I find nothing motivates me quite like cannabals.

I run like hell.

You think you’ve got problems, what are you supposed to do if you’re a manically depressed robot? No, don’t bother to answer that, I’m fifty thousand times more intelligent than you and even I don’t know the answer. It gives me a headache just trying to think down to your level.

Pie, Clearly the answer's in the question. You need to get more stupider.

"An optimist is someone who thinks this is the best of all possible worlds, and a pessimist thinks the optimist is right."

Neurotransmitters aside, there are some days when I wish I could just go to some leaf raking job, come home, plop in front of the TV, crack open a beer and be utterly content not giving a damn about anything.

But that would mean I'd have to find a leaf raking job...

Brain the size of a planet and they want me to take a pill. It's just so depressing.

fixed it for ya

I find if I smoke prior to the task, the task will remain undone....if I start task and smoke at same time, I am far more likely to then obsess on the task.

Well, it all depends upon the task. There seems to be an inverse relationship to the usefulness/importance of the task and the degree of motivation.

Back in my yute I worked in a ski shop in the winters and we pine-tarred a lot of XC boards. (Siddown sonny, lemme tell you about real skis...)

Anyway about a month or two into the season, several gallons of pine tar later, my co-worker turns to me in resignation and a bit of depsair and says "This is ganja work."
i.e. mindless, repetetive, and soul crushing.

As I said: scouring digitised copies of 18th century newspapers.

I only have to talk to somebody and they begin to hate me. Even robots hate me.

Dude you must be old! In my youth I raced on carbon-fiber honeycomb-core Fischers - with an ironed in and scraped off hot waxing the whole length (because we were doing that new-fangled "skating", we didn't use a stickier wax or klister in the kick zone). We traded in our propane torches for medals as it turned out...

Let's just say I'm old enough to be the lecherous friend of your older brother. I was in Vermont. When the snow flies all the hippies traded in their 3 speed bikes for wooden skis. You could smell the wood smoke and home made goat yogurt on them from the far end of the shop.

Thank god for gentrification.

just turned 49 btw, missy

ps wicked thread drift, eh?

I thought that too. we need to be more depressing.

What is a depressed Hobo to do? He can't get anti-depress ants.

It's OK, shawnee will be along shortly to solve all his problems....