Nothing to write about

I am looking at my Samsung cellphone, it has a big crack across the screen and I can't show you unless I get another camera to take a photograph.  The damage was done some weeks ago overnight at a sleep over at my parents house and I'm telling you about it now.  Wow, maybe God is like... trying to tell me something.  He is telling me,"unwashedflyer!  If you dare use your cellphone to capture amateur pornography on it I will strike you down where you stand o ye of little faith!".  Or maybe he says this,"So wut you gonna use ya mobile phone to make sum kinda pornographic movie?"... "Kapesh?!".  I don't know what that means.  Yes, my mockery is blatant and after all the crap I have been through, it is fair.

The phone and camera still work fine though.  I had tried to sell this same phone I am talking to you about in I think 2009 for about one hundred dollars but the people who bought it came back, gave it back, had their money given back to them and the phone was kept a secret from me for all that time and during that time I had asked my mother whether it was still in their house and she lied to me and said that it actually had been sold.

That's that.  She probably prayed this morning, too.  Praying to her god.  Well, I'm not stopping her but I don't think I will be any time soon after what I suspect has been an infiltration by the local Freemasons in the area to convince her that she has to, or that its going to help her or me or something.  Maybe these South Koreans I know came in and talked to her?  Fuck knows.  I don't, anyway.  I haven't given up questioning them because if I had the chance, I would do so again.  I feel hurt that they are being taken as fools by doing what they're doing.  I mean, they're my fucking parents!

I read through my earliest entries on this blog and I'm glad that I didn't come across as a complete idiot.  How?  Because I kept those entries quite informal like these ones instead of being the opposite, formal, and preaching on and on about this and that and the fucking other.  I didn't cause the Canterbury/Christchurch earthquake and I wasn't drunk.  Hans Moleman of the earthquake machine did.  God, we're so fucking screwed.

One day and it could be soon, this blog might be finished.  An appropriate way to end it would be by typing up a truthful conclusion to everything I can then closing not only this, but closing that chapter of my life, for good.