Thursday, December 8, 2011


Page 1

You're a half-dragon breed. Yes, it's pretty awesome on one note, but it gets pretty depressing when you spurt out live fire when you have a sneezing fit. You have a split tongue too, which would only backfire the teasing, back to you if you were to stick out your tongue to someone.

You have tiny wings to provide you with impermanent flight. Yes, you'd only hover for a certain amount of time, you're still a kid dragon. Horns? Hell-yeah. I think it's one of your most prized possession, your horns are. It's shaped like a crescent and it's tinted in purple hue, while your scales are dark emerald in shade. Epic colour combo? Sure is. You don't have a tail, as retarded as it may seem, you're only a HALF dragon breed, so you have human legs. Don't point you finger at me that your mom fell in love with a full-grown Mountain Dragon which fell upon a curse and became a man after he met with a Shaman. Genes still runs in you. The shaman now charges a ridiculous amount to befell that transformation now, so you're either screwed or blessed.

Page 2.

One fine sunny day, your mom is suddenly in the mood to make her famous mushroom stew of which you admitted to be awesome eventho you swiped your plate clean off to your pet chihuahua. The chihuahua died, and you're the one to blame. Mom thought the constant mini seizures was the Grim Reaper to Chewy. Chewy the chihuahua, now that's a mouthful. The burden of killing your own pet is still upon you, but you'd join her grave too if you were to admit it to Mom. So, in order to not make a fuss, and make excuses on not wanting her to make that stew, you agreed on your mom's order to harvest some Hillshire's Mushrooms to make that said stew. But those 'shrooms aren't just available abundantly, the journey itself is pretty perilous and you don't have a clear idea where Mount Hillshire is. But that's okay, you have a friend to guide you, a fairy. A fat one. A small, fat guy fairy who wears a tutu and have a 5 o'clock shadow to boot. Balding too, and his pits stink. But he has his antennas to locate places, so he's vital for you to not get lost on your way to get the mushrooms.His name is Alfredo. Or, you could always borrow your neighbour's Sniffles, which is a Dogoblin, a mix-breed of a dog, and a goblin. It has excellent sense of smell, to help you track your way to get the mushrooms.

Scroll down to page 3 if you choose Alfredo to be your guide.
Ctrl+F your way to page 4 if you want to choose the Dogoblin.

Page 3.

So you head off with Alfredo to get the mushrooms before dawn. Dum, di dum, di dum, as you stroll out of town with your fat fairy. His antennas would twitch now and then, to sense the direction to Mount Hillshire. But as you peeked closely, you noticed that one of his antennas are cut. You asked him, "Dude, is it just me, or you're left with one antenna now?". He is silent for a while, closed his eyes and raged out "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO BIT IT OFF REMEMBER?!, YOU WERE DRUNK ON CHERRY ALE, AND YOU THOUGHT THAT MY ANTENNA WAS A RAT'S TAIL!!". It hit you on your scaly forehead. O' yea. It's a shame that you would get tipsy on a kid's drink, but you're a dragon. You can drink a barrel of beer without even a hiccup, but one kiddy box of Cherry Ale, you would knock yourself out senseless. Out of anger and irrationality, Alfredo lost track of his tracking along the way. He needed to concentrate, you see. You regret on asking about his antenna, but you know this isn't the familiar track to the mountains. It's hard to admit that you're lost. You flutter your wings to check what's ahead and all you see is long stretch of a dusty dessert. The plains are filled with octagonal cacti, colours varying from dark red, to light pink. So, what's your deal? To go on ahead just incase it's a shortcut, or turn back and retrace your footsteps from there?

Ctrl + F to CACTI PLAINS to go on straight
Ctrl + F to REVERSE to go back and do over.

Page 4.

You're not on good terms with Alfredo anyways since that biking incident, and you can't stand his stench too, so you decided to borrow Uncle Gale's Dogoblin, Sniffles. A leash round' her neck and you're set to go. As mean as Sniffles look, she's a gentle one. She has a set of blunt teeth, and would only eat berries and biscuits. You wrap the leash round your hands firmly, as you guide her to the mountains. You took the last remaining Hillshire's Shrooms' from your mom so that Sniffles would sniff it out and trace the way for you. "Arf, Arf!" barked Sniffles as she picked up the scent. You smiled, as you thought it'd be a breeze. Uncle Gale warned you somethin' about somethin', but you were in a hurry so you didn't pay much attention to him. You just want to get those mushrooms by dawn. As painful as it is to think that you have to stuff the mushrooms down your throat later, as you know it tastes like peas and liver. The most lethal combination of flavours in the history of delicacies. But o' well, whatever that makes Mom happy.

