SELF-AGGRANDIZEMENTS #1: TOO UPTIGHT.

 I'm too uptight. This world is too loose, too informal, too sloppy with the details. It's no good. I'm over here all perfectly put together, not a hair or a fart out of place, and this damn dumb world is showing up in sandals and beachwear, goddamnit-the fuck is that, eh? It's a crime, is what. Everybody's just tripping over their shoelaces while mine are precision double-tied, no need for one of those plastic froggy-looking bow-biters. Look at this asshole: velcro. At least they're not tripping over it. But velcro . . . Jesus . . . velcro is its own kind of disgrace. We got a bunch of losers stumbling around, knocking over the tall potted plants, their desks are essentially boneyards. Meanwhile, I'm manifesting an impressive smooth-glide hover effect by pure force of will and my desk has just set new paradigms in the realms of indexes and searchability and such. I don't even consider my desk to be anything special in those partucular arenas and yet . . . and yet . . . and yet . . . I'm just too uptight in a world of sweatpants and snacks at the workstation. I see a half-eaten Lunchable next to a keyboard I see the Final Seal of Productivity Apocalypse just all splayed open like decency is just one more piece of trash for History's Shitpile. Just let it all burn. I'm uptight asbestos. I made my peace that gives me no peace. It's called the total work ethic . . . but how can these slobs sneakin' hits off their weed vapes between videocalls possibly comprehend-I mean, I'm so uptight that a sharpness, okay, a sharpness is constantly upon me . . . and I just slice right through the mediocre and the mundane. I fall outta this trifling sphere, and thereby transcend into a stony, pitiless visage-truly, a monumental man aborning-and kick maximum ass all over slacker dreams-total demolition job on the entire operations of that slackety dreamlife . . . ah, but I weep for this world of loserdom . . . truly, I weep . . . but then I must apply my oh-so-shiny boot to loserdom's ass for 'tis my duty, and that ass ain't gonna kick itself . . . sighs elaborately . . .

SELF-DEPRECATIONS #1: TOO UPTIGHT.

I'm so uptight, I can't even write literary pornography for personal use. Not for publication. Not in any kind of digitally word-processed version-longhand, fer Christ's sakes! Zero chance anyone would ever see it or even be able to read my spidery handwriting if they did. I'm just too self-conscious. I'm an atheist, so it's not like I'm afraid of divine punishment. Even if God did exist-so what? Go ahead. Do your worst. The All Mighty zaps another bug. Whooptee-shit. What a hero. What a guy . . . you know what it is? What gets me so uptight? I know that whatever I would write would be embarrassingly trashy and contrived, so why waste the time and energy? Best to focus on productive endeavors. Ain't that a curse? No God, and yet the Protestant Work Ethic still kicks my ass . . . sighs elaborately . . .