watch as the science entertainer flares up flames of different colours. Mikey is having a ball, and I'm distracted, if only for a moment, from the drudgery of everyday life.
A lady working at the museum recognizes us from the last few times we sat and watched. Said her name was Linda. She shared the same forgiving eyes as those that Mikey's mother once had. God, how I miss her. Linda sneaks us in, and we spend the next few hours inside the museum for the first time since little Mikey was a baby. His favourite was the planetarium. Brings back memories of when he'd stare at the projected night sky the last time we came. "When I grow up, I'm gonna be an astronaut!" Exclaims Mikey. I smile and scratch the back of his head. If we ever find our way out of this hell, I'm sure he'll become whatever he wants.
The sky turns blood-red. The sun is setting; oh how the time flies when you're not dragging tonnes of rotting fish through the dark for thirteen hours a day. We decide, not out of will, but rather necessity- an act of damage control- to return home. As we walk up the driveway we hear the sobering sounds of yells and smashed glass. This time, however, there's a difference- there are multiple voices. Before we can react, the door smacks open, and Gerry's being dragged away in handcuffs by two police officers, Clyde and Jenny. They have both watched over Mikey carefully the last few months, and have provided him with the sense of security I always failed to provide. Jenny kneels down and hugs Mikey, and then me. Mikey's strong, but I cripple and cry beneath her embrace. "It'll all be better now," she says, comfortingly. "It will all be normal."
I walk inside with Mikey. We have to dodge the broken glass again- Gerry must've woken before the police came- but this time no syringes. The glass can wait until tomorrow, so we both walk to Mikey's little bed. It's small, but no smaller than the old soiled mattress I've been sleeping on for months. We both collapse onto the bed, tired from such a perfect day.
"Is everything alright, Daddy?" Mikey inquires. "Yes son," I reply as we fall asleep in each others' embrace.
"It will all be normal."


Simpsons or Futurama?

[Lucy]

I wake up to the birds singing rather than the sound of my six year old son Mikey's cries as my oppressive housemate, Gerald, beats him. I get out of bed and for once my work clothes don't have the stench of cheap whiskey, or worse, Gerry's fetid, dried cumstains mixed with my crimson ass-blood. I change into them and look into the mirror, and for once, I don't mind the man staring back at me. No longer do I punch the wall in disgust, nor am I numb to the now-soulless eyes that meet my stare. I am content with the man that I am.
I make my way through the corridor without having to dodge broken beer bottles or used syringes, and my favourite breakfast still has enough for half a meal. Coco-pops. Reminds me of when I was young, an upstart young boy with a clear conscience and a tall back, free from the crushing weight of all my repressed misery.
I eat my Coco-pops, and my teeth are no longer in pain from being unable to afford an appointment with the dentist. Mikey wakes up and asks for some Coco-pops. I share; for the first time in six years I have a full stomach. Mikey eats as I receive a phone call from a criminal lawyer. It's not in response to my fears over Mikey's safety from Gerald, but a lawsuit has opened up against my work, investigating them for underpaying their workers. I haven't received a paycheck in seven months. I'm given the day off while the investigation takes place.
Mikey, though usually too sick to attend school, is feeling well today. I don't take him to school though, instead we decide to visit Jells' Park. It was the last place I saw my parents before the accident.
Gerald is still asleep from the booze, the opiates or the benzos, or a mix of the three. I can't keep up with it all. For once, I don't feel the need to take a Xanax to deal with my anxiety, and, thanks to Gerry's unconscious state, we sneak out and ride to the park. The local hoods haven't stolen Mikey's bike this time, nor has mine been touched.
We play at the park for hours- time escapes us, yet that inescapable familiarity of hunger creeps back. We find a dollar at the park; perhaps not enough for an ice-cream, but enough to fill Mikey's stomach with a couple of onions or, if we're lucky, raw potatoes.
We stop for a bite and ride on further to the science museum. Even with their modest entry prices, we cannot afford to enter, so we sit outside the fence and watch as the science entertainer flares up flames of different colours. Mikey is having a ball, and I'm distracted, if only for a moment, from the drudgery of everyday life.
A lady working at the museum recognizes us from the last few times we sat and watched. Said her name was Linda. She shared the same forgiving eyes as those that Mikey's mother once had. God, how I miss her. Linda sneaks us in, and we spend the next few hours inside the museum for the first time since little Mikey was a baby. His favourite was the planetarium. Brings back memories of when he'd stare at the projected night sky the last time we came. "When I grow up, I'm gonna be an astronaut!" Exclaims Mikey. I smile and scratch the back of his head. If we ever find our way out of this hell, I'm sure he'll become whatever he wants.
The sky turns blood-red. The sun is setting; oh how the time flies when you're not dragging tonnes of rotting fish through the dark for thirteen hours a day. We decide, not out of will, but rather necessity- an act of damage control- to return home. As we walk up the driveway we hear the sobering sounds of yells and smashed glass. This time, however, there's a difference- there are multiple voices. Before we can react, the door smacks open, and Gerry's being dragged away in handcuffs by two police officers, Clyde and Jenny. They have both watched over Mikey carefully the last few months, and have provided him with the sense of security I always failed to provide. Jenny kneels down and hugs Mikey, and then me. Mikey's strong, but I cripple and cry beneath her embrace. "It'll all be better now," she says, comfortingly. "It will all be normal."
I walk inside with Mikey. We have to dodge the broken glass again- Gerry must've woken before the police came- but this time no syringes. The glass can wait until tomorrow, so we both walk to Mikey's little bed. It's small, but no smaller than the old soiled mattress I've been sleeping on for months. We both collapse onto the bed, tired from such a perfect day.
"Is everything alright, Daddy?" Mikey inquires. "Yes son," I reply as we fall asleep in each others' embrace.
"It will all be normal."


