As a writer I have been cheated, yet still I have risen above! Since the very first instances of my education in writing, I have been robbed. Institutions, my main enemy in the scheme of things, have thought and still do infact think that its fine and dandy to make generations of children into boring robots that eventually turn into bomb builders or lumps of shit. I am a lump of shit. Instead of learning good solid writing skills or anything that builds toward creativity in the mind, I was forced to learn everything that would make me into a docile human being as an adult. As a result, my nintendo playing pot smokin ass, has spent the last three years of my life growing up and trying to unlearn everything that I had previously learned just to redeem what creativity and thinking capacity I still have, where at the end of these shinnanigans, I have become a less docile more pro-active writer who seems not to resemble so much a lump of shit. .
In order to get the whole picture of who I am as a writer, there has to be some imaginative thinking, so if there are any lumps of shit out there, smoke a couple of bowls and think about mario and luigi for fifteen or so minutes then comeback and read this. Trust me it helps. Okay, so let's pretend that *you, the proverbial *you that is never supposed to be used in formal writing, has a time machine that is capable of venturing deep into the depths of say, like ninteen-ninety-one, so that we, me and *you, can see just where my discomfort for writing education has stemmed. Jump in and set the time flex capacitor for '91 and then your off in a spectacular BANG! Two-hundred-twenty-one gigawatts, GREAT SCOTT! .
Ahh. you've arrived in ninteen-ninety-one. What's that noise in the background? Is that Mc Hammer? Is that dude wearing parachute pants? HOLY SHIT, the nineties suck! Anyway, here we are in Ms. Mckernon's second grade class.