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@AdamSandhill
Ebert’s latest review just doesn’t get my sense of humor. He should go back to make shitty art house films no one watches. Because they are a bore.
@FelixEbert_DarkFilmStudios
Cute. Ran out of man children films to write. So you decide to pick a fight about my latest review. Don’t get your humor? How about you lack actual humor that translates to today's audience. The 90s called they want you to retire.
@AdamSandhill
Were you just bored that you actually responded? Sad.
@FelixEbert_DarkFilmStudios
You must be very sad too then.
@Iluvhomoluv_MaxWag
Bets on Adam winning.
@UrMumsCock_ShellyShellfish
No way. Adam doesn’t have the intelligence to hold up to Ebert.
@ChockingonCuck
Fan war. You guys are such cucks. Both Adam and Ebert are fucking idiots. They both suck cuck sperm.
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@AdamSandhill - 2 mins ago
Had to delete my post. So much spam. :D
X out of tab. Typical. They never responded with something actually challenging. So they thought that deleting the post or blocking the individual or even removing them from their friend list solved anything. People who ran away from conflict could never handle conflict when they were the ones who started it. Their prideful narcissism blinded them.
Sometimes it was the simple fact their ego couldn’t handle it. He understood that the Little Lost Kitten didn’t do so well. But he rather figure out on what to fix about it, rather than think he was the greatest mind there ever existed.
He was not. He just didn’t spout dribble. Unless it was something he knew. Babbling idiots always believed they had something intelligent to say and all they looked to him was a retard with drool coming out of their mouth. And even that was an insult to retards. Some of these people were more retarded then retards.
He sighed sitting back from the computer desk. He didn’t make a whole lot of money, but he made it all seem like he did. It wasn’t to impress anyone. He just wanted to respect himself. He could dress his apartment like trash and live like trash just because he didn’t make enough money. Or he could put a sensible amount of work into his apartment and himself and look a little decent.
Placing a digit on one of the purple rose petals on his hand, he didn’t get people. They always wanted the easier way out of things. They always wanted things to be simple. Fame and praise. Fame and praise. Instant gratification. They never wanted to put any work into it.
Didn’t it seem ironic that the US had a hold yourself up by your own bootstraps mentality, but then all the heroes they idolizes were do nothing, lazy bums getting out of work. Or that all the famous celebrities were born into wealth without working for it. All that glitter and glam not earned, just given. And people immortalized that.
Anyone that even put a mentionable amount of worth and value and hard work into their passions were belittled and dragged down. They will tell you, you’ll never make it, you’ll never make enough money, you’ll never be famous. They’ll tell you that if you’re trying to become a filmmaker or writer or actor with the actual hard work and effort into your work, that you’re lazy and that you need to find a real job.
But then praise people who were just given it.
It seemed like a cognitive disconnect, didn’t it? Cognitive dissonance at its finest. He wondered if Devon was home.
People always looking for his opinion, but when he told them the honest truth they hated him. Devon wasn’t like that. She listened and they had some good conversations. Plus he was tired of sitting at his computer all day dealing with mind numbing verbal drool.
Getting up from his office chair he decided to dip out for a little while. Stretch his legs. Relax. Find a way to rid himself of this migraine. He felt like every time he dealt with people he killed just a little bit more of his brain cells.
His apartment really wasn’t that expensive all the magazines and interviews would have you think he was living middle class. But most of his furniture and most of his material goods were bought from Greatwill. You could always rely on getting a good discount at a Greatwill. A 30 dollar coffeepot at a retail store, 15 dollars at Greatwill.
He didn’t want expensive things. He wanted challenging things. He wanted a world that challenged the quota. Challenged creativity. Challenged thought. Challenged words. But you weren’t going to get it here. You saw ads that told you that the only thing you need to be happy is what you buy. A soda here. A pair of pants there. And if those didn’t make you happy then here are some pills.
He needed to get out of this surreal stucco prison for a little while. Fixing the collar of his button down shirt and grabbing his keys from this fetch ashtray he saw at Greatwill, it was this odd oval shape, with a wrinkled rim, with spirals of blue that wove around black ceramic. He didn’t smoke, but he found it so cool that he had to place it on his coffee table.
Stepping out of his apartment he locked the door behind him. Hopefully no one tried to talk to him. They always wanted to stop him in the hallway to talk to him about trivial bullshit. Well technically the culprit was the little old lady a few doors down.
He didn’t care about what she bought at the store or the great discount she on purses she found at the latest department store. Managing to sneak out without being seen. He walked to Devon’s door and knocked on it.
@knifeman“If you’re feeling sorry for yourself, I provide a great distraction,” he says through the door.
