Everything is gonna be alright.

What A Shame; To Judge A Life That You Can’t Change.

‘There’s a hard life for every silver spoon, there’s a touch of gray for every shade of blue, that’s the way that i see life; if there was nothing wrong then there’d be nothing right.

What a shame, what a shame, to judge a life that you can't change. The choir sings, the church bells ring, So, won't you give this man his wings? What a shame to have to beg you to see we're not all the same. What a shame. God forgive the hands that laid you down’

I did something very, very, very wrong.

Yes We Do, And It’s Horrible.

Me, Myself & The Kitchen.

SO..I was hungry at an unholy hour of night. And this usually doesn’t bid well, because it means i have to cook. And that, kids, is where the story begins. Drum roll, please.

Attempt #1: Toasted bread with butter and honey.

I found the corpse of an old bread loaf, the remains of what i then believed to be butter, and huge jars of honey that would feed a Cambodian family for a month. I got the loaf of bread, used the huge forceps  thingie to toast it into charred mummies which i was very proud of and put those aside. I then realized that the butter won’t melt or cut. So i heated a knife and tried to cut it, didn’t work, which made me get a tiny pan with running potatoes holding hands all over it, put in a piece of butter and tried to melt it. It still wouldn’t melt. It took about 10 minutes to turn into what you’d call an alien’s booger, used a fork to squish it into what you’d call alien throw-up and put that on top what remained of the bread. I proudly put some of the honey, managing not to spill more than a spoonful, got a pretty plate and settled myself in front of the TV thinking how awesome i am. Then i took the first bite. That was when i found out the butter was cheese. FML

Attempt #2: Boiled eggs:

Eggs scare me. No really. They do, i have bad history with eggs. No need to go into that now anywho. I got me a couple of eggs, one of which had a fine hairline crack which i then thought was harmless and later proved to be catastrophic enough to fit into ‘All My Sons’. I got a huge..uh..thingie. The one you use to boil milk, because i then figured the taller it is, the safer it will be. I filled it almost to the brim with water, tossed in the eggs and set the timer because i wasn’t inclined to burn down the house. Then i went out and, thank god, turned off the media player. A couple of minutes later, i heard a SPLOOOOOOOSHHH SSSSS. I ran to the kitchen thinking i’m in for a tsunami when i found that the fire was out, an egg exploded and made omelette on the brim of the thingie and the other was, well, nowhere to be found. I got everything back upright and kept my distance as i looked warily at it till it’s done. I later found the other egg, it had jumped somewhere into the onion basket, but unfortunately i couldn’t find its yolk. X-files, i got another case for you. They both looked and tasted like something out of ‘Alien VS. Predator’. I set the bread on fire trying to toast it.

I then lost hope, which led me to the last attempt, which was the most successful.

Attempt #3: Olives.

Of Revelations That I Shouldn’t Have At This Hour Of Night.

So as usual at this hour of night, i start thinking about stuff that have nothing and everything to do with anything, then it hit me. When i graduate from high school, the national certificate aka: Sanaweyya 3amma, i’ll be 20. Wow-ish huh? I got this mental image of my crawling out of the premises in a beard and a ragged habit. In case you were wondering, yes, i am a dude in my head. Then i had this other revelation of how, even if i was convicted of man slaughter, i wouldn’t get 20 years. What did children do that makes it imperative for adults to put them away for 20 years till they’re somehow suitable to strut amongst them? It’s odd. It feels..wrong somehow, i’ll be 20 when i’m finally out of school. My friend just turned 20, but he’s in the third year in college. That makes sense, a little. But 20? A 20-year-old high school graduate? Hm. I didn’t even flunk anything! It’s not my fault that i had a nutty nun in charge that thought it was in our best interest to be older than usual to make stuff easier! She just kept postponing the applications till we were old enough to realize that we could’ve applied elsewhere. I don’t wanna be 20 when i get out of school. I’ll get labelled monk in college or summat. Blah.