You walked and walked, and you've covered quite some distance. Sniffles is panting slightly, she looks hungry. You checked your pockets and you thank the Heavens, there's a packet of cinnamon biscuits you didn't finish earlier. "Here Sniffles, get'cho noms." She munched down in delight and her pace from there on seems more energetic. But you know that's not enough. You promised to stop by and feed her if you see a bush of berries afterwards.

As you go on ahead, you thank the Heavens again, there are two bushes bearing berries healthily. But they look unfamiliar, however they look tasty enough for a mutt to munch on. There are two, one is small and slightly spiky but not sharp enough to slit a throat, and is orange in colour. You randomly name it the Spiky Sunset. The other one is deep black and spiral in shape. You call it the Spiral Blackhole. Which one would you feed Sniffles, you indecisive smut?



O' well, you thought. Maybe this is a new route to the mountains, and it's always refreshing to see new sights. You dragged Alfredo along, and you managed to calm him down by giving him cinnamon biscuits you found wedged in your pocket. You're not naked, just to make it clear to some who's imagining it wrongly. All wardrobe implications are subjective. After the biscuits, Alfredo is now in full gear, and you'd watch your words from now on as you know Aflredo is Mr. Touchy-Me-Not. It's hard to walk by the sands and it's sinking you down. So you dcided to fly over the plains. You flutter your wings as hard you can, and there you are, airborne. But remember, you are only hovering. As your flight gets lower, and you get nearer to one of the cacti, and to your surprise, it bounces you off like a trampoline once you hit it. It's not sharp at all, and it's consistency is like a jelly's. You have an idea, instead of walking heavily through the damp sands, it's better off to bounce off from one cactus to another. Alfredo thought it's a stupid idea, so he just flew along. WHEEEEeee~, as you bounce off from one jello-like plant to the other, to the other, to the other, to the other. "-_-" is smudged on Alfredo's face as you do so. But it's okay, he's missing all the fun. Alfredo is such a sour puss. But you do not dare say it to his face, as he might throw another fit.

You're right, it IS a shortcut to the mountains. To your luck, you see a faint outline of Mount Hillshire upfront as you bounce in further. And the fact that Alfredo is silent about your decision to go forwards is that, he knew deep down, that you two are on the right track too. So, hooray.



You think it's not such a good idea to follow on an unfamiliar route so you decided to go back and do over. But you're already lost in the first place, so even tracking back would only lead you deeper into Lostville. The antennas that Alfredo bears, would be able to track backwards too, but since one it cut, it's not that efficient. He shrugged his shoulders as a sign that he's not too sure too. But nevermind, your dragon guts tells you that it won't be that hard. You go deeper and deeper into your route, til' what seemed like a set of thin threes and bits of bushes, gradually turns into a full-grown forest. It gets darker too, not for the fact that the sky is dawning black, but the canopy of the forest is getting thicker, and thicker. You take a piece of wood, set it on fire with your dragon breath, and a torch is ready to guide you out. But all you see, around you, are trees, and more trees. Light is getting more faint, and more faint as you scuffle you way through. Alfredo is already crying, the pink tutu shall indicate that he's afraid of measly things like, darkness. As you go in deeper, you see a swamp, a musty old swamp, with decaying roots piercing through the surface. But you see light at the end of the swamp, thus an exit. What are you gonna do now? Stay at the same spot, or swim through the swamp to get to the other side?






You decided to feed her the Spiky Sunset. They look much tastier than the dull-coloured Spiral Blackhole anyhoo. "OM NOM NOM". The juice of the berries splattered a bit to your arms, as she chomped down on those berries. And to your horror, it's corrosive on your scales. Your scales bubble up, and fizzle along a very sharp pain. Your eyes bulge up. If this reacts like this on hard scale, imagine how it'd be on poor Sniffl- too late. As you avert back your eyes to Sniffles, she's already on her back, rolling in despair. Her mouth is foaming in red. Blood. And foam, leaks out from the poor mutt's mouth. Her eyes are contrasting to white and her barks are weak. Not too long, until her barks are heard no more. and her eyes - her dead eyes just stares back at you.



Being lost in the middle of nowhere with a dead dog to guide you, and the possibility of being murdered by Uncle Gale if you manage to find your way back ; you are eternally screwed. Uncle Gale knows about how you fed Chewy the mushrooms too. O' whelp.



