Warped Mind

Explain to me again why we wake up in the mornings? For most of us its to get our asses to work and for the younger ones to college. At the end of the day, paper qualifications, working 9 - 5, overtiming so often that your punch card looks as if you never punched out; is all in pursuit of the worship of the new God of our Era :

M

O

N

E

Y

Come the weekends, we are rewarded for our dedicated worship or punished for lack of devotion to this new centuary’s deity. Either we spend money like mad, or we spend the week lamenting the lack of monetary funds to do any spending.

‘We do what we have to… to survive,’ is what I’ve been told. Short of living on a deserted island and surviving on coconuts, one needs to participate in the rat race in order to find money to survive in society. So in short you have to do something you might not particularly like in order to make ends meet.

To quote from the song, Bitter Sweet Symphony, ‘Its a bitter sweet symphony thats life, try to make ends meet then you die…’

Where do you draw the line? Where exactly do you say enough is enough. You spend your entire lives saving for your old age. You work yourself to the bone in hopes of a better car, house or social status. You forsake ideals, principles and morales in exchange for money.

Please don’t say you do not. You’ve had to deal with clients you disagreed with? Thought they had a desparate need for the ‘removal of stick up their arse’ operation? Thought a visit to the Body Shop for a set of brains for them was desparately called for. Yet, you meet their requests and demands. Or politely declined. That is a compromise of your own beliefs in itself to say the least.

A pornstar sells her body for money.

A writer whores his ideas and writing for money.

Where is the difference? No where.

‘Sex is infinately more personal than writing lah!‘ I hear some people saying. People who obviously do NOT write. Or have written nothing worth a grain of salt. Anyone who’s written something close to heart would know exactly how personal writing can be. Not necessarilly good obviously, but as personal if not more personal than sex.

A quote from some one I won’t name, ‘I’m crying as I write now, here is the truth so blatant in writing that I can’t help the tears as they stream down my cheeks.’

Please remind me again, o wise one, how playing ‘hide the salami’ is definately more personal than writing something from the heart.

I’ve had offers to publish my writing. Even offers to ‘ghost write’ for some one. This is where you do all the hard work… get the money, and some dork gets the credit and name for your writing. As of now, I’ve always turned down offers.

I’m not saying that ALL my writing is super personal. My poems obviously are. They’re my little thought bubbles or emotion bubbles if you like. Be it happy or sad. Angry or wistful.

The stories I’ve written for children definately are. In fact they are infinately more personal to me. The simple fact that they are not completely mine is the reason for this. They’re not things that just pop into my head. I built those stories with little angels. The stories come frlom the conversations and little secrets children have shared with me. To me there were pieces of their love, imagination and innocence in those stories. Which is what made them decent. It doesn’t take talent to write something based on a world a child creates for you. It just takes a typist.

Here I am, contemplating selling these stories for the first time. Where do I draw the line this time? If at least I can be sure that the stories turn out the way the kids liked them… and how we built the stories together, some how it wouldn’t be so bad. And yet I can’t. It will probably be hacked and ripped into pieces for commercialisation. Whoring yourself is bad enough. Selling pieces of a child dream… thats unspeakable isn’t it?

Do I need the money?

Yup. That the end of that decision process I guess.

God I feel cheap.

Or should I say : Money I feel cheap.

no euphamisms here

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A step away from ranting and sarcastic humor if you would bear with me for a while.

A child is for life not just for Christmas.

Its hard to me to comprehend how parents can abuse or mistreat and even abandon their children. Sure parent’s aren’t born perfect. Even with all the striving, perfection is never attained. But what drives a mother, who spent 9 months with unspeakable (often insatiable) food urges, perpetual back pains and god know how many hours of God agonizing hours in labor, to do that to their child. I honestly do not understand. And I’m not quite sure I want to.

This however, reminds me of two random thoughts at this point.