Of Karma, Bogus & A Coincidence That’s Not Really A Coincidence.

This is hard to talk about. I usually come here to write about mindfucks as generally as i can, but as much as i can generalize this, it will still be personal; because sometimes; it takes a horrible person to make you see that you were one yourself. The exact thing that repelled you is what you’ve been doing over and over again to other people. Karma is, has been and will always be a bitch, that’s true, but she’s one fair bitch alright. I got the realization shoved up my mental ass by none other than yours truly. I only needed to see how it looks like on another person, how pathetically attention-seeking, see-through and weak it was, when it dawned on me that hey! I’ve been the one thing i hate, and i didn’t even see it. Then comes phase 2 of mindfuck, when you start feeling guilty and wonder if you’re bound to show them the same kindness you’ve been shown. It’s not that convoluted on 1st person narrative, but that’s exactly where phase 3 kicks in, you’ll never get what i’m talking about until it happens to you. Phase 4 is where you start wondering if an apology and a promise that you’ll never be what we’ll proceed to call Bogus from now on for privacy matters, is enough to free you of phase 2 on a contract with penitentiary conditions. Does it count? I don’t know. I really don’t. I have enough shit to handle on my own, but didn’t my friend have their own shit to handle too when i ladled them my portion? And doesn’t it logically follow that i owe that person an apology and should be willing to pay it forward? Doesn’t that mean that i’ve been a horrible person? That same horrible person that i’m dying to get rid of? I don’t know. And nobody can help me with this. There’s no help button in real life, or an undo button for that matter. The way i see it, it’s one of two ways. Either good will come out of it, because now that i know the problem exists i’ll stop it and save everybody who’s ever cared about me the drill, or good will come out of it, by sucking it up and paying it forward, and maybe that’ll help the other person. Because i can’t get myself to picture the wimpy version of it where i just walk away when i’ve had people who’ve never walked out on me when i was worse.

Or i just have a god complex.

I don’t know. Fuck this.

You Think Irony Isn’t Ironic? Well, That’s Ironic.

Life Lesson #256: Irony is an odd thing. It’s a widely known fact that the universe has to keep its balance. A person dies, another person is born, on the same day. However, What are the odds that you end up knowing both? It’s a million to one shot, right? And it’s a little thing called Irony. It’s never funny, yet always funny. That’s what ironic about irony. It’s funny, but never to you, and always to you, and only to you.

Life Lesson #257: Contrary to common belief, there is a magic pill that fixes everything; it’s called cyanide.

Life Lesson #258: You know what else is ironic? For you to enjoy Ramadan sitcoms, you kind of have to be drunk.

Life Lesson #259: Mubarak’s trial was yesterday. All i gotta say about it is that they were passing the microphone around as if the judge was snoop dogg and it was puffpuffpasstuesday. What’s ironic tho is that nobody was necessarily enjoying it. What do we learn? Well, that in order to get high, somebody has to go down. Oh, and need i mention that the new evidence that's gonna undoubtedly implicate el Adly  in the case of killing protestors is found in a Dasani cardboard box? Only in Egypt man, only in Egypt.

Life Lesson #260: No matter how you are, turning 20 feels weird as fuck.

I Like Headaches.

There’s a lot that i can rant about, had they not been entirely personal i would’ve started a Daily Express right here, right now. And it was about that time that i got a terrible headache, you know, one of those headaches that adds a couple of extra pounds to your head weight and you feel like you have a golf ball in your skull that you have to balance away from the cranium walls by staying horribly..vertical? Yes, that one. So that’s when i realized that having a headache doesn’t leave much space to anything else, including memories, rants and/or autodialogues. So, it dawned upon my agonized self that headaches are good. I like headaches. Not in a masochistic sense, but rather expressing gratitude as to how my windows crashed right before i clicked send. If only headaches came without pain? Oh wait, that would be happiness, of course it doesn’t exist. Ha.

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.