Pashtly Daze

Modern times change too quickly for me. My previous entry is now only half-right; I have moved, but I have since moved again. So much motion.

I am now pasht.

It is common to cast my kind as evil, just because we are forced to take from humanity in order to survive. That is beside the point.

I am not a mindless predator. I do not feed for simple pleasure, although it is true that I derive some joy from the process. I do not murder; that word means killing another of one's own kind. I merely wish to continue to survive. Do not we all, in some form or another? If I am better at it than you, then perhaps I deserve my victory and prolonged life, and you yours, cut short by your superior.

Perhaps.

Actually, Vlad the Impaler was foe to my kind. Back then plenty of sadistic buggers would happily pierce your heart and watch you bleed. Vlad, though, he was the adversary.

Good times, leaving there. Good times.

Bah, everything is so different here! I am not accustomed to regularly visiting places. I am barely used to computers. Yet I must carefully follow the progress of the Blogger website editing system?

Ree is trying to tell me that Blogger is not "precisely" a website editing system. If I do not quiet her she will spout meaningless letters and jargon for hours upon hours.

Ah, chingada.

Blogger changed everything on me. I begin to assume technology exists to flummox me.

Why do they call their control panel the "Dashboard"? I am typing on a keyboard, not driving a Volvo. How odd.