This is the first sentence of my telling you all that as of now, I'm finally made up my mind. I understand that there are people I'll cause suffering to, but in the end, the rest of the world will be a far happier place without me as a part of it.

I've done far more bad than good for some people, and worse, there are some good things I've wanted to do for people that are simply not in my power to perform. In the end, my existence is insignificant to others and torturous to myself.

My life is either unsatisfying or it's absolutely stressful and miserable with little to no payoff or self-control. As a result, I'm an empty, incompetent, negative hollow shell of a man who was already making the world roll its eyes ever since I was just growing up.

In the end, I thought I could make my life matter and make it worth something, but now, I realize I'm no different than any other sap in this vain and painful existence I've suffered.

Dreams don't come true, and the whole meaning of life is simply to fail and fail and fail, with nothing to cope with other than making these empty promises of success to ourselves and pretend that things are going to get better for us when all we do is suffocate in this dark pit of failures and fuck-ups which is nothing but a sequence of idle dead-ends to the point where the best memories we ever had in life were the days we had briefly escaped from it, right before we were thrown back into the belly of the whale we managed to sneak our frail little minds out of.

I now know the meaning of life. The meaning of life is to continue to find ways to escape from it, until one day, we make the ultimate escape.

Will I kill myself? Probably not, but as of recently, I've been greatly idealizing it. I promised myself last year that I would have a good year, but it's like this every year, I'm afraid.

I will never be happy.

Q: Who is the worst superhero to have dinner with?

A: Spider-Man. He never saves any Uncle Ben's.

I lost my job at the Make-A-Wish Foundation. A kid wanted to be Captain America, so I stuffed him in a freezer.

Today is National Mar10 Day, so I decided to write a little something:

Mario has always been my best friend for as long as I remember, ever since I was 2. His adventures had always been enjoyable for me to experience throughout good times and bad, even if he was only saving the same princess from the same fire-breathing gargantuan over and over.

Mario taught me a lot about the world. He taught me how golf worked, he taught me how tennis worked, and he also taught me how soccer worked. I remember developing an Italian accent I learned from hearing his opening catch phrase from Super Mario 64 before even finding out I was part-Italian.

I remember the first Mario game I had ever beaten was either Donkey Kong on Game Boy or Super Mario Land 2. (The first video game I had ever beaten overall was Donkey Kong Jr. on NES, except that featured Mario as the antagonist, and is only considered a spin-off of the Super Mario franchise.) I memorized Wario's Castle which, today, is considered one of the hardest Mario stages of all time until I could beat it like it was second nature.

Even when I was being judged and criticized for continuing to like the franchise, I continued, ignoring my critics. I played Mario Kart DS on the school bus all the time with two of my friends, and I was VERY competitive.

I beat Super Paper Mario with a friend a couple years ago as an adult, and my first time beating it was as a teenager. The story turned out to be a hell of a lot deeper than I remembered it, and with my developed empathy, the ending had far more of an emotional impact on me, with an incredibly deep message about life and knowing who or what you care about and defending it each day.

Meeting Charles Martinet last year, was one of the most thrilling and happiest moments of my life. The man who breathed life into the character who helped me identify myself, and I got to pose right beside him. On the inside, I felt like jumping up and down like a kid at Chuck E. Cheese, but I kept it just back enough that I rambled partly on how much I would ramble to my Mom in the car about Mario when I was a kid, non-stop, no less.

In the end, I understand Mario is obviously a fictional character, but what is absolutely real about him is what he represents and how he makes me feel. That is who Mario is to me, and why I consider him my best friend.

Happy Mar10 Day! Can't wait until Smash Switch comes out!

If there's anything we learned from Nixon or Clinton's time in the White House, it's that pissing off the American people really isn't an issue with Congress. Trump will not suffer repercussions for his involvement with rigging the election just the same way Hillary won't for her involvement in rigging the Democratic poll. He will not be punished for raping a minor and neither will Hillary be reprimanded for having defended a rapist during her husband's Presidential run. Trump will not be jailed for his violation of the Earth's climate the same way Hillary will not be jailed for being an outright lying crooked cunt.

Congress doesn't give two shits about the vile in the White House, because all the White House is is a great, big, white toilet sitting upon the grassy plains of Maryland, and the people working there are the locusts and maggots seated upon rotted fragments of excrement that are the Congress seats.

