I Hate Memories.

Old friend. Please get over yourself. I miss you. Oh, and fuck you.

Rap Fail #3

lemme put it in a way so you'd get it fo sho

I'm kind of a fucking idiot, i'm also a little slow

i'm more of a banana split next to hercule poirot

and in terms of tit i'm a 'shmidtt' next to marilyn monroe

i'd be closer to Xzibit had it been a fucking strip show

and graduate with a fucking permit as a sloppy joe

i managed to get hit and ever so guilty i'd grow

and fall so far down that pit that i amend the mofo

never was quite lit with that special golden glow

but frankly i'm in bits cuz cupid has a fucked up bow

i wanna rape that little shit so bad he moans like a hoe

that lame excuse for a zit is my designated foe

cuz in that department i'm a wreck from fucking head to toe

but i'd rather slit my motherfucking wrist than let it show

tho i'd never fit i'm lil wayne on letterman's show

i prolly should submit and shave my heinous fro

and stop being a cold brit and a stupid troll

3AAAAAAAAAAAAH! <3

And the fox, became god. Priests clutched onto bibles, hollowed out to fit their rifles, and the cross was held aloft.

It’s Because I’m Short, Innit?

I don’t usually come here to write. I come to talk. Not specifically to people, or at people, but just talk. The same way I’d point something out to myself in the bathroom mirror; not really caring about the language or its relevance to anything that has just occurred. Like for instance, I was hanging out with a group of people yesterday, and as usual I was the shortest person there. Then I got stuck sitting on a high ledge and I had to hug my friend and they carried me down, because the ground was too far away. It occurred how it might feel weird if I shot up all of a sudden one day, I’d probably spend a couple of days wiggling like an anaconda every time I attempt to walk.

It’s rather inexplicable having to look at people all the time, body language claims that people react positively to people looking up at them, because they mind link it to a child looking up for guidance. But maybe I don’t want to be a child. I don’t like having to look up at people all the time. I’ve only had to look down at 5 year olds, and 5 years olds don’t really give a fuck if you’re eyeballing them, they have better things to do with their life. They’ve only been around for 5 years and there are a lot more interesting distractions than a mutant. I remember tho, kids tend to listen to me. Ironic, since I am not really exhilarated about the idea. A year ago, I think, I got into a church service that required you to mainly keep an eye on the kids and make sure they don’t wander off where they can’t get out. We couldn’t let them out of a certain square area, and there was this little kid, a boy, who kept crying. A lot of invigilators tried to comfort him, but nobody quite seemed to get the hang of it, he’d back up and cry his eyes out at the ceiling, glimpsing at the door like boogeyman is about to pop out. I don’t really do kids, I really don’t. But anyway, I thought I’d give it a try. I went over to him, and got on my knees, so that I’m actually shorter than he was. And I asked him what’s wrong. The kid took a minute looking at me and then at the other adults. Then he came forward. I asked him again, and he replied. He thought they were getting injected; apparently he’s had some sort of phobia from hospitals. I explained to him, in serious simple language, that’s we’re far far away from any doctor there is in the world! And how these stupid adults are gonna take turns telling stupid stories that even the kids can tell better. He smiled. Then he stopped crying and went back over to his friends. I felt like god. I had a purpose, kinda, that nobody else was able to manage. I was a midget with a mission. Needless to say, 5 seconds later he forgot I exist. I relate to him tho, I know how it feels when you’re trying to say something and nobody quite seems to hear or want to hear you, and I remember thinking every time that maybe if I was a little taller and more buff then maybe, just maybe, they would’ve thought twice before looking ahead through the expanse of vacuum that would have been my head. There isn’t really a point to this post, there never really is. I’m not gonna have an epiphany, trash tall people or draw an imaginary feel of awesomeness about having short people genes. I’m just short, I’m actually taller than my grandma, and my mom. They seem to be just fine. My grandma has to look up at people all the time too, and the last time I asked her about it she said: “Well, it’s better leverage to get out of cleaning upper ornaments, I used to get your grandpa to clean most of the house, w makansh byfta7 bo22o.” Then she’d have one of her hindsight-invoked tight-lipped smiles and embark on another battle of her many to try and feed me. So yes, great, the only good thing I’m getting out of this is a very scary thought about being a housewife, and not even being up for that. Grghh, this took a wrong turn. <shudder>

Rap Fail #2

<chorus>

And it’s fucking happening again,

With all the mental strain and pain

And confusion pumping up my veins it’s insane

So I push him but in vain, like a ball on a chain

Jamming my brain on every fucking traffic lane

 

<verse 1>

Get out my head I said but he misread

knocking me out with yet another overhead

and instead he’s widespread

like a cheese spread on French bread

Closing up a mental block, adding a lock

But he’s already the capital stock

Slipping in like an insulin shock

Pounding and hounding around the clock

 

<verse 2>

But why, whereby he’s a good guy

Like a meat pie in Versailles, a good buy

But it won’t fly cuz I’d die if I rely

On yet another lie and what it’d imply

Holy Shucks I think I’m fucked

I oughta reconstruct my every conduct

Saying I’d obstruct every duct

Leaving no room for fate or luck

 

<verse 3>

My heart is beating but I’m heeding

Its every impulse and kneading

But it’s feeding off of needing

And reading all the shit that I’ve been pleading

They never care as they ensnare

It isn’t fair what I have to bear in this motherfucking lair

Fuck this department cuz there I’m always listed on welfare

I got my share, why don’t you shuckle if you dare

 

<verse 4>

And I remember every past time with all the slime

and it’s as full of grime as a ghetto’s nursery rhyme

my prime with every climb ain’t worth a dime

and I’m just another motherfucking mime

I’ve always said I’d hold my own but what a drone

I’m already in the motherfucking zone, it’s on

I can moan but all they want is an unknown to bone

I shoulda known better than to be so prone

As a scone to a motherfucking flinstone

Because I Love Owls.

