An open letter to the nutsack that pulled a hit and run on my car: (Originally from 05/08/2006)

Dearest Operator of Said Automobile,

Thanks for the good time today! I'm pleased as punch that you hit the back left of my car. Nothing has brought me greater joy than looking at my car today and realising that my bumper was smoked by you in your fucking mom's 1984 Dodge Caravan outside of New City on Saturday, May 6th, 2006. Now while your insurance may go up if you report this, I don't mind footing the bill for your fucktardation, so don't worry about it I'll manage somehow. And if you don't think you did damage, your dead wrong fuckass. The bumper will need refinishing and that will run me about $1000. (I know, I did the same to someone else's bumper, but I didn't run like a pussy) Now while I wanted to spend that $1000 on cool shit like food and rent, I really am glad that you did this to save me from spending my money frivously.

Editors Note: "mom's 1984 Dodge Caravan outside of New City on Saturday, May 6th, 2006" <----------- Pretty sure this is when it happened because I'm neurotic about inspecting my car.

There's a place to drive and a place to fuck off. And your driving right down the middle of FUCK-OFF!

Yours Truly,

Darren Theodore Helbrecht esq.

ps. Take a picture of your face now and send it to your mom, cause when I find you she'll want to remember what you looked liked alive.

More Fun at the Job! (Originally from 11/24/2005)

Alright! My job blows. When I was hired I was told it is a slow time. And it is. (So slow that if I steal a pen, the company may have to file for bankruptcy... I stole 2 today) Anyway I was told it was slow and that I could take time off. They lied. I wanted to leave early so I called my boss who is apparently "working" from home today so he could get more done. I think he jacked off to www.teengirls.com all day. So I figure I can call him and say;

"Yo! I be peacin earlz Yo!"

and he'd be like

"COO!"

But to my dismay it went more like this

"Hey boss. Can I leave early"

and he said well

"I dunno hows the progress report looking, hows the graphic projects report looking, hows the verizon brochure looking, hows the stock shapes catalogue looking, hows the ......."

"It's all kinda blah. I'm stumped man I'm not really feeling "it"."

(By "it" what I meant to say was "making brochures of every goddamn novelty product we sell, or making fuckin catalogues that are gonna be outdated in 1.4 months, drawing some fuckin inflatable animal that has some fuckin stupid radio station logo on it, or sorting 400 fucking pictures of inflatable junk." [We have 14 fuckin pictures of a plain white pill bottle. Why you ask? Good question. They're from different angles but you cant fuckin tell cause its just white shiny super-nazi-secret fabric. {"How did zees frabreek geet made?""Nein! Ve dont talk about zat" GUNFIRE} It's just rubberized nylon you fucks anyone can make it.] Radio stations are fucked.)

"Did something happen at work?"

"No, I just..."

"Have a look at the stuff you got going on and give it a try."

"I have. I've been looking at it all day and I coming up with nothing.[Your vampiric shithole of a company and employees have drained all fuckin life out of me]"

"Okay. Well just give it another try."

"Alright"

I shut down my computer for the day 30 secs after this conversation.

Death Dealer (Originally from 10/03/2005)

So I started a new job, 2 and a 1/2 weeks ago. I'm trained as a graphic designer and that is what this job was advertised as. So I start and all seems fine but then they drop this "artist renderings" bomb on me.

Me? I'm supposed to draw? You'd think it'd be simple right my Mom's a painter and my Dad's a draftsman. They both draw in certain respects. I also remember my dad drawing with me when I was younger. I mean we mostly drew technical things like houses or cars but he still kicked my ass. I mean my houses were more Picasso than picture. And not the good Picasso, where I'd be rich by now.

So anyway back to the job. I gotta draw? I ONLY draw monkeys!

Everything is TOPSECRET there. Apparently I know enough that they can sue me for $50,000 dollars if the secrets get out. That's right bitches a five, five zeros, and a motherfuckin comma too if I let out their super secrets.

I've also been thinking about doing freelance instead of working a normal job. But I think I'll have to freelance and work a real job. Maybe me and Andrew will have something amazing come our way.

But mostly I've been thinking about being a Death Dealer, like on Underworld. I think I may deem it my job to decide who is fit to live and who is fit to die. Now I would do this through a methodical way and my personal feelings would not come into play. Of course there are some legal things a gotta get around but once I figure that out it'll be smooth sailing.

White Logos (Originally from 08/15/2005)

How fuckin hot are white logos? If there where more white logos it would make our world most awesomer. I mean look around you: Most likely your walls are white(ish), your appliances are white, paper is white, white is a popular colour.

So if more logos were white it would force companies to make more colourful things and this world would look less medical. Or the companies would continue making white things with white logos that were offset in someway like a varnish. This would be hot. I'd pay obscene amounts of money for something designer if it was hard to tell what brand it was.

I think all would agree with me unless your still rockin; a forest green fridge and stove, a beige blender with orange buttons, or some god-awful dirty pastel coloured breadbox in your house.

A Blog Eh?

Well I guess I'm writing a blog now. Why? Maybe I'm hoping for fame, fortune, a book deal and a myriad of ladies who will willing throw themselves at me. Maybe it is because I have 1065 ml of social lubricant in my system (So Far). Maybe it is because I have not wrote anything worthwhile in a while and I feel the need to explore creative writing again. Yeah, That's it.

So, I give to you a blog filled with free-flowing thoughts, harsh cadence, and misappropriation of large words; written whilst drinking. Posts will range from old things that I have written elsewhere on the internet (Mostly Myspace) to MSN conversations had while avoiding work to new thoughts and stories writtten while drinking.

About Me: 25
Male
Graphic Designer by day
Miscreant by night

Alright enough about me. On with the posts. These first ones are previously written.