Can you please not look me in the eye while you do that

So this one time in a fit of almost apoplectic sexual frustration I fucked a blow up doll, and for reasons that escape even me, I wore a condom.
It seems that I have got to the stage where just being weird is not good enough for me, I have to add on that extra sprinkle of the bizarre and unexplainable. Anyway, the whole thing was an odd experience and later I was puzzled as to why I had done it. There was some kind of anger there that left me feeling like there was much much more to it but did I really want to work it out, would I have been stunned and ashamed at the answer? In the end I did what I always do and pretty much forgot about it as it seethed in my subconscious and fed my anxieties and psychosis. Every now and then it bubbles up in my mind and I think 'wow, a therapist would have a fucking field day with me' but mainly I just go about my life as if nothing really significant had happened, because it hadn't.

At the moment I am trying to write some sort of business or life plan for this course that I am doing and the main goal that I have written down is 'Make a website and get my writing out there' but after reading the above passage, is it really necessary? I mean, do people really want to read about my weird failed masturbation experiments? Is this really the sort of thing that the general public would be into? And I am not using this as a Trojan horse to say 'they are not ready for me yet', and its not a question of quality, I guess it's a question of need. I worry about pollution and one of the forms of pollution I worry about is people polluting the internet with their stupid thoughts and opinions. I've read so many blogs that just shit me to tears, seen so many websites that all it takes is a second for me to realise that tears of shit are not far off. Am I this guy as well? Am I interesting, funny, amusing to some and sick to others, is there a certain je ne sais quoi that I have that no one else has? Is my point of view unique or is it just like the thousand of other disenfranchised voices that sing in the choir of self pity.

I know what I represent, and what I represent is the lost and resentful, those who have not taken chances and are jealous of everyone who has, those who have something but are too lazy to do any thing with it, those who were raised being told that they would be rock stars and now that they are approaching middle age they are angry that the bright lights are not on them yet but have done nothing to put themselves on the stage. I am one of the many losers in the world, in our loser jobs listening to our loser anthems writing painting drawing about our pathetic loser lives and never once seeing the funny side of how hilariously doomed we really are. Stuck in a rut of our own creation, stretched on a rack of our own devising, subsisting on nothing but our inner monologues of self loathing and disgust. Suicide is too good for us, we deserve to live out our worthless lives lamenting everyday and misconstruing any meanings that we find. Our very existence is shallow and offhand and questionable and our deaths will be the same.

I once received an anonymous post card and on it was scrawled 'Nothing is good enough for people like you' and it was not until I had the displeasure of hindsight did I realise just how right that stranger was.
If this were someone elses life I would have so much to say about what they should do to improve it and why, but because its my own, all I can do is shrug and wonder if perhaps there is any thing good on television.

So do me a favour, if you've ever read anything on here that you've liked, why not send a link to a friend who you think might enjoy something a little different, fuck it, why not send a link to The New York Times or enter me in a competition, what ever you think might suit. Go on, you know you want to.