You take a healthy bunch of the Spiral Blackhole's with one hand and give it to Sniffles. She seems to like it, as she chomps them down in such glee. You take another helping of the berries, and bend down to feed her some more. But something's not right with how Sniffles is eating those berries. Normally, she'd have a small bites and eat them softly in such good manner. But, she's chomping those berries like she's chowing down a piece of juicy meat vigorously. Maybe the berries are that good you thought. But you're wrong. The thing Uncle Gale tried to warn you is that, do NOT feed her berries that you are CURRENTLY feeding her. Why? It'd awaken her carnivorous side and would switch an innocent mutt, to a ferocious fuck-you-up. The berries are that good because it is DRAGON-MEAT FLAVOURED. WHAT ARE THE ODDS, YOU ARE HALF-DRAGON AFTERALL. Sniffles took a scent of the mushroom earlier, and took a sniff of your smell too. Her eyes turns blood red, and her fangs are now like knives, embedded in between foamy gums. You try to take flight and run from the murderous mutt but o' boy, the berries would turn her super agile too. She chases you, although you're flying. No - you're hovering. It won't be long til' you fall into her longing jaws. You drop feet-first, and that's the first thing Sniffles rip off. You drag yourself away with your arms, unable to walk. But what's good a dragon with a missing leg to propel oneself. I am sorry, but you are now dog chow.

Uncle Gale lost an arm thanks to the berries you fed her. And he fed Sniffles ONE measly berry. You gave Sniffles a HANDFUL Thus, you're down to an eyeball.



You decided to stay. The swamp looks nasty anyhoo. Maybe if you circle around the swamp, you'd find yourself an exit too. So you do just that, as you track yourself around the swamp, in hope of meeting an exit. Little did you know, the swamp is one of the biggest swamp in whole of Giul (your world). So trying to trace the swamp seem endless, and the sky's turning black too. In mixture on how thick the canopy is, your plain of sight is reduced significantly to a pitch black. U'oh, what now. Your torch is useless, as it'd only highlight two steps ahead of you. The THIRD step ahead is out of your vision, and that's exactly what you are stepping on.


That doesn't sound too welcoming. Congratulations, you have stepped on the tail on a very deadly Gnarlbacker. Your torch highlights two things before you are met with your inevitable doom. VERY, SHARP FANGS, and EIGHT eyes to ensure you that the beast can see you wherever you decide to run to.




The End.


You are now at the foot of Mount Hillshire. It's a sight to admire, with pine trees adorning the side-skirts of the hills, and a waterfall, rushing through branch-like trails. Climbing is an easy chore for a dragon with gripping claws like you, you lucky son of a gun you. So, you climb merrily to the top. The mushrooms aren't on the summit, so you don't have to climb all the way up. Along the way, your eyes are met with a cavern. Do you want to make a pit-stop to the cavern, or waste no time and continue climbing upwards?

Scroll down to CAVERNS or CTRL+F ; UPWARDS.


You decided to enter the caverns, and what a sight to behold, the mushrooms are abundant. You pick them up and put them in your basket. Yes, you were a carrying a basket along. Telling you too early will make you think that this is some gay Red Riding Hood and make you stop reading, but since you're already this far into the ADVENCHAH, it's too late to turn back is it. IS IT.

Anyways, yes the basket. It's filled with the mushrooms your mom asked for. As unrealistic as the chore is, you've made it. THE EN - BUT WAIT, A long tongue suddenly stretches from the dark depth of the cave and wraps itself around you, making your basket to tumble downhill. AH FUCK. Not only that, you've managed to disturb the nest of the great Rapture, a snake the size of a hut. And you're only in the size ratio of a rat. Alfredo? He's outside, he's afraid of the dark. Pink Tutu = scared of gay things. But being gay saved him, you're not gay. You're a proud, manly, dragon. Too bad, to boast about that is too late as the tongue pulls you in. Stomach acid is the death of you my boy.



"It's almost dawn, better hurry the fuck up.", you thought. As you climb up 1/4 of the mountains, you can already see a flat bedding of grass waiting for you ahead. Ah, the mushrooms should be there, you whisper to yourself. You climb, and climb more upwards, your claws are becoming sore. But, the mushrooms are already almost within reach, so you march on ahead.
After several more push, you manage to pull over yourself up, to the spot where the mushrooms should be. To your dismay, the plains are empty. It can't be anywhere else, they should be here. The summit would be too cold for the mushrooms to grow there.

It's dawn. It's time to go back. You carry along home, with an empty basket. As you reach home, you see one of your neighbours gardening and you decided to drop by and say "Sup."

And he replied "Sup".

"What are you tending for?"

"Hillshire mushrooms".


As your soul empties your abdomen, and you shrink to a speck knowing all the walking and climbing proved to be a waste.

