This blog, to me, is like writing on a mirror. It is not my friend. It is a record of glimpses of my life, and things I found to be interesting. I am surprised that lesbian porn never made it to any of the posts. We’ll, there’s a time and place. If my grandchildren use this blog to build an AI personality of me, I want to make sure that they get all the important stuff right. Chocolate cake will take the top spot, followed by my partner. Iron Maiden and comedy will follow. If on the other hand, my DNA is found by an alien species, and they decide to do experiments on my lab-grown body, I recommend you make a plan b before you try doing anything nasty. You know the drill, anal probe, skin grafting and such. This is why I will resume taking kick boxing lessons before I hit 40. Yes, I dream big, IMAX big.
I got a little overconfident with my social skills today. So I’m buying bananas. As I’m paying, I see box upon box of bananas piled up, ready to go. So I make a sly comment, “lots of bananas! Business is good aye? ” , and the guy replies, “pfft yeah duh”. I crumbled. I almost gasped, and I ran outta there.
My luscious hair has grown so beautifully that I get pleasure out of running my fingers through it. It’s like a black river, but with no fish in it.
A title like ‘black beauty’ assumes that the content would be about a woman/horse of dark complexion, but no. It’s about my hair. It’s all about luring people in with the promise of a great read, and disappointing them. Plus, my hair deserves a post.
A healthy diet of oil, bread and cheese, over the course of two months have resulted in a net weight-loss of 15 Kg. No, it’s not cancer. I have to admit that this was accompanied by a daily routine of intense one-hour workouts while listening to Queen (I will explain in a later post how listening to Queen can help improve the production of hormones). Let’s just say some serious chiseling has taken place. I look like Picasso. Like, I literally look like him. Google it (not the young one). No offense.
It’s all about quantity, people.
My mom uses my Netflix account. When I sit down to eat, and watch some enlightening bits from the Trailer Park Boys, I get a stupid message saying “your account is in use on too many devices. To keep watching, upgrade your plan”. So I upgraded the plan. One day my mom asks me why I don’t use Netflix anymore. I tell her what happened. She says”that was the whole point. To call you, and ask you to stop watching”.
My favorite comedian just admitted to masturbating in a hotel swimming pool.
When I was a kid, mom and dad used to take us out to eat, and I would do this thing where, at the end of the meal, I would mix up all the condiments on the table and put them in one container (the tiny bottles they keep on the table, I don’t know what the fuck they’re called). Like, I would take the pepper bottle, mix it with some salt, and then pour some vinegar into it. To this day, I think about it. I think about all the people whose meals I fucked up. I laugh about it, but deep inside there’s a little bit of regret. And now this.
Amongst the engines, hustle, and conversations, within the silent gaps, you can hear my loneliness.
Today I realized I can move my balls. I am glad I discovered this before I turned 30. The story of how I discovered this unique skill is very captivating, but I will not reveal it here. Instead, I will personally write to whoever comments on this post. Live your life free.
Update: I am not going to write to anyone personally. That’s grose. I would instead send them nudes.
Further update: No one has commented as of yet. This brings both joy and sorrow to my heart. People are evolving. No one wants to hear about my balls.
I just saw a woman on Tinder, with a profile picture of a dead body, like a legit dead body, on it’s way for it’s funeral.
I’ve never considered myself a fashionista, but I took a good look at myself today, and I gotta admit, my winter-wear is on point.
You see kids, if you work hard, and make something of your life, you wouldn’t have to write stuff like this on a Friday night.