The Jealousy, Insecurity, Inward sobbiness and outward insane arrogance/yelling of an Andariel Halo over the guest writers, and other such people who intrude upon what is lackadaisically (and with complete disregard for the true meaning of certain words) called fame and not-fortune.

 

By Andariel Halo

As of now, March 30th, I've authored somewhere like a dozen rants and reviews and the like, and only half of which have gone up live on the site.  Partly due to the site owner being offline for a week and a half, and partly due to complexicated website trickery which he says only allows him to post one thing a day and "backlog" and such of that intrinsic nature.  So inevitably I check on the site, find my own reviews/rants, and read them over and over and marvel at what a great genius I am.
 

But then there are also other people's stuff up.  I don't know who these people are and why, since I was under the completely false impression that this site was all about me and my nonsensical awesomeness.
 
By now I've accepted that Kev Sanders.... Peebz... The Elephant Man Yeti... some penis-named Johnson guy... whoever else is on the site in the biogs section are my tag team partners, underlings, lumberjacks, employees, inferior to me in all sorts of ways whom I never bothered to meet or learn the names of.  By the way, what ever happened to that Roundtable thing that went around a few months ago and I only got to say one thing about?
 

But there are other people who suddenly appear, and their mysterious intrusion is blamed upon the parenthesis of "guest" in between their name and the article title.  Who are these ghosts in the system?  The only peoples I recognized are James Swift, because he writes on The Wrestling Fan, and I go there a lot, and am the bestest person ever in the entire forum place (it's true) and I read his things and learn about his private life because he tells me and I read when he thinks no one is reading.
 

So like, fuck you, guests.  Stealing up all our shit.  You scare me, and make me feel inadequate and insecure.  No, just insecure.  I'm more than adequate to please myself.  I feel jealous of these people who get to be so special because they're "guests" and shit.  You know what we do to guests where I live?!  HUH!?  I'm pretty unsure either, but it's something perfectly average I bet!
 

So I'm reading this thing on motorcycles James Swift makes, and HUH-HOOOOh, as George Costanza would say upon counting four people at the diner, one of them in his spot.  Seems like I'm an asshole, because I at one time thought "You know that Yamaha motorcycle thing looks cool, and I think a naked Brad Pitt riding a motorcycle with long flowing hair like in 'Troy' would be one of the best things ever".  Of course, I'd like to see Brad Pitt's asshole there, and possibly lick it.  Then he could fuck me.  I have dirty dirty fantasies involving naked men.
 
So yeah, I didn't bother to read all of it.  I got up to the part where he insults and calls stupid man-children the people who sacrifice their lives to protect us, and give their lives to see ours remain in peace.  9/11 everyone!  9/11!
 

What was my point?  If anyone can read and summarize all this into a point, then like... well, keep it to yourselves.  I don't know how to access my "andarielhalo@whyihatebluhblahblehblihbloh" co UK e-mail.
 

Guests make me insecure, but that's okay because no one remembers their dumb names.  But they remember The Halo.  They ALL remember the Halo.
 

 

Nobody fucks with teh Halo.