Dammit, I have nothing to write about! Not that I'm treating it quite as a compulsion in order to find mental peace and longer-lasting sanity, but more as an urge in order to fulfill some of my desires, among which is perpetuating certain moments and events in my otherwise uneventful life in order that I may look back at the past sometime in the future and compare my life then and now and see if it's going up or downhill. In many ways this is like a diary, but in many other ways it isn't. For one thing people don't display their diaries online for the whole world to see, or at least that section of it that even knows of it, or that which may come across it by unfortunate chance and may be so bored as to spare a moment or two to go through its worthless contents. Of course the purpose of my writing this particular post might have been justified if today had proved to be a justifiably eventful day, which, obviously, it has not, because then I wouldn't be wasting mine and everyone else's time by writing out crap like this that has no pertinence to anything. Not even a smidgeon of sentimental value can be found in this particular post, the fact that I abhor sentimentality no end being beside the point. That is, of course, if there was a point in the first place, and since there obviously isn't, I guess I'll just have to ramble on and on, making myself redundant and greatly reducing the Kaiser-effect I fashioned for myself the moment the unimaginative name popped into my head. Of course I do like the name, because it gives me an aristocratic air and what I would like to imagine as inviting veneration. Of course I wouldn't go so far as to say I actually deserve my self-proclaimed regal status, but comparing my writing abilities with that of most of the other writers in the Slam Dunk category, I don't think it'd be immoral if I were to permit myself the pleasure of indulging in a bit of self-eulogy and deeming myself a part of the imaginary nobility of the category.
Well, I concede that labeling every OC ever made a Mary Sue would be simplistic, especially after I permitted myself to explore that controversial premise. I was, to say the least, sick of yaoi. I mean give me a break, man, it's quite normal to want to read at least a few stories where your favorite characters are not gay. A huge percentage of the authors are often carried away and they almost invariably mold their character into a Mary Sue, but that doesn't mean that every OC-writer does that. I mean there are also some authors on the site who wrote for the SD category whose OC stories actually revolved around the SD characters for a change, and not the OC. What's more, the stories were very often humorous, and when a story is humorous, even the slightest Mary Sue effect is ignored. And of course, it's always a pleasure reading a story where the OC sucks at basketball and the author describes in detail many of the comically embarrassing blunders the character makes. Yes, I'm talking about 'nothingtodo', whom rainbowsindecember described, verbatim, as the only OC writer who makes you feel as if the character were actually part of the original Slam Dunk cast. I gave myself a break and read several of nothingtodo's stories, sort of as refreshment. But don't get me wrong, I am in no way supportive of OC stories in general, and will happily flame one, two or more for my entertainment. It's just unfortunate that Inoue created so few female characters in the show. I mean, sure, Haruko's bearable, Ayako's kinda hot, but one just can't write dozens of stories with them alone. (Anyone up for a Jin X Ayako that I've been contemplating writing?)
What else have I been doing? No, of course nobody asked that. But anyway, I utterly hate people who think the world is in the least bit interested in their innumerable woes and unending list of reasons to be sad--nonexistent or not--and who find solace in exhibiting to the world how cruel life has been to them by constantly talking about their problems and how worthless their lives are, and shit like that, and maybe even engage in self-injury to prove their point and elicit sympathy from others, and if per chance a sympathetic somebody inquires about their problems, they just say it's nothing that concerns them, or nothing they wish to tell. Then why the fuck make it clear that you want people to know how miserable your lives are, that you want them to be sympathetic, when you refuse to reward their patience with an answer to what is wrong with you? This is an entirely new level of attention-whore-ism, although conceited morons who fall under the said category--of attention-whores and their male counterparts--are ubiquitous, and that doesn't help us at all. They just don't understand that they're a sore pain in the butt whenever they open those stupid mouths of theirs, because they obviously think the world exists only to provide their retarded and emotional speeches with eardrums that connect to a perpetually flushing toilet rather than a brain that can register their shit and get hellishly annoyed. I'm talking about a girl in my class who is such an attention-whore that she can feign injury to attract attention when she feels the amount she is already receiving is inadequate. Today the bimbotic fool was attempting to slice through her skin with a pocketknife, and upon seeing the disturbingly piteous sight, when I asked her why she was doing it, she replied vaguely that it helped keep her mind off the pain she was experiencing 'in her heart'. And upon asking what kind of pain, she said it's nothing she wanted to reveal to me. Not that I was all that curious anyway, since I hardly care about anyone's problems but mine, but it was only because cutting one's self with knives is an activity done only by those dimwitted morons who haven't heard of a disease called 'tetanus', or even if they have, don't care, because their better senses, if any, are taken over by an even more terrible disease that is their desperate and explosive desire for attention.
0 comments :
Post a Comment