So, should you ask for some or go on home with an empty basket?



"Can I have some?" .

"Sure", smiled your friendly neighbour. "They started growing here since my pet started shitting in the backyard". That is why they taste like a pile of em'. I grow em just to make my yard look nice. But sure you can have some."

You laugh hesitantly at pet-shitting part, and put some in your basket.

You go home, and you give the whole basket to your mom and you're only rewarded with a hug.

All of that, be paid with only a hug, yeap.

A hug, and a nasty dinner. And suddenly, the thought of your neighbour's pet taking a dump in his backyard crosses your head, and your eye bulges O_O.



You decided to just go home with an empty basket, with reasons I cannot fathom knowing the mushrooms are just right there. But hey, it's your own ADVENCHAH, right?. Anyhoo, you go home with an empty basket, and part ways with Alfredo who wants to sleep like a slob like he is. Nevermind, he's tired. You're tired.

As you enter the house with a basket sighing out dust, your mom shouts


A knock to the head, and a benjol later, you are served with a hamburger. A fat, juicy hamburger with a healthy serving of pickles. O' well, this is infinitely better than the mushroom stew anyhoo. So, your mum's angry smug vs. the hamburger,you tell me.


Saturday, July 30, 2011

Kidnapped Napkins Napping A Nap.


Do not mind the previous few posts, of which I wrote when I was eligible to be strapped in a straightjacket and be shoved in an asylum.

I am sane, or maybe partly, who am I, to evaluate oneself. Who is anyone, who'd try to judge oneself with no third-party judge.

The victim of flawed self-esteem, I am. This particular post is just to welcome back myself with a working head. No longer, with loose nuts and bolts in the skull.

Personally, I think my English is rotting fast. Like food, you'd think of making it to be leftovers for tomorrow, but instead ; you forgot to put the lid on. Or in my case, I forgot to practice writing, and read more.

I feel drained lately too. This sucks. I wish to be in a better frame of life soon.

Please Lord.

Monday, June 27, 2011



Some would skate to not just give a fuck.


Some would skate to destroy things.


Friday, June 24, 2011



At this point in time, there's NO LONGER a STURDY proportion to the word RANDOM.

What is random, is what's funny. And what's funny, is when you laugh. AND WITH THAT SENTENCE ALONE ; I HAVE, will, was, were, would forever be TIME-WARPING.

I am at a state, of KNOWING EVERYTHING, without even doing ANYTHING.

Thus, GOOGLE (yes, your office is awesome ; you better let me enter it one day or the other).




Imagine life to have infinite loopholes, of KNOWING you are particularly good-looking ; IS ENOUGH to let someone KNOW, of SOMETHING.

I am in Malaysia, and I am CAPABLE of engineering a silent nuclear bomb without wanting to even detonate it.


What is this bullcrap that has been stinkin' up the whole of INDIA.

A REAL MAN, would use that, to let it dry that under the sun, to make a slightly-smelly poop which in turn would turn into clay.

PEOPLE LIVING UNDER THOSE DOMES ; without having the slightest hint that it's COW POOP that they're living in because it's been in a slushy swirly mix of CEMENT.

SO, WHEN IT'S A NICE HOUSE TO LIVE IN ; along with the swirly swishy mixture of (STOP THINKING) of that, thus that.


Because with what I've learned, with WHAT, I HAVE GONE THROUGH ; I'd know by a hunch, the slightest one at that TO KNOW ; the kind that would think death means the complete obliteration of my soul OR, to think someone was/is/were/will think of me in the present, past, future.


(not you, sorry)


Psychic, and SIDE-KICK ; are TWO different words ; and THEY CARRY meanings so vastly different that I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT (or even two) on parties that I don't even need to go. WHILE I WAS THERE ; meanwhile derp is derping derpz.


The end.


At this point in time, there's NO LONGER a STURDY proportion to the word RANDOM.

What is random, is what's funny. And what's funny, is when you laugh. AND WITH THAT SENTENCE ALONE ; I HAVE, will, was, were, would forever be TIME-WARPING.

I am at a state, of KNOWING EVERYTHING, without even doing ANYTHING.

Thus, GOOGLE (yes, your office is awesome ; you better let me enter it one day or the other).




Imagine life to have infinite loopholes, of KNOWING you are particularly good-looking ; IS ENOUGH to let someone KNOW, of SOMETHING.

I am in Malaysia, and I am CAPABLE of engineering a silent nuclear bomb without wanting to even detonate it.


What is this bullcrap that has been stinkin' up the whole of INDIA.