The first is that women would probably tell me of course I wouldn’t understand. I don’t bleed monthly nor do I have to undergo (thank God) the agony of childbirth. All the more, however, that the act of abandonment or abuse makes no sense to me. Well, daddy did say not to trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn’t die.

The other is a joke a friend told me.

Question : Why do women give birth?

Answer   : Because its painful and they deserve it.

A sexist joke that brings grins to men and chagrin to women. Frankly speaking, I’m inclined to agree with this joke. At the risk of sounding self righteous, damn straight these mothers (abusive / child dumpers) deserve any pain that comes their way.

I write stories for children, (believe it or not!) simply because I find children quite simply beautiful. Children often times seem so much wiser than us ‘grown ups’. They see things in a way that is pretty much pure and untainted. They have the innate ability to see through all the crap and pretentiousness we put on due to society and conventions.

A clear example would be when one of the kids told me that my haircut (not one of my better ones I assure you) looked like a mushroom gone wrong. Something everyone was thinking but too polite to say. Of course at this point I wished I could throttle the little tyke, but at least she spoke her mind.

How could anyone want to hurt the innocence and trust that children place in you? At times it used to frighten me the amount of trust my friend’s niece had in me. Uncle Bince ( V - ince ) is nice. I know it used to make me shiver, not because I was worried I would hurt or upset the lil angel, but that I might do so by mistake or accidentally.

When I was ill and in the hospital, I saw a really really beautiful child. Spare me the pedo jokes. She was in the ward because she had been abused by a relative. Which relative I do not have the faintest idea. But you could see the bruises, on her as well as within her. She would flinch when ever the nurse raised a hand to stroke her hair or to touch her. Then the innocence in her eyes would cloud over for the briefest of a second with fear. It was a heart breaking thing to see.

I’m seriously at a lost as to how to figure people like this. Blame it on the parent being abused as a child. Blame it on lack of financial means to support the child; thus the abandonment. Blame it on anything I guess. Yet, the excuses in my honest opinion simply just do not add up and are in my point of view, completely unforgivable.

This poem’s for the little girl I saw in the ward, whose name I do not know.

My lost child

 

 

what beauty lies 

in your eyes? 

an innocence angels would envy 

a tenderness devils would shy from 

a glimmer of hope 

from a fading candle. 

 

All to rare 

she smiles a solitude 

beneath soft eye lashes 

baby brown eyes 

that have never known love 

but are ever searching

I hope life treats her more kindly in the future. This next poem is one I wrote a long time ago for my friends two little nieces. Little angels. I do miss them dearly. Aiqha and Amyra =)

Little Amyra doesn’t remember my voice any more. It’s been a while I guess. But here’s the poem:

My Little Princess

My knee tall,

Perhaps knee short; little princess.

With your smile

that loves everyone best.

Little dimples that melt

into your tiny smile.

Little toes, little fingers

that move and wriggle all the while.

I love you and your gifts;

real or just ones in your mind.

I love you when you take them back

Saying ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’.

I love how little new things

make you ogle and stare.

How you ‘tip-toe-ballerina’ around

without a care.

I love how you plead

helplessness to your mother.

Failing that,

sink your teeth into your brother!

I love how you say my name,

‘Uncle Bince! Uncle Bince!’

Sometimes it sounds better

than plain old Vince.

I love you when you frown,

deadly serious.

Then, break into laughter,

at some secret ‘hilarious’.

They say all little angels

have fluffy little wings.

I carry mine, and we go

where ever she points and sings.

While I doubt I will ever have children of my own, the thought that children will read my stories does please me.

Everyone needs that little something to smile about.

By popular demand… heres another one about the visually challenging

This bus full of UGLY people crashed and burned. All 40 of the people in the bus die. The Arch Angel Raphael out of compassion, and probably feeling bad that all these dudes were so ugly no one ever really cared or loved them (apart from their parents… and even they suggested plastic surgery), offered each and every one of the 40 a wish each.

Look at it from an ugly person’s point of view. You spend your entire life avoiding mirrors. Avoiding daylight where people can actually see how bad you look. Obviously your wish would be to look good no?

