Old Men Like Cocaine

I think we're all naturally attracted to stupidity. If common sense and making oneself attractive to others is the modest, shy guy, then stupidity is the bad boy with the leather jacket who's unfathomably sexy and rides a Ducati and generally just doesn't give a shit about other people's feelings. Which is of course, to say, chick magnet!
...right?
I'm an individual who gravitates towards doing stupid things. And then, of course, I lapse into a vicious hypocrisy circle when I complain about other people's insolence.
I ride the mechanical horses made for toddlers at gas stations and other public areas.
I run in the snow barefoot.
I point out the coin-grabbing sound effect from Super Mario to the cashier at gas stations in Texas, when the guy has probably heard it a million, hundred, thousand, ten times.
I commentate my own life every once in a while. I call it the Super Secret Director's Cut. Or a sort of "Ssssscccuuddd" noise for short.
I can't recall every other stupid thing I've done at this exact moment. But of course, there's every other stupid individual who naturally gravitate towards stupid and potentially dangerous things. "Damn, man, this house arrest sucks! Why do I have to be stuck here!"
Should have thought about that before you kicked an old man where the sun don't shine and made off with his cocaine!

Fus Ro Dah, miscreants.

I commonly find instances of lucid inspiration while tickling the ivories. Although most of these are inspired by other's interruptions while I'm playing something I already know.
Example:
I am happily playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor or a piano cover of Archangel by Two Steps from Hell, when a fellow teenager bursts into the room, and I quote:

Followed by, "Shit! Someone's already using the piano!" And the door slamming shut.
I thought for a moment.
Fus Ro Dah. Hmm.
Challenge accepted!
One thing I pride myself on, is my entertainment in figuring out game scores by ear, or simply learning transcribed sheet music of game scores. Works in progress include a conglomeration of entries from the Sly Cooper trilogy (not including the recent fourth game) and the opening theme from Assassin's Creed III.
And this is how I was inspired to be Pianoborn. (Dragonborn... Pianoborn... hah...)

Belated P.S.A to Valentines participants

Happy Belated Valentine’s Day! To all the couples out there, good for you. Keep gifting suffering by not paying attention while carrying your overstuffed bears and balloons you feel is best to carry through the narrowest, busiest spaces because those clearly are the best areas to traverse with obnoxious objects.
To the others, who may (or may not) proudly call it Singles Awareness Day,
Run!
Run for your bloody lives, don’t look back! The chocolate ice cream corporations are buying into your single lives! They will own you! Become absorbed in books and vanilla ice cream instead. Give ‘em a literature and cream twist!
I am a member of a couple (...what other members would there be besides two?) but it’s within the last year so Valentine’s Day is still relatively new to me. Before that, I was a proud celebrator of Single’s Awareness for years and I ate chocolate by the boxes. I have a serious addiction problem when it comes to chocolate.
Yesterday, I rediscovered this old game I’d forgotten about: Herdy Gerdy. It was actually a hidden gem of a game, but I remembered the thing I always ran away from throughout the game: the neon pink bear. It’d eat my chicken-things and ruin my fences.
What if, when he was chasing you, he didn’t want to undermine your herding abilities, but he wanted a hug? His arms were outstretched! Although I'd be super pissed about being chased through some obscure forest or field full of rocks with bare feet like the kid from the game was. That's freaking painful.
So next year, don’t run from the pink bear. Give a Valentine. Give the poor guy a hug.
And that’s how I discovered my personal compassion and kindness.

On A Mission

Since this is my first post, let me take the time to explain something.
I’m on a mission.
A mission to find the Holy Grail-- er, no. Wait.
A mission to find the Holy Toast. Think I’m joking? Think I’m daft? I’ll pull your voicebox out! Have at you!
A man finds the face of Jesus in his toast. He preserves it and sells it off Ebay for 20,000$ or some ridiculous price like that. It’s toast! Think of it as an oversized cracker thing you get in church. Eat your ruined, blackened toast!
But no. They sell it for ridiculous prices. It must be a message to the Jesus-toast-finder:
Get rich!
So here’s my mission. I’m to find the Messiah somewhere. He frequently visits, clearly. I want to meet the Messiah, whoever it may be. I want to find a message from Heaven.
I’m enlisting the world to help me.