Dear Blog

I will start off by saying welcome to my blog.  If you are expecting deep and intricate theories on life, well being, health, society or a number of other topics, LEAVE NOW!  If you are expecting to read material that makes you say "What the fuck is wrong with this guy?  Does he really socialize with people?", then you are in the right place.

The first thing I have on my mind is this.  I have never been into sports.  From the age of roughly 3, I was raised by my Mother and had a very strong relationship with her, my Aunt and my Grandmother.  Don't get me wrong, my Grandfather is great and I maintain the highest level of respect and admiration for him, but let's face it, he worked a lot when I was around the other females in my family so fuck it, I am part woman. 

Now being part woman does not mean that I love the penis.  Not at all, well, unless it is mine.  In that case I will love the fuck out of it every chance I get.  Spurting in the movie theater, car, Taco Bell, 7-11 and midget strip clubs are awesome no matter who you are!  Being part woman means that I do not like some of the normal guy stuff.  Sports, building shit, arm wrestling, playing "my dick is bigger than yours", yea, I don't give two shits about that.

Now I know what you are saying.  "What gay shit are you into?"  The answer.  Nothing.  Unless you count professional wrestling as gay, but I just think of it as a male soap opera.  Instead I have gained a fascination for being the center of attention, which is VERY womanesque if you ask me!

One thing in particular that I developed a hatred for was the dreaded diary!  If you are a female and you are reading this, you have had a diary.  If you disagree with this, you are a fucking liar and the doctor did the right thing by slapping the balls off of you when you were born.  Below details why I am against the diary!

I remember being about 11 years old and hearing my mother speak on the phone to one of her friends about having a diary on her computer.  Being that I was young and impressionable, especially around the people that I looked up to the most, I thought I needed to have said diary.  What do I do?  I create one and place it in my pillow case on my bed.  Right where your mother that makes your bed will never find it, right? 

No, no, no.  This is not the case.  One entry deep, ranting about something unintelligent or fucking stupid (what do you expect, I am only 11) my mother has found and read my sacred, personal diary that is for my eyes only as marked on the cover.  I have been betrayed by the person that I stole the idea from.  When she told me she read it I was devastated, and she could tell.

The next day I told one of my best friends about what happened.  This person, who to this day remains one of the best friends anyone could ask for, informed me that "Diaries are for girls!"  It was then that I realized "SHIT, I NEED TO RUN STUFF BY MY FRIENDS THAT I HEAR FROM MY MOM!"

Did I learn this lesson?  Nope.  Instead, 2 weeks later, I heard my mom talking about her tampon selection with a friend and decided that I was old enough to finally use one.  Let me tell you, when one of those little bastards balloons up in your rectum from sloppy taco shit, you wonder what the hell is so great about them!  I guess you could say that is the official day I started running some of my ideas by my friends before putting them into action. 

The way I see it is simple.  "Fuck it, I am still alive.  Must not have fucked up too much!"  Although I still feel as if I have toxic shock syndrome from the tampon.  After all, how else would I come up with half of the shit that comes out of my mouth.  That's right, it is either toxic shock syndrome or being delusional from the advanced stages of syphilis.  Note to self - Next time you use a tampon, cover it with a condom to prevent toxic shock syndrome.  I wonder if I should run that by a friend first?

Either way, from the day I was told "Diaries are for girls!" I vowed that I would never have one or my name isn't Ajax Adams.  Wait?  What?  A blog is just another form of a diary?  Well fuckballs!  There is no fucking way I am changing my name now!  It looks like I have just made myself a liar.  Oh well.  I guess it's time to go and pet the turtle on my neighbors balcony while watching Bea Arthur deep throat a polish sausage.