Shut up. I didn’t say you could disagree. Besides this is MY story

So the first guy goes… ‘I want to be good looking’… *poof* He’s good looking. Wish granted. The other guys and gals are thinking ‘Yea.. I wanna be hot looking too! (hawwttt as in phat instead of FAT) So they go : ‘Make me beautiful’, ‘Make me gorgeous’. *poof* *poof*.

Ten people make the wish and ten visually pleasing people appear. (God knows if this were true we could use more archangels).

At this point of time, the guy last in the queue starts to laugh slightly.

Another ten people get their wishes, and the last dude starts laughing louder and louder.

Another five wish for good looks and the guy at the end of the queue is practically laughing hysterically.

Soon, its the last five people in the queue waiting for their turn. The last dude is laughing so hard now, he is rolling on the floor and in tears. Raphael is extremely curious as to what the man finds to tintilating.

So the four before him go ‘Make me good looking’, ‘Make me pretty‘ and so forth.

Finally its the cacking maniac’s turn.

Raphael looks at the man who is now wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

‘Well, whats your wish?’

Choking back laughter… the man says…

‘Make them all UGLY again!!!’

Well here is my quota of mush for the rest of this blogs life span. Singing in front of friends, sleepless nights, bad poetry, Bryan Adams lyrics. Must be drugs. No other explaination. Or is there :p

Currently reading :

Stage love

Was that all it was?
It was a script
Touched by God
Two souls drifting
Looking for a part to play
No rehearsals
Love spilled from our lips
And from our hearts
Spoken without speech
You were my drifting angel
I was your retired romeo
A love story
That just had to unfold
The world around
Disappeared
All held their breaths
All wept
You played your role
And I lived mine
For all the acting
The world envied us
Look unto us
Like a light
That love’s fire lit
Never to burn out
Never to fade
On the stage
I just never thought
The play would be over
And I’d live my role alone

Currently listening to:

Look into my eyes - you will see
What you mean to me
Search your heart - search your soul
And when you find me there you’ll search no more

Don’t tell me it’s not worth tryin’ for
You can’t tell me it’s not worth dyin’ for
You know it’s true
Everything I do - I do it for you

Look into your heart - you will find
There’s nothin’ there to hide
Take me as I am - take my life
I would give it all - I would sacrifice

Don’t tell me it’s not worth fightin’ for
I can’t help it - there’s nothin’ I want more
Ya know it’s true
Everything I do - I do it for you

There’s no love - like your love
And no other - could give more love
There’s nowhere - unless you’re there
All the time - all the way

Oh - you can’t tell me it’s not worth tryin’ for
I can’t help it - there’s nothin’ I want more
I would fight for you - I’d lie for you
Walk the wire for you - ya I’d die for you

Ya know it’s true
Everything I do - I do it for you

Another repost… from some thing I wrote when I was 15

Dave: Hi there! *approaches her table*

Louise: Hi there, yourself…

Dave: Have you got the time? *looks her up and down*

Louise: Sure, it is nowww… *looks at her watch*

Dave: Good then, I’ll buy you a drink. *sits down*

Louise: That was a cheap pick up line *frown*

Dave: I’m a cheap person… *looks into her eyes*

Louise: Gee, I guess that makes you special? *holds his gaze*

Dave: Well, that’s what my doctor told my mom

Louise: How’s that possible? *frown*

Dave: Well, he said to my mom, (*acute accent*)‘Lady, I’ve been in this business for
twenty years… never before has a baby I dropped, bounced back into my bloody
hands!’ *grin*

Louise: Heh… is that so? *half smiles*

Dave: Sad to say, yes. But hey, you should have seen the model agencies that wanted to
sign me up…*exaggerated sigh* but my mom turn them all down

Louise: And why is that, pray tell? *looks curious*

Dave: I think she had against about me front-paging national geographics… so they got
an ape to do it instead. I could have been a star. *wistful pout*

Louise: You’re not that bad looking *smile*

Dave: You mean I’m not hideous; just plain ugly?