There’s A Very Thin Cookie Between Being Nice And Creepy.

I’ve always thought that it’s creepy when people are nice, because they’re not. Usually, that is. If they’re nice then they’re suck ups, manipulative or want something from you. You gotta learn when to make exceptions tho, because sometimes people are genuinely nice, but then again others turn out to be creepy stalkers that just won’t give up without a restraining order. There’s a very thin line. Not that i see it, but anywho, if you can then good for you. Have a cookie.

I still don’t feel like writing. This sucks.

13th Of July.

Just another day in the calendar
what a challenger
and you turn and toss
And it shows you who’s boss
you’re at a loss
Phrasing and wording like a scavenger,
cuz who woulda thought
that aught
would break you as you fought
but it's not,
what you expected as it erected
all the shit that you neglected as it gnawed
And it's a shame,
cuz who woulda thought
that a name that lame
would end up stuck in a rap game.

Life Lesson #256: People know. Because they’re people too.

I don't care what everyone likes. Ogres are not like cakes... You dunce, irritating, miniature beast of burden. Ogres are like onions. End of story. Bye bye.

Happiness.

i am very..very..VERY..bored.

Fuck Fridays.

Chick Shit.

Life Lesson #250: Honest is bad. If you tell people how things are, don’t be surprised if they step in and snatch control. So by all means lie and equivocate, that’s the only way things won’t get out of control. Look at it this way, on cyber space it’s called limited profiling. So grow up already. Nobody likes an idiot.

Life Lesson #251: HHGG are a religion in disguise; which is, if you come to think of it, the only way a religion should be. One that works. And well, if it makes you a better person, then who gives a fuck?

Life Lesson #252: If enough people recommend it, there has to be some truth to it, and if it’s not exactly truth, then it has to have some pleasure in it. There’s a reason why marketing works best under the radar. It’s a documented fact that the best way to market a product is through starting its distribution among babble mouths. It’s the second best right after reverse psychology, and they already have that up their sleeves since the most enjoyable luxuries of life tend to kill you over a variable period of time.

Life Lesson #253: There’s no such thing as nice people. Everything that people do, they do it because it makes them feel better in one sick way or another, hence eliminating the altruism factor, which is the whole point to being ‘nice’. Nice is a myth, right next to unicorns, big foots and phoenixes. Some people just hide it better than others, and most of the time you’re too desperate to see it.

Life Lesson #254: How do you take back something you said? You don’t. You play it cool and let it simmer. Then the person’s self-esteem will do a somersault and get back right into the slot that you wanted them to be, in a similar manner to how human beings usually handle scabs. You pick on it, it scars, you let it be, your skin swallows it and it’ll be like it never happened. Nobody cares anyway, who’d wanna waste space on their short-term memory patch on other people? Ha. Naw.

Life Lesson #255: I wonder who was the first person who thought of depilation. I wonder what the hell were they thinking. I bet an arm and a leg it was a dude.

Ay, No More Talk.

I haven’t properly blogged in a while. Something about the sanaweyya experience seems to take the urge to speak out of you. I’m not whining. I won’t. So what do i talk about?

So all i wanna get out of this scant vacation is as many outings as i can, something that i can feed off of when it’s over.

I don’t really feel like talking, so if this blog post turns out to be a disappointment, you have been warned.

I just finished the first HHGG book. It’s one of the best mind jogging experience i can dare to call a book. It’s sort of a mind pizza, fulfilling and light. Well, that may not be the best metaphor, how about a donut? No, donuts are too boring. Ice cream? Yeh maybe. Cerebral Ice Cream. Haha.

That wasn’t really funny.

I’ve been crossing over to the dark side for a while. You know, how everybody has a phase where they kinda find out where their boundaries are and stretch the fuck out of them till they nearly snap? Yes, i’m right there, and i like it, and i’m tickling it and it’s almost cracking now. And i like it.

Here’s to hoping i don’t ruin my life for a couple of stubs. Or maybe i will, i don’t really care at this point, and that’s what makes it oh so damn awesome. The forbidden fruit experience, on meth.

I like killing people in head, repeatedly, when i’m mad at them. I kinda embark on a series of scenarios where i brutally murder them in different medieval methods simultaneously. It’s good catharsis, and it highly contributes to the fact that i’m ice cold more often than not. So it’s gotta be healthy, no? Join the dark side, black is the slimming colour. You know you want to.

Agaza.

I’m watching knocked up, and the script is awesome. And retarded. But yeh, it’s awesome, and true.

So yeh, agaza and stuff. Yay. Yep. Partying and all. Uhuh.

I’m spaced out. That’s great too.

You know when you’re eating cheese out of the box and you don’t wanna get your fingers dirty but then the block slides and smears it all and you start thinking oh yeh, life’s totally like that. Because once your fingers are smeared you go ahead and go all like oh what the hell, i’m toasting some bread. And you end up with delicious cheese bites. Now you see, you wouldn’t end up with cheese bites if your fingers weren’t ‘accidentally’ smeared now would you?

There’s a very thin line between being a gynaecologist and being a gynachiatrist, mom. A. Very. Thin. Line. You tip over a lot. How many penises were in the car? Seriously? Being tipped over all the way to gynopsycotic is a whole other thing.