11 November, 2011
There are two minutes each and every day that have experienced a growing amount of struggle placed upon them. Two minutes, bombarded with flailing, damp and musty hope. Hope that carries the stench of a fart trapped in the depths of a blanket. This special edition Tough Love blog is dedicated to every last tweet bearing the characters “11:11”.
Eleven, eleven. What is it really? It’s a fragment in time where in the morning, nothing usually happens, except, perhaps the fax machine breaks or coffee gets spilled on a white shirt. In the evening, shit it’s not even truly 11:11; it’s the 23rd hour in the day. Somehow, amidst pure loneliness and despair, hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of tweets carrying five characters smack us in the face on our timelines every night.
What REALLY is the meaning behind this? Are the lost simply looking for guidance? Are there REALLY wishes being made to a moment in time?
I’m going to assume that when YOU see 11:11 flickering on that grease-laden, stove clock, it’s the exact time in the universe for wishes to be granted? I mean, you DO realize that there are 40 time zones in the world, right? Forty.
What type of flip-phone logic is it to believe that your 11:11 wish is going to come true anyway? So you’re going to wish upon a superficial time in the world and all of your problems are supposed to perish? Get the entire fuck out of here.
What in the Lord’s name are you doing making wishes to your cell phone display? What are the wishes being made? My assumptions are that 65% of all wishes are to the effect that “He” will finally give you the appreciation you desire. Bitches who tweet 11:11 dance in the mirror to Drake’s “Fancy” with mismanaged cuticles and split ends.
I really hope I’m making more of a deal out of this than it really is. I refuse to believe that so many people could be so lost…
After further review… You hoes are lost. Check this out. “11:11 Spirit Guardians”
THEY HAVE BOOKS ABOUT THIS SHIT.
If you’re so fascinated with number pattern recognition, that’s pretty neat and all, but shouldn’t you be fascinated with
cleaning the house learning how to cook understanding the difference between to, two and too bettering yourself more?
Really though… What type of winning lottery ticket aspiration shit is this? I’m convinced all of you 11:11 wishers have a shoebox full of fortune cookie riddles that you sort through semi-annually to see if any have come true.
All of you women who are moist over this 11:11 11-11-11 shit need a better penis in your life.
And yo, I better fucking not see any dudes whipping up these whimpy 11:11 wishes. That’s the prime example of why fathers need to raise their sons. If you’re a dude making 11:11 wishes you better damn well know how to change a flat tire.
I’m out though. Enjoy your Friday. If you see me out this weekend, let’s celebrate life together.
Be safe, stay great. Happy 11-11-11, thank a Veteran.
P.S. No, really thank a Veteran. He or she is the reason you have the ability to make those fuck ass wishes to begin with.
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