Louise: Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to…

Dave: Its ok, you can say it I’ve tried convincing gals not go just date me for my
money…*sad smile*

Louise: So you get a lot of dates after your cash?

Dave: No, I don’t.. like I said I’ve tried convincing them… but they don’t seem to
want to date me anyway *pout*

Louise: Hehe… maybe its your cigarette breath.. *rolls her eyes up mock innocently,
smiling*

Dave: No way… I only smoke menthols… I’m not addicted… I’m not hooked on the
stuff… I swear… *exaggerated stammering* Its j-jj-jus that it makes me fuh-fuh
f-feel safe… *looks around himself paranoidly* and my head aches less…I only
smoke when I need to… *Lights ups two cigarettes at a time*

Louise: Hehehe… yea rite! Well menthols are supposed to be bad for your ‘performance’

Dave: That’s not what they tell me at the circus… I’m told that it’s not the way I tell my
jokes. They say I’m so good that every time they look at my face, they crack up,
I mean they’re so sweet… I think *worried look*

Louise: Well, you do have killer looks for a clown *smile*

Dave: Well, my dad almost died when he saw me… Something about me looking like
my mom’s ex-boyfriend… never could figure out what all the fuss was about…
Uncle Albert used to visit all the time when daddy was out of town… *eyes
innocently open wide*

Louise: You’re being silly…

Dave: I’m not being silly… I’m dead serious…Uncle Albert even used to give me lots
of money to go buy some chocolates in the shops near by. He was such a nice
guy wish he was my dad Come to think of it, the milkman was pretty cool too!
*frown*

Louise: *laughs* So how old are you?

Dave: Me? I’m 20

Louise: Ahh huhh… so, not a teen anymore…

Dave: Hey, I’m not old, I’m a recycled teenager *defensively*

Louise: Do you work? *smile*

Dave: Only when I can’t help it. Well actually, when my wallet can’t help me and my
credit cards freeze! *lifts his hands in resignation*

Louise: So, you don’t stay with your parents?

Dave: Nope, I stay with the animals I call my house mates *smile*

Louise: But do you visit your parents often?

Dave: Only when I get caught. Normally, I do a pretty good answering machine
impression ‘the number you have dialed is not..’.

Louise: That’s mean! *hits him in the arm*

Dave: I prefer to call it survival instinct, you’ve obviously not seen my dad on a
rampage after a few beers *sad smile*

Louise: I’m sorry. Does he get violent? *looks concerned*

Dave: I’ll say! He practically turns the place upside down looking for his whisky
bottle… And my mom refuses to clean up the mess. Which leaves…

Louise: You?

Dave: Well, if I’m still sober after that bottle of whisky!

Louise: So you drink a lot huh? *frown*

Dave: God no! I’m a Christian for goodness sakes… *deep frown*

Louise: *blank look*

Dave: Only on Sundays; after church *whispers looking coyly away*

Louise: So you believe in God?

Dave: Well, someone’s got to take all the blame!

Louise: Hehehe. Call yourself a Christian… *leans slightly forward*

Dave: Well, I’ve been called worse things *smile*

Louise: I hear Roman Catholics don’t use condoms… *bites her lower lip*

Dave: Good grief! Of course I practice safe sex!

Louise: Oh, reallyyyyy?

Dave: Yea… I make sure her boyfriends not some 7 footer monster rugby player with a
black belt or something before I do anything! *wink*

Louise: Hehehe… So u sleep around a lot huh?

Dave: Only when I can’t afford my rent… Hey do you dance or are those legs for
display purposes? *looks at the dance floor*

Louise: Only when cute guys ask me…

Dave: *pretends to look around* Damn, don’t see any Mickey Mouse lookalikes
around. I guess I’ll have to do, huh? *takes her hand*

Louise: We all have to compromise some times I guess… *smiles*

*exit to the dance floor*

Okay. For kicks this is something I wrote a long long time ago. Even back then I was an expert ranter it seems. And quite incoherrent.