If Trump is to be impeached, it will probably be because he stole a cabinet member's chicken pot pie from the refrigerator during lunch hours, or because he cheated on his wife the same way that Bill cheated on his, or because he yelled at his kid a little too loud for drawing on his favorite portrait of himself. Either way, it'll be a reason so small and trivial, even the whiny, preachy liberals will go spastic on social media.

When Trump gets impeached, it certainly won't be the end of America's problems, since it's been fucked up long before Trump took the White House seat, and continues to get fucked up by each power-hungry asshole who places his hand on a book and makes the promise no politician has ever intended on keeping.

Rather, the next president to enter office will fuck our country as well, but in the exact opposite way that Trump fucked it up. You know it's the truth.

All living is is not being able to find anything to make of yourself except a job you don't even like, because every job you do like is usually far away from you.

As for women? Good luck finding a relationship partner, because, despite what all the kind, elderly people tell you, there's nobody who would date your sorry pathetic ass.

Don't mistake me for suicidal, but I feel that sometimes the only way to win at life is not to play. Fuck living.

Although alcohol may wreak havoc on my system, my liver, my plans, gluttony is forever divine. How I crave such endless indulgence. After all, for what purpose does my life have aside from rejection and emptiness? In my humble abode, I am king. I will feast upon all that is within my presence.

Memories can bring ourselves pride, or rage, or shame, but every memory is an integral piece of information, the circuits in our brain that link to other circuits that come together to make us who we are.

Memories can leave us restrained by the shackles of guilt for all the actions we wish we'd taken or that we didn't, chained against a rusted steel wall of stubborn depression, leaving us with no tools to help us struggle our way out except unrelenting anxiety, which brings gradual detriment not to the shackles we wish to break free from, but to ourselves.

At their best, however, memories are contained within a special time machine we can step forth into whenever we wish, input the date, and within seconds, can provide us refuge into a safe, bright haven of innocent nostalgia, where all the negative thoughts that were once a turbulent tornado in our minds during this past are resolved, set in stone. Perhaps the memory could be big things from graduating to getting a job to our first kiss with our first girlfriend, to something little yet pleasant like watching Shining Time Station(TM) at our cousins' house while "riding" a laundry basket in front of the television.

Memories are what define us and make us who we are, whether they are in our favor, or to our detriment.

If we can use them wisely, to help us learn from our past, or just get us out of reality for just a few minutes time, they can be our most powerful asset.

For a person such as myself, it happens all the time, even when I'm not suffering it. Sometimes, I wish I could write better than I do. Sometimes, I feel like I'm always just baby steps from creating a product of an acceptable level of quality or even from actually becoming noticed.

I first started writing when I was a preteen, and it was mostly a bunch of really bad fan fiction made solely for the purpose of creating a world with miniscule beings I get to control and stomp on if my heart so desired, like a sandbox of the imagination, the characters being my ants and my keyboard serving as the magnifying glass to mangle them into squirming, fiery crumbs of flesh, because writing was easier for me than drawing, and still is. I call myself a bad drawer probably because I can't draw super accurate realistic humans as some of the really good artists can, but then again, I did not choose the life of a painter or drawer, but of a writer, and I paint with words rather than a brush.

As I grew older, I learned that bringing life to stories consists of more than names and dialogue. It's like explaining how to brush your teeth and why it's important, so I'm not going to write what I learned. Rather, I write this because I wanted to give you, the readers, who hopefully don't only consist of myself, an idea of how I started writing, and what my goals are, which are to have my work noticed somehow, and to perhaps meet people I have things in common with. The current town I live in is peaceful and nice, but there aren't very many people I have much in common with, as it mostly consists of tourists and families and elderly couples, with brandless restaurants and shops aside from Starbucks to (on occassion) meet people I have a connection with, as well as maybe pet a few dogs. Aside from that, the town doesn't have many people to meet and nothing to do that doesn't cost money unless it's going on a bike ride, which also gets quickly boring with such a narrow path and little to see other than rich houses that are bigger than yours with a water slide or two attached there.

The town outside is the exact opposite: A large ghetto full of billboards and commercialisms with more people that range from somewhat likable to douchebag overload.

