Life - It really can fuck itself

Life is like a woman's breasts. It's all peaks and valleys. A dude told me this today. So I reasoned that if life was all peaks and valleys then it can really fuck itself. Life can just use the peaks to fuck the valleys. But then he pointed out that it was anatomically impossible. Well who the fuck cares if it is? I can do all sorts of things with my imagination!

Death

“Shannon open the door!”
The banging on her bedroom door made her jump.
“No!” she screamed back, “I don’t want to anymore.”
She broke into a sob.
“Shannon…honey…I love you…don’t do this…please!”
The woman on the other side of the door couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice.
“You did this; this is all your fault. I hate you!”
Shannon’s accusation burned her through the

closed door.
“Honey, I’m sorry so, so sorry.”
The truth, it was so clear it almost sobered her up. It almost changed her mind and then the image flashed in her mind, taunting her.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut hoping to shut out the image. The bright sun, the innocent laughter, the torn dress, that sick smile, if only she had said no. If only…
“Baby please let me in.”
The raw plea broke the flashback.

A single silent tear slipped out of the corner of one eye. The cold comfort brushed her temple in invitation. How many times had she tried to let her in? How many times did she deny it? Shannon wondered at the hand fate dealt her as she looked down the nozzle of her salvation.

“Shannon, I should have believed you. I’m sorry. I’m sor…” the ragged woman on the other side of the door broke into a sob. Her resting head on the door swayed from side to side as her knuckles grew white from squeezing the door handle. Her sob broke into a guttural cry. She crumbled to the floor and back to the door cradled herself and cried.

Shannon hauled herself over to the door, backed it and cradled herself. As she silently offered up a prayer she asked her mother, “Why didn’t you believe me?”

The woman on the other side of the door froze. Was that a click she heard? Wild fear flashed in her eyes to be replaced with uncertainty as the silence on the other side weighed in.

“He said that he didn’t…didn’t do it…and…and I believed…I believed him.”


In a small town in the middle of nowhere a little girl found her innocence once again. The gift was given to her by indifferent steel as her mother slouched in regret. Shannon smiled as her life blood flowed warmly down caressing her cheek while her mother blankly stared at her feet, rocking back and forth lost in the horrors of her refutation.

Reflections

I dreamt I was being chased through the forest green by a creature unseen. And as my lungs burned and my limbs grew numb, the creature caught up with me. We tumbled and rolled limbs entwined, onto a grassy knoll where the sun kissed the grass and the flowers stretched to heavens in silent supplication.

Then as I picked myself up, heaving with great exertion, I spun round and round looking for my pursuer. It was only me in this paradise hiding among the trees. But then I felt the piercing stare boring into my back, the hate scorching me. I shaded my eyes and moved to see but the shadow in the shade moved away from me.

(Picture from http://www.widgetbox.com)/

I chased it this time and this time, it ran from me. My heart galloped in my chest and beat widely in my ears as suddenly, the shadow took shape and moved with me. I moved back into the sun and the shaping form moved with me.

In that paradise hiding in the trees, I came face to face with the creature...It was me.
She radiated hate, she stunk of malice, she hissed with anger and shook with fury. As the sulphuric heat from this malignant creature engulfed me, I reached out to touch the reflection but she shrunk away from me.

Confused, I stared at the space where it had been hand still in mid air. It stared back but with accusations burning brightly. Lifting a hand that time had worn, this black me pointed. Her weathered finger like hardened soil stabbed in my direction condemning with one finger.
I shivered in the bright day. My blood ran cold as I somehow became aware of the cause of my condemnation. The guilt suffocated me as the memory burned the back of my eyes...The darkness has finally caught up with me.

I scream. I try to fight the memory. The pale evil in front of me smirks. Its eye’s glow as the memory continues to consume me. I tried to run but my feet became rooted into the soil. I did not want this memory. I do not want this evil staring back at me.

(Photo from http://www.flikr.com/)

She comes closer to me. Her evil stench seeps into my pores. She is seeping into my pores; with a black smirk she interlocks her malignant self with me...

I woke up in the middle of a beautiful meadow encased by looming trees on all sides. The sun was caressing the earth as the flowers danced to the silent melody of the breeze. But none of this appealed to me. Turning my back I made for the dark comforting shade of the trees, feeling more at ease as every step took me away from the light.

To fcuk? Or to fuck?

I've made my decision. I'm gonna start fucking, bitching and whoring all over the place from today.

It's irritating typing fcuk when I really wanna let it out and say fuck!

Langauge, like the world, is a collage of colours. Without words like fuck, cunt, bitch, whore and all the variations then life would be a hairy vagina - with the annoying hair trying to hide the beautiful colour you know is underneath.

Besides, several assholes over the course of my life have preached about how important it is for me to be myself. Well, let's say fuck-cunt-bitch really fast three times to celebrate me celebrating who I am.

So some of you are probably cringing and there are those who weren't brave enough to get this far. Well, to the weak of heart, fuck you! I know, and whatever God you worship knows, you've thought these words a hundred times.

Besides, I've read in quite a few places that swearing - fucking, bitching and whoring about - gets rid of tension and eases stress. Oh joy! Finally! A bright fucking side to my bad fucking habit. So if your language still lacks colour after reading this bit of info then don't blame me for your premature heart attack.

To fcuk or to fuck? I choose to fuck!

However, I promise to keep the fucking, bitching and whoring to a minimum because I know that too much of one thing is good for nothing. I also take this opportunity to apologise to our more sensitive readers and encourage them to try fucking, bitching and whoring.

Add some colour to your language! Start fucking today!

Sex is just a want, dude, not a need

Being sentimental is dangerous. It makes you look at boobs (delicious ones) and see breasts and when you begin thinking of a good fcuk as making love then, dude, you know you’re in a shit load of trouble.

       (Image from www.toonpool.com)

Bear with me here…I’m known to panic when it comes to certain things. In fact, I shouldn’t be looking at boobs…er…breasts at all! Nasty things, those, they tend to distract a man from the really important things in life.

I like to think of myself as an individual of genuine substance. An individual who understands sexual urges can be controlled. I refuse to be ruled by the animal in me.

In fact, I think I’ve been doing pretty well with ruling that animal. Unfortunately, being able to control your baser instincts gets you labelled as a prude and all sorts of other crap. However, I smile at such labelling. I look at my weaker human relatives and I pity them. I know that they struggle in a war I have long since won.


The thing is people tend to get their emotions involved in this simple animal act and they blow it out of proportion. They delude themselves into thinking sex is love, sex is connection, sex is a need. I say they need to get their brains checked.

I mean come on if they’re looking for a minute or less - that’s how long orgasms usually last right – of stress release then I can think of a million better ways to get it! Better yet use your hands…no one will ever do it to you like you, trust me on this.

My point? Don’t fcuk around and risk getting a disease because you’re looking for love. Understand your wants and control them. Stop being a sissy. You want love? Go adopt a fcuking kid!

Is that a hair?!

Nobody likes to find hair in their food. So the next time you're offered food and you feel you should refuse.DO IT! Who give's a shit if you offend the host?At least you won't end up finding a hair in your food!


That is what happend to me!


So yesterday I went to a friend's house and she introduced me to one of her uncles who then offered me food. Now I love Dall and curry.





Let's side track a bit so that I can tell you about curry. When Indian people make curry it's dark, it's spicy, it's mouth watering, it's fricking delicious! One thing it's not is hairy!







Now back on track. He offered me food so I said I'll have a little. While I love to eat I don't like to eat about the place. (My mom drilled it in me that it's not healthy, "and you ain't see how they preparing it" or something like that she'll say.)






So there I was debating whether or not to refuse. Eventually I gave in and my good friend had the good sense to take out a small portion. God bless her!

Now I started to eat the food. It wasn't bad and the uncle was being so hospitable showing photos of his family and giving me an unwanted run down of who's who all while my friend's trying to get us out of the house by doing a fast run through the photos as I play with my food. I had like a bite or two so far.





The scary part comes here. I took a piece of chicken and started to mix a little rice with it and I noticed something. It was short, black and thin. It wasn't a spice!I did two things at once: I supressed the urge to throw up right there and I tried to school my face from showing exactly how grossed out I was.

So to be polite and trying to hide the utter disgust I felt from my voice, I innocently ask, "What is that?" What I really wanted to say was, "WTF is this?" The funny part was when my dear friend looked over and goes, "Oh it's a hair," and went back to looking at the pictures.

Now she was mortified but she played it cool. Me, on the other hand, still wanting to hurl, made a big show of tentatively placing the hair at the side of the plate. At that point I could not hide my feelings. I was told it was all over my face!

I learnt a valuable lesson that night. The next time I feel like saying no, I'll say no!

I'm not sure that finding a hair in your food is bad for your health but it sure is disgusting to find one there. It's gross because you end up thinking about that hair and where it probally came from! I shudder at the thought alone!

But I have to give props to my friend. She handled the situation really well...as well as you can handle having your guest finding a hair in their food!

White Wine anyone? It’s free…

So I’m sipping some of the more expensive white wine available in Guyana. Of course there are some fools who would feel classy doing it. I know better.

It’s the cheapest bottle available from some fancy dude’s winery. But it’s foreign stuff which our more expensive Guyanese stores bought cheap and are selling to us classy people at a very classy price indeed.

Not that I’m really calling myself classy. I’m no fool. I value my dollars because I don’t make enough of them! Being in the non-profit business can be very frustrating sometimes. In fact let’s forget a bit about the white wine. Get to know me a bit.

Raine Alexander. Yes, that gay name (I’m not discriminating dude! If I turn out to be gay then I’ve got the perfect name) is just something I’ve got to live with. Well Alexander is sort of powerful but Raine is where the trouble is…fine, fine, fine! My name isn’t gay. It’s just romantic. Ugh.

Now if you’ve checked my profile out, I should tell you that the bit about me being in the non-profit business can be misleading. You see I don’t do charity or any of those saintly I’ll-go-to-heaven-if-I-do-it crap.

I’m so ashamed of my salary that I don’t have a personal bank account. I just have some joint ones and of course I didn’t put any of the money in those! I’m too poor.

You see, by the time I discount my travelling expenses and lunch money from my salary there isn’t much of it left. I slave all day on what I now consider my personal plantation – my home away from home – and I have nothing to show for it. So you see I really am like a non-profit organisation. I help to record history and bring the people information and I get a stipend.

So how do I afford to drink the very expensive cheap white wine we get here (which according to my very educated relative really tastes like rotten potatoes)? Simple dude, I don’t pay for the shit!

It’s all free. Apparently, it makes people feel very classy to give out cheap white wine for which they’ve paid quite a few dollars. Well…he who has his bread buttered by fools shall not complain about the fools! I’m all for helping people feel classy these days…it keeps the wine coming!