Love? Bollocks.

Some times I wonder if love actually is just a fiction. You know the kind of stuff writers like me make up so we can flog off some cheap romance novels and books to the lonely and the desperate and get a beer or two. I mean, who actually buys the concept of love? True love, you know ‘Truly madly deeply’ and all.

The answer that comes to mind almost immediately: the spotty teenager with more pimples on his nose than he will ever have girlfriends in his life time or even a few of his life times. The fat old lady from next door; who reads her novels and weeps buckets. Whether at the story or at the fact that nothing like this ever happens or ever will happen to her, I’m not really so sure. Or maybe, the middle aged guy, from down the street. You know, desperate to meet ‘the one’ he’s ‘fated’ to be with. Probably because he’s afraid of growing old alone and having no one to share his misery with, plus his mom and dad are probably wondering if he is a faggot or some shit like that.

I want to grow old with you… I mean even the very notion is offensive to my teenage mind. I don’t want to grow old, let alone see my partner lose her looks, get fat, disillusioned and uglier. Or well, just ugly, hopefully. I mean it would be painful enough growing old alone, let alone having being reminded every morning when you look at the person next to you and think…. God damn… is this happening to me too… White hair, wrinkles…hair in weird places; fat? I mean who in their right mind would want a mirror to reflect the constant downward slope growing old engrains upon us? Oh… and we writers call these people, these little mirrors, lovers. =)

Definitely the romantics if you ask me. You know. The crème de la crème. I mean its so funny when you hear lines that they spew out, like: ‘If you don’t love me… I’ll jus die’. And many do! Jumping off buildings seems to still be very much in fashion. A little messy and inconsiderate to the pedestrians but a hell a lot less painful than sleeping pills I hear. Then in come the movie makers to cash in on the story. To make a freakin block buster about some poor guy who blew his brains out because his girlfriend was getting nookie from his neighbourhood milk boy.

Love? Can eat?

First off, let me apologise to those of you who have been waiting for updates and to those of you who posted comments only to find that everything was removed. I assure you this is not because I disliked or disagreed with your comments. Basically it was a combination of two events. One which is entirely personal and I do not wish to elaborate on. The other is an act of incredible stupidity.

Maybe I should add a disclaimer. The posts here are completely fictional and have nothing to do with ANYONE. Unless you definately know it is about you. (Cue : 1001 emails saying I know this one is DEFINATELY DEFINITELY about me you S.O.B *sigh* )

So if your name is Murphy and you got your arse struck by lightning, tough cookies. Cry me a river in Seramban. They need the water.

Choked on your doggy biscuit while reading a post? Then save your feminist bitchy comments to yourself. These are my thoughts and my words. I honestly don’t care. Sorry. Sending me hatemail and threatening to cut my jewels off is kinky and all… but getting a bit old. By all means be up front about it and post in the comments section. I don’t delete / edit stuff people write there. (Probably because I have no idea how to!)

So that being said; if you want to take offence to what I said or write, by all means go ahead. You wanna bitch and complain about it. Might I suggest a more condusive place for you. click here

I considered moving my blog somewhere more … anonymous? But hell… wheres the fun in that =)

Life’s been pretty much a roller coaster these days. I’m struggling to keep up my aura of sarcasm and nastiness! Thats how exhausting things have been. (Keep the smug comments like ‘you have to try?’ to yourselves you evil doers!

First and foremost, my life has been taken over by an adorable little bitch puppy. Being super uber creative and oozing originality as you know, we came up with an excellent name for the little mutt pup. We named her… *drum roll please*

BABY!

Oh? Shock? Syok?

