Lances for free

Sometimes I feel kinda bad about the work I do, because it’s just such gross consumerism / capitalist bullshit. Like really. Like really really there is no need for this shit. I’m writing bullshit articles that no one really fucking needs, that are nothing but thinly veiled advertisements trying to entice people into buying shit in a way that’s supposed to seem helpful and friendly but literally the only point is to try and sell shit. And like… no one fucking needs these articles. No one needs 800 word articles about how to wash specific brands of hoodies. Like are you shitting me? But you know? I make about $20 an hour writing this absolute bullshit, pulling up way more words than it fucking needs to describe how to wash a fucking hoodie or how to use some type of lotion or what the fuck ever. So like… How can I complain really? It’s secretly amazing. Whatever. I just slightly feel like I’m using my writing abilities for evil maybe? I dunno. Ultimately, I gotta watch out for #1. Ugh. Don’t listen to me. I’m fucking exhausted. I only slept 4 hours last night and I slept none-too-fucking-great the night before that either. Soooooo I’m wicked tired. Wicked fucking tired. Don’t really wanna be here, but I feel obligated to, you know? Because of how much stuff my parents do for me all the time. Fuck, I’m tired. I need to finish at least one article today, because I have 11 fucking more due by next Friday… which is kind of a lot yo. And this format is harder to write than the top 10 articles, because I actually have to come up with a fucking format myself, and organize the whole thing, instead of just doing 5 minutes of research and basically filling out a form. -shrugs for a thousand years-

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