Lazy-Swarm-Pit-of-Doom

So I had this awesome blog almost ready to post when Father Figure left for a "business trip" (likely story) and took the ipad (AKA my drawing pad) with him.

Granted, it is his ipad, but dammit, I have to blog!

Now I'm stuck using Paint. Look at the nonsense!

Anyway, I've been working on a long post for you guys, but since Father Figure so selfishly stole my track pad, I'm thrown way behind. The blog in question should be up by Saturday.

I'll just entertain you with a strip about something that happened to me today.

When I got home from school today, I found a note from Mother Figure.

You see, in my family, a note from Mother Figure always contains the one thing everyone hates most: "Take the dogs out."

Why is this so terribly aggravating? Simple. I'm lazy. And I know when I see those words on that paper that I have to do what it says. Thus sucking me into a vast pit of gravity, pulling me aimlessly from my comfy makeshift couch cushion to the back door.

I'm lazy about a lot of things.

For example, I'll literally let my dirty-clothes-"pile" (the hamper is too far away) grow until it's physically impossible to live with. 

You see? It's like a sickness. 

Laziness is an awful problem. The worst about it? It bothers me! But guess what?

I'M TOO LAZY TO STOP BEING LAZY.

Vicious...cycle...of...doom....

I'd also like to point out that sushi is freaking delicious. 

I ordered my favourite foods based on how much I like them and if they go together:

That is all. Goodbye for now.

Ash

Rock Hard Abs

You either have 'em or you don't.

I've always fancied myself having decent strength. I mean, I can lift a spoon full of ice cream or my pillow (only when I seriously can summon a lot of strength). Point is, I've never really thought about the need to build muscle. It's not something I sit around scheming about, like some people.

Poor guy. Prisoner to himself.

However, the other day I decided I'd go to the gym. You know, some light running/lifting of weights. I of course figured it would be simple business. I got really pumped to go.

And that's how it always is the first day.

You're like,

This goes on for a while (two days at most).

But by the end of that grueling first week, going to the gym is the worst part of your day.

Remembering you have to go is the worst feeling imaginable.

When you finally come to terms with the fact that for next hour, minimum, you'll be putting yourself through a tedious, sweat inducing work out, you become a fearful creature.

You become a ferocious beast; ripping and tearing your workout clothes from your body. Flames exploding from your very, inner soul.

You get into to such a routine. They say working out is good for you...but is it? You get incredibly addicted and in some cases (MEMEMEME) you can't stop going and you hate it so much. It tears you apart inside.



Working out sucks.


Ash

I Blog About Poop

Just joshin' ya.

Though I imagine the subject will crop up sometimes in my writing....

Achem.

You. Yes, you. In the clothing. Behind a screen. Just so you know, this isn't the type of blog that you're going to read about puppies and family times and how I can't find a prom dress that goes with my golden blond high-lights...

NO.

I have brown hair.

This is a blog about madness. My life, to be more specific. I draw doodles to narrate, like so:

That would be me, in the yellow dress. Always.

Unless I'm feelin' frisky for some reason.

Anyway, I don't beat around the bush here; I'm honest, blunt, and a bit huffy. But I hope you'll grow to love me...

And all my...sweetness.

You'll know when I have something interesting to say.

Cheers.