Definately horror tho! I blame my younger brother for the name (amongst a multitude of other things). Its just as well that we did not name her Lady. Cause she’s definately no lady! God only knows how many of my female guests she has molested. I even got one asking me what I’ve been training the pup to do! As if! More like the pup has been training me la! Plus she sits with her hind legs spread far enough to… lets lose that train of thought. Apparently however, she becomes a lot more ladylike after her first period so I’m told. Odd how bitches have to bleed before becoming lady like. *zing*

Any ways she’s been terrorising at my house for around abouts a month now. My mother from being terribly petrified of dogs, seems to have adopted baby as the daughter she never had (apart from Julian… ) She talks to the lil tyke as if she expects her to answer. I think my mom would keel over if the pup did answer one day. That would definately be a kodak moment.

House breaking has been fun. For the pup that is. She takes delight in what I like to term as ‘poop and run’. She starts pooping, you start running to stop her. Obviously she’s been practicing, as she works with ruthless efficiency. *plop* Good game.

With all honesty she has brighten up the house a lot. In piss yellow and chocolate poopy kinda color. Not to mention the flash of brown, white and black  scurrying to the dinner table when food is set.

She’s also made me reflect alot more. I seriously wonder who is being housebroken. Me or the damn pup. I’m extremely suspicious as to how often the house has to be vacuumed and mopped ‘for the good of baby’. We’re talking like 4 times a week! Hell.. I never did house work 4 times a year let alone 4 freakin times a week.

Apart from the bundle of furry joy, another animal has returned home. Yea, everyone’s favourite Malay who thinks and wants to be Chinese. Azan, Dave. Every time he comes back, theres more of him to love. Ok. To put it simply. He’s becoming a fat bastard. Hahah…

Meeting up with him made me realise something tho! That ass is wiser than he looks. Looking back, he said this ‘Eventually we all walk our separate paths‘. Being 19 and invincible, we figured that our close group of friends, or our ‘pack‘  (our Hoopsquad) as he coined it, wouldn’t really fall apart. Today, everyone’s kinda doin their own thing. Once upon a time in China, we’d need 3 TABLES in a mamaks. Now we have 3 PEOPLE together at best.

It also made me realise something else. As time passes, there are friends that you keep no matter what kinda crap happens. Then there are those you lose. Either way it all balances up. I remember he said I had a sexual tension with one of our buddies. Would have been pretty funny apart from the fact that the guy is exactly that… A GUY…

Must be his Malay blood kicking in when he made that comment (sorry couldn’t resist)

Anyways the mofo left for aussies yesterday, and it will day some readjusting to not having the bugger around. I almost called him up for a beer tonight forgeting he’s not around! Anyways Fear9, its so true. We’re all now either :

• fat
• senile (or getting there)
• getting uglier

I.E. Aging.

Speaking of aging… he passed me some letters that I thought were long gone. I mean SERIOUSLY long gone. I sure as hell brought mamaries memories back. Ally and Clooney? Lawyer and doctor? Hahaha… too bad you’re gonna be the next Bill Gates and I’mma be the next Hemmingway (he managed to off himself properly unlike yours truely).

There has also been something else that has been going on in my life. Its a bit painful to talk about as of now. *Sigh* This one really struck me where it hurt. Its been so long since I let myself do this. So very very long. So I thought I’d take the risk. I mean I was pretty good at it once I guess. Some how I just ended up embarassing myself and finding myself paying for it.

Snooker really sucks man.

What did you think I was talking about. Bon. Bon.

This one’s for you sweets.

Pencil Case

I love you from the bottom of my pencil case..

I love the in the songs I write and sing

love you because you put me in my rightful place

and I love the cheques that you bring

cheap never cheap

I’ll sing you songs till you’re asleep

and when you’ve gone upstairs I’ll creep and write it all down

oh shelley, oh deborah, oh julie of jane

I wrote so many songs abt you I forget your name

jennifer, alison, phillpa, sue, deborah annabelle too

I forget your name

I love you from the bottom of my pencil case

I love the way you never ask me why

I love write around each wrinkle on your face

and I’ll love you till my felt tip pen runs dry

deep so deep

the number one I hope to reap

depends on the tears you weep

so cry lover cry…

cry… cry…

oh cathy, philipa oh sue

you made me so much money

I wrote this song for you

I wrote this song for you

jennifer, alison, philipa, sue… deborah annabelle too…

oh cathy, oh alison, oh sue

you made me so much money

I wrote this song for you

I wrote this song for you

jennifer, alison, philipa sue..

jennifer, alison, philipa sue..

for you… for you…

I wrote this song for you

This one’s not written by me… some dude wrote this on a power point presentation. Its pretty hilarious, so I thought I’d share with ya’ll.