There really is no middle ground between these two. No location with people I can relate to who like the same things I do, such as gaming (no, games like Call of Duty and FIFA don't count. Those are just gaming white noise) or biking or movies or anything else I can come up with by the time I hit 'Publish'. Maybe I could meet a woman at some point who I will eventually start dating, since I have been looking for a girlfriend since my last breakup back in 2013. It's been so long that I feel that I'm being punished by karmic forces for making the conscious decision to break it off with her and I having little to nothing in common, her getting herself in trouble so much (please don't ask) that I felt more like I was still single than in a relationship. Don't talk to me about dating sites, because no dating site in the history of planet Earth has ever actually worked out for me. Not eHarmony, not PlentyoFish, not Tagged, not Tindr, not Tumblr, none of those, so please do not suggest a dating site in the comments. It would be more polite and less ignorant to go up to a paraplegic and telling them, "Why not take the stairs?".

Since then, I have found myself with more of a bitter outlook on life, only posting inspiring quotes and idealisms about life and the future because I want to save others from having the mentality that I'm pretty much stuck with for the rest of my life, so that they can all become more successful than I could ever dream or think of becoming, because, as a whole, my life and existence are just one big joke.

People I talk to and the friends that I actually do have say I'm a funny guy, which is, thankfully, my intention. You have no idea how much of a relief it feels when you're going off on your sobstory or rant (depends on which side the Misery Coin lands on) as a means to get all the sadness or anger out of your system so it doesn't end up eating you alive, and then finding out that the negativity you just unleashed, rather than spreading on to the people around you, ends up making them laugh instead. It's one of those rare blessings, aside from being able to write and (supposedly) being able to sing and act that I believe that I truly possess. As long as I'm the only person feeling this pain, I'm fine. All I want is for someone or something to prove to me that the world around me, the people I've met in my life, would not end up being happier if I was never concieved. I want to feel that I've made some sort of difference to people's lives, rather than feel good that they are not me, even though it's very clear that there are people with terminal illnesses or those born without arms or limbs or any of their five senses, or living in poverty in third world countries, or serving in the military or police force who are currently being shot at, have taken a bullet, or have to live the rest of their lives, accompanied with the haunting presence of the people at their side who didn't survive one of their battles as they have. Without a doubt, there are people who are far worse off physically, mentally, and/or emotionally than I currently am, and this is the case with other people like myself, who are also dealing with some variation of a quarter-life crisis who feel unfulfilled and unsatisfied with the way their lives are going at present.

But I'm not here to talk about worse problems, but the problem at hand. My dissatisfaction with my finances, my job, my love life (or lack thereof), my social life, and my whole life in general. So far, even though it may not be even the least bit true, I feel like the greatest thing about my past was when I wasn't even born yet. I saw a photograph of my household's family tree that was taken in late 1990. It was made of construction paper, and it featured photos of my parents and my two older brothers, with their names written above each of their respective photos. Then, there was one name in the tree, which was my own. "Deven", and below it was, not a photo, but a big question mark written in marker. When I first saw the photo, my heart felt the mystery and excitement that sigil reflected. What would this future being grow to become, when and if he becomes? What dreams would he pursue? What achievements would he grow to accomplish in life? A myriad of expectations, all bearing the inevitable and profoundly disappointing answers our hearts will inevitably discover sooner or later.

Do I consider myself a comedian? To answer this, I can say that I am not a professional stand-up guy yet, who reaps thousands of dollars just for making fat women on Facebook post "I can relate to this" comments over shared videos recorded of me with borders and laughing emoticons that seem to be there as a means for either instructing brain-dead idiots on how to react to comedy, or for insulting the viewers' intelligence level, or perhaps it's both. Either way, I do not consider myself a comedian because I AM funny, but because I constantly try to be, for the purpose of substituting sadness and anger with laughter for myself and others who may or may not be feeling this way. Also, I do this in the hopes of actually getting women to like me and ignore the fact that I have clearly terrible social skills. I post morbid jokes on a subreddit dedicated to racism and tragic current events to name a few, as well as making random posts on my YouTube channel, one video that recently managed to get over 500K views in less than half a year and made me a hundred bucks off Adsense, which, I can say, is sadly my greatest achievement in recent memory. Aside from that, I'm simply a nobody whose amazing talent would only be successful under very rare circumstances, and who sucks at everything else that a human being should not suck at if they want to survive in this day and age.

Anyway, I'd like to write more on this random little essay I wrote about myself, but it's almost time for me to head off to work. I may or may not add on to this later, depending on its reception. Thanks.