A REAL MAN, would use that, to let it dry that under the sun, to make a slightly-smelly poop which in turn would turn into clay.

PEOPLE LIVING UNDER THOSE DOMES ; without having the slightest hint that it's COW POOP that they're living in because it's been in a slushy swirly mix of CEMENT.

SO, WHEN IT'S A NICE HOUSE TO LIVE IN ; along with the swirly swishy mixture of (STOP THINKING) of that, thus that.


Because with what I've learned, with WHAT, I HAVE GONE THROUGH ; I'd know by a hunch, the slightest one at that TO KNOW ; the kind that would think death means the complete obliteration of my soul OR, to think someone was/is/were/will think of me in the present, past, future.


(not you, sorry)


Psychic, and SIDE-KICK ; are TWO different words ; and THEY CARRY meanings so vastly different that I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT (or even two) on parties that I don't even need to go. WHILE I WAS THERE ; meanwhile derp is derping derpz.


The end.

Friday, June 17, 2011


I'm in the mood for murder.


Slice buttocks as buns.




and ketchup.


Tuesday, June 14, 2011


(what happened to Peter Pan tho?)

I can live on my own,
When all threads have been clearly sown.

I do not care on mediocrity.
This prick, is electricity.

Have a blast of the past.
I am now a stranger, I'm okay with being last.



Sunday, June 12, 2011



Let me on a little story. I AM NOT a KID anymore. THE DISGUSTING things you guys would do TO DETERMINE, who belongs to whom and who's not.


Cigarettes ; or fags as we like to call em'

They'd only plan to do this and that to KNOW what AM I holding BEHIND bars.

If they want the SECRET so bad. THEY NEED TO KNOW, respect is bought ; not EARNED.

The greatest commandments of war ; THEY DO NOT DIE.

Black and white? Grainy videos? Broken I-PHONES?

YERP ; it's the energy they have been put on hold since the BEGINNING of TIME.

My senses are so keen, I can KILL with just a single strand of a thread.

PIANOS? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. You fags wants to grow up so fast that ; you don't even know how to operate one without having the VINE WIRES, be snapping to catch you IN a GRAND PIANO

HAHAHAH. You LOST me again.

Hide and seek? COUNT TO A MILLION. Then ONLY, I'd be there.

I have a secret.

I used to be so broke, til' this "MOM" of mine TRIES to take all from me.

I do not show mercy, I do not show remorse.

I NOW, how one looks like and how one would die, by JUST looking at em.


Paranoierps, will forever be that.


IN ORDER ; to be sane. You must get IN, the SANE PLAIN. Which ALL of you SINNERS ; woul be teleported to as we speak.

You can't handle heat. You can't handle ANYTHING.

Ingredients of a faggot ;


We've all been bred with blood, to be pure. THUS ; you guys not getting any pussy since FOREVER.


You lost by trying so many times and not just gonna any.



I know.

I can't skate now. I have a vision, that if I do ; MY BONES WILL BE BROKEN.

Where they'd use it like chalk, to crush us and existence. Thus that.

THIS IS THE DAY TO STAY INDOORS. BUT, skaters that can LIVE with the heat. THEY SHALL.

So, I ain't going nowhere TIL' I SAY SO.

I am at home, sucking a fag and be drink'n wa'r.


- derp

Friday, June 10, 2011

Derping derp drilling dibs.

By death, you would not win.
By debt, you'd not get out clean.
By deaf, you'd not hear blasphemy.
By fleeing, you'd not taste victory.


Saturday, June 4, 2011

Hunged Happiness Halt Hazim HALT

This is in someone's thought. THUS ;

I am at the point of no remorse. Not entirely that I have given up on emotions, as those are delicate dolls of delicacy (Insert purr'awr'n noises) . Which, would revert myself back to a normal kid who just wants to live his GODDAMNED life, without NO back-prickers [back-packers?] <- FUCK YEAH.

Yerp, I have lived long enough to realize that, I - CAN, live without a phone, or phones. Just as long, I am not removed from all existence (which, at this point in time ; someone would toast on my death).

What's hickkity-hiccup'y funny is that ; you CAN'T kill a person. If you slit, a throat. It'd be alive, no matter WHAT. Even when the crimson river, would flow out of someone's meat-case ; it'd form whatever, in that split-second of somewhat ; serenity. (Necrophiliacs, are different tho). Because at that point in time, the SOUL, would embark on a different level of consciousness. Because, you JUST ; can't die.

Let's look at it this way, you slaughter chickens ; and they become niggers' favourite post-sweat'n munchies. THAT, doesn't MEAN, that chickens would be GONE, