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Archive for July, 2009

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He hated animal rights activists. He hated their self-righteousness and their pompous hypocrisy. He imagined asking the fucking retards what they’ll do if they’re stuck in a island with a pig with no food whatsoever, and he imagines further the lot to sanctimoniously whip out their standard issue research from their umbrella organisation or whoever the fuck is the lobbyist behind their movement and read out to him the fucking Miranda rights of a weasel or a honey bee. At this point, he can almost savour the pleasure of bitchslapping their hallowed bodies (from eating not so much as a couple of sticks of lemon grass and carrots) and hogtying them in his basement, and when they’re almost starved to death, dangling a nice tender piece of roast in front of their faces. It is at this point that he makes them choose between eating the meat or their fucking ideology.

***

He drove past the rallying mob, whose placards sashay in the air like heavy drapes covering the view of the pristine ocean and the glorious bouncing boobs that make his office in this waterfront building so goddamned expensive. Missing one of the punks with the ‘Save the Seals’ poster by an inch, he quickly parked his Lexus in the shaded space allotted for the Senior VP, who is not him; however, he is not taking the chance of one of those over informed junkies throwing their dead cat dummies and messing his newly waxed convertible. He’ll deal with the SVP at lunch.

***

He was never one for sympathy. The day his dad suffered a massive coronary back when he was in college, he was sitting at the ER waiting room with his mother and brother. He felt dread… and confusion. But not sympathy – not for his mother, not for his brother, not even for his father who at that moment was being sliced open as a result of years of bathing his insides with oil and alcohol.

Its not that he chose to be that way, no. As a matter of fact, sympathy was a foreign concept that continues to baffle him. He knew it exists, but never can he claim, if for the purpose of this narrative he will be asked, that he once felt sympathy for another human being. He was polite (when necessary), but never actually sympathetic.

He greeted her secretary and did a double take at her sumptuous ass. Could they have grown overnight or is there a little buttpad action going on there? These vixens drive him mad sometimes. He knows if he doesn’t play his cards right, these scheming mongrels can bite off his head clean faster than he can say…

“Good morning RNF!” (the SVP). I took your parking slot this morning, I hope you don’t mind. It’s only until your car gets back from this new car spiff joint that one of my clients opened this weekend. Heard one of the valet boys he’s about to take your ride for a wash, and I sent him there. You should see the exquisite job they did on my car blah, blah, blah…

***

That was the day he blew his brains out using the scrubbed .45 he nicked from his neighbour’s punk kid, who’s been using their empty dog cage to stash his stolen goods from all over the neighbourhood. He came to know about it after he caught the teenage deadbeat scurrying about his backyard when his dad sold him the cage for some quick booze bucks.

That day was particularly calm, eerily so, that the screech of tires against the pavement sounded like it was on Dolby Digital from the park bench he was sitting on, calmly eating is salami and jalapeno sandwich lunch. Looking at him from afar, one can easily pass him off as the generic corporate slave who sips expensive chino in the morning, take hasty, unsatisfying lunches at the park on slow days, and occasionally dines on expensive tiny food portions at swanky hotel restaurants that is often paid for by others. All his life, he had been cheery, and though he had his moments of melancholy, he was never generally thought of as the suicidal type.

Except, of course, he was.

***

Keeping up with the façade he put up in the image of what a man of his age, stature and breeding is supposed to be, he walked, talked, gossiped, worked, fornicated, bargained and dined with people who never even really had an idea that a façade of that sort was in existence. He was sad a lot of times, but what really ate at him was the loneliness, although he never even had a wanting for physical company. The irony of it all often left him dumfounded, until eventually, all he ended up really wanting was for everything to stop existing.

He made a decision, one that, for once, he was happy to make.

And obviously, he doesn’t want your fucking sympathy.

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THIS SUMMER, DO YOU WANT TO BE A MERMAID OR A WHALE?

ripped from a forwarded email. HA!

****

Recently, in large French city, a poster featuring a young, thin and tan woman appeared in the window of a gym. It said:

THIS SUMMER DO YOU WANT TO BE A MERMAID
OR A WHALE?

A middle aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym.

To Whom It May Concern:

Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans). They have an active sex life, they get pregnant and have adorable baby whales. They have a wonderful time with dolphins stuffing themselves with shrimp. They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Barren Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia. Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs. They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans. They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world.

Mermaids don’t exist. If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis. Fish or human? They don’t have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them not to mention how could they have sex? Therefore they don’t have kids either. Not to mention who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store?

The choice is perfectly clear to me; I want to be a whale.

****

tarush!!!

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Random Thoughts after so long

I was watching ‘How I Met Your Mother’ last night, and inasmuch as it made me laugh (or how bad Barney Stinson had me in stitches), it has also set a flood of sentiment to motion to a level much like as if somebody opened the Panama Canal after the perfect storm went down on the other side. I was suddenly left wanting for the company of people whom I’ve known long enough to understand how I sometimes read their personal text messages, or my compulsion to leave half empty beer bottles in the bathroom sink. After a long swig of my trusty Red Horse, I longingly wished for old friends to have a few with after a long, boring day.

***

Inbox

1 etisalat
2 ADCB
3 orbit
4 salik

I miss green, cheesy, emo forwarded text messages from my green, cheesy, emo friends.

***

I’m not one to miss easily. But when I miss something/someone it gets pretty unbearable that while driving I will have to pull over to calm down, else there’d be roadkill, and I won’t be able to answer for the lives/limbs I might take down.

Not many people know that I have a strong sense of smell, and this is one of my senses that is mightily affected when I have that, uhh, longing feeling. I crave for the smell of the something/someone, to the point that I can actually draw and colour it on paper. I can assign it a distinct pattern, which later on I will recognise in the most nondescript places (usually on marble floors of lifts). I dream about them, and I see them floating lazily in my cornea. I might as well be the Jackson Pollock of odour.

***

So, I have changed my mind about my plans to be a wedding planner. Well, I haven’t actually trashed the idea. It’s still there, lined up in the horribly long que of Things I Have To Do Before I Get A Coronary. (That’s right. I’m certain I will die of a heart attack. My gut just tells me it is so.) And boy, the kids in the line are getting agitated by the minute. And I think a candy bar wont be able to fix things this time.

***

My sister will be landing in Dubai in 48 hours. I pray to God she gets here safe. I also pray that the person who almost killed my nostrils by carrying fish in the lift this morning stinks of all kinds of mashed up rotten seafood and that no amount of deodorant and perfume will ever make a difference.

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