We always hear the rules from the female side. Now here are the rules from the male side.

These are OUR rules :

Please note … these are ALL NUMBERED 1 ON PURPOSE!!

1. Breasts are for looking at and that is why we do it. Don’t try to change that.

1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You’re a big girl. If its up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don’t hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

1. Saturday = sports. Its like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

1. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are NEVER going to think of it that way.

1. Crying is blackmail.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one :

• Subtle hints do NOT work.
• Strong hints do NOT work.
• Obvious hints do NOT work.

JUST SAY IT !!!!

1. ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. Thats what we do. Symphathy is what your girlfriends are for.

1. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

1. Anything that we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an arguement. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

1. If you think you’re fat, you probably are. Don’t ask us.

1. If something we said can be interpreted in two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

1.You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done.

• Not BOTH
• If you ALREADY KNOW the best way to do it, just do it YOURSELF.

1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during the commercials.

1. Christopher Columbus did not need directions and neither do we.

1. ALL men see only in 16 colors. like Windows default settings.

• Peach for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit.
• We have no idea what mauve is.

1. If it itches, we scratch. We do that.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say ‘nothing’ we will act like nothing is wrong. We know you’re lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

1. If you ask a question you don’t want an answer to, expect an answer you do not want to hear.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine. Really.

1. Please don’t ask us what we are thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss topics such as :

• sex
• sport or
• cars

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

1. I am in shape. Round IS a shape.

Thank you for reading this; yes I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight, but did you know men really don’t mind that, its like camping.

Pass this to as many men as possible - give them a laugh.

Pass this to as many women as possible - give them an education.

The most dangerous chemical known to mankind (thanx LiL one)  :

Anyone else notice how the line between love and hate is invisible?

A glance or a past experience would surely tell you that this is true. Think back of that other half that you thought you would die without. TRIED to die without even.

One minute a heated arguement. The next, passionate and animalistic sex. Emphasis on animalistic. Humans love when loved. Hate when hurt. Sometimes even love being hurt or hurting. What complicated animals we are. For all the culture and social norms we conform to, deep down the primal instincts still kick in.

However, if you asked me, things were alot simpler when all you had to do was brain the woman you had the hots for with an ample sized club.

‘WOMAN… ME… LIKE…’

*bash*

*drags to cave*

Unless of course you had a  thing for an exceptionally thick skulled lady. In that case you might wanna bring a few spare clubs. We all know how thick headed women can be about some things at times. . . . . at most of the time . . . well… alright… all the time

Today, instead of clubs, one’s weapons are BIG cars, BIG bucks, BIG houses, BIG devotion and lotsa other BIG things. And women say size don’t matter. *Rolls eyes* Right. Perhaps size doesn’t matter, but LACK of SIZE definately does.

Sorry to all ya chinese dudes =(

I’d like to say I feel you… but that sounds odd. Moving swiftly along.

Love? Lets us take a peek at dictionary.com for a definition of such complicated little word. Why is there a Jennifer Love Hugetits’ (Jennifer Love Hewitt) picture here (before she was anorexic that is)… Oh, my bad. Thats dicktionary.com. Silly me.