Simpsons or Futurama?

Wow. Just wow. Did you write this? If yes, you should consider writing small stories and publishing them.

Answer to your question: neither.

My question:
Do you sometimes feel misanthropous?

[rant]I sure as hell do, especially today. Today has really been a fucking shitty day so far. Everyone is either really fucking annoying or really fucking dumb/retarded, or both at the same time. I fucking hate it when people do that shit. Makes me want to kick some fucking faces in.[/rant]

[eyaf]

Sometimes

What's your goal in life?

[Nater]

I wake up to the birds singing rather than the sound of my six year old son Mikey's cries as my oppressive housemate, Gerald, beats him. I get out of bed and for once my work clothes don't have the stench of cheap whiskey, or worse, Gerry's fetid, dried cumstains mixed with my crimson ass-blood. I change into them and look into the mirror, and for once, I don't mind the man staring back at me. No longer do I punch the wall in disgust, nor am I numb to the now-soulless eyes that meet my stare. I am content with the man that I am.
I make my way through the corridor without having to dodge broken beer bottles or used syringes, and my favourite breakfast still has enough for half a meal. Coco-pops. Reminds me of when I was young, an upstart young boy with a clear conscience and a tall back, free from the crushing weight of all my repressed misery.
I eat my Coco-pops, and my teeth are no longer in pain from being unable to afford an appointment with the dentist. Mikey wakes up and asks for some Coco-pops. I share; for the first time in six years I have a full stomach. Mikey eats as I receive a phone call from a criminal lawyer. It's not in response to my fears over Mikey's safety from Gerald, but a lawsuit has opened up against my work, investigating them for underpaying their workers. I haven't received a paycheck in seven months. I'm given the day off while the investigation takes place.
Mikey, though usually too sick to attend school, is feeling well today. I don't take him to school though, instead we decide to visit Jells' Park. It was the last place I saw my parents before the accident.
Gerald is still asleep from the booze, the opiates or the benzos, or a mix of the three. I can't keep up with it all. For once, I don't feel the need to take a Xanax to deal with my anxiety, and, thanks to Gerry's unconscious state, we sneak out and ride to the park. The local hoods haven't stolen Mikey's bike this time, nor has mine been touched.
We play at the park for hours- time escapes us, yet that inescapable familiarity of hunger creeps back. We find a dollar at the park; perhaps not enough for an ice-cream, but enough to fill Mikey's stomach with a couple of onions or, if we're lucky, raw potatoes.
We stop for a bite and ride on further to the science museum. Even with their modest entry prices, we cannot afford to enter, so we sit outside the fence and watch as the science entertainer flares up flames of different colours. Mikey is having a ball, and I'm distracted, if only for a moment, from the drudgery of everyday life.
A lady working at the museum recognizes us from the last few times we sat and watched. Said her name was Linda. She shared the same forgiving eyes as those that Mikey's mother once had. God, how I miss her. Linda sneaks us in, and we spend the next few hours inside the museum for the first time since little Mikey was a baby. His favourite was the planetarium. Brings back memories of when he'd stare at the projected night sky the last time we came. "When I grow up, I'm gonna be an astronaut!" Exclaims Mikey. I smile and scratch the back of his head. If we ever find our way out of this hell, I'm sure he'll become whatever he wants.
The sky turns blood-red. The sun is setting; oh how the time flies when you're not dragging tonnes of rotting fish through the dark for thirteen hours a day. We decide, not out of will, but rather necessity- an act of damage control- to return home. As we walk up the driveway we hear the sobering sounds of yells and smashed glass. This time, however, there's a difference- there are multiple voices. Before we can react, the door smacks open, and Gerry's being dragged away in handcuffs by two police officers, Clyde and Jenny. They have both watched over Mikey carefully the last few months, and have provided him with the sense of security I always failed to provide. Jenny kneels down and hugs Mikey, and then me. Mikey's strong, but I cripple and cry beneath her embrace. "It'll all be better now," she says, comfortingly. "It will all be normal."
I walk inside with Mikey. We have to dodge the broken glass again- Gerry must've woken before the police came- but this time no syringes. The glass can wait until tomorrow, so we both walk to Mikey's little bed. It's small, but no smaller than the old soiled mattress I've been sleeping on for months. We both collapse onto the bed, tired from such a perfect day.
"Is everything alright, Daddy?" Mikey inquires. "Yes son," I reply as we fall asleep in each others' embrace.
"It will all be normal."


Simpsons or Futurama?

Haha, The fuck

Sometimes

What's your goal in life?

I have many goals;

Find true love, Done that.

See a bunch of bands I idolize, Doing that and it will never end.

Have a great steady job, Done that, Been their 5 ½ years.

Get drivers license, Done that.

Get married and have a couple of sons, I have the sons, Marriage will be next on the cards.


First memory as a child?

[[SWK]Dacads]

Haha, The fuck

I have many goals;

Find true love, Done that.

See a bunch of bands I idolize, Doing that and it will never end.

Have a great steady job, Done that, Been their 5 ½ years.

Get drivers license, Done that.

Get married and have a couple of sons, I have the sons, Marriage will be next on the cards.


First memory as a child?

I can't tell you that otherwise the CIA might brainwash me.


So your life's pretty much complete then what? If anyone else replies first then what are your hobbies? Unless you can answer the former or both if you want :p