Here’s an edited list from the thesaurus.

adulation, affection, allegiance, amity, amorousness, amour, appreciation, ardency, ardor, attachment, case, cherishing, crush, delight, devotedness, devotion, emotion, enchantment, enjoyment, fervor, fidelity, flame, fondness, friendship, hankering, idolatry, inclination, infatuation, involvement, like, lust, mad for, partiality, passion, piety, rapture, regard, relish, respect, sentiment, soft spot, taste, tenderness, the hots, weakness, wild for, worship, yearning, zeal

anyone else find it interesting that half the words can or definately connote sexual implications?

ardency, ardor, enjoyment, fervor, fidelity, hankering, lust, mad for,passion,the hots, wild for, yearning

then you have the more puppy eye’d kinda love -

adulation, affection, attachment, cherishing, crush, delight, devotedness, devotion, fondness, idolatry, infatuation, soft spot

the cynical outlook -

allegiance, involvement, weakness

In eskimo land theres 20+ words for snow. Seriously. Yet in the english language we have ONE word for love despite the fact that there are so many types of love.

A good example can be found in the reactions to the awesome epic Titanic. The scene where Leo De Cap goes:

‘Never give up! Never let go!’

In general, lots of weepy eyed people in the cinema. Gosh, thats sooo touching kinda mushy love reaction. However, if you listen carefully, you’d have heard a few heads being slapped. Like minded people like me LOVED watching that pathethic excuse for an androgenous male die!

‘HAHA… Leo turned into a popsicle’

‘OMFG… she ripped his finger off!’

Are amongst comments I’ve heard from numerous horror stories regarding the movie. Poor traumatised girlfriends.

What of the world? How many cases of murders of ‘loved’ ones happen daily.

‘Omg… he shagged my secratary, bye bye to his crown jewels.’

‘He likes Peter Andre’s ab’s better than mine. Eat gun powder you ruff-putting imbecile.’

‘I wanted to shoot her lover’s penis and her head off with two shots. To my despair I managed that with only one bullet.’

Crimes of passion these little incidences are dubbed. Again it shows just how the invisible line between love and hate is. The guy you love to bits today, is the very same person you might blow to bits (no crude pun intended) the very next day.

We LOVE our family do we not? How come then, most of us find ourselves tearing bits of hair out in frustration when conversing with parents or siblings? How come my baby brother tried to blind me with a color pencil when he was 5? (ok fair enough… the hot milo I poured on him first was uncalled for but I seriously thought he would smell better *pout*)

Then there are the people that we LOVE to hate. People we bitch about all day long but can’t help but be curious about ‘what new stupid thing they’ve done’. Paris Hilton, Britney Spears,

Eminem

,

Victoria

Beckham and so forth.

Question : ‘What do you call 1 million

Manchester

United Fans neck deep in sand?’

Answer : ‘Too little sand.’

Once in a very very blue moon. We’re talking eclipse type of rarity blue moons by the way. You do have the good fortune to find someone that you LOVE. As in care for and actually feel an emotional connection to. Even RARER are the cases of reciprocation!

I could quote so many things :

‘Hell hath no wrath like a woman spurned’ - same thing applies to men btw.

‘It is better to love and lost than to never love at all’ - this dude was either stoned or never in love before.

‘If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with!’ - fancy way of saying if you can’t shag the one you have the hots for, anyone with fair resemblance will probably do.

Unrequited ‘love’ has the tendancy to lead towards hurt, distaste and eventually hate.

‘Is there something wrong with me? How come he/she does not feel the same way.’

‘Maybe he’s into men.

‘If I can’t have you, nobody can.’ (please insert maniacal stalker like laughter here)

Love? Bah?

Want to love? Ha haH!

Cynical? Yah Hah!

Fallen in love? Would love to say Nah!

Its not that I’m completely cynical about love. I do feel ‘love’ towards my family. I do feel ‘love’ towards my friends. I do feel ‘love’ towards (*insert name*). But I’m wary. I’ll end this with the simple line from Seasons in the Sun.

‘Learned of Love and A B C’s… Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees’

Like a new pair of shoes…. bite love before it bites your toe off (although spurned lovers are more fond of biting / chopping other bits off instead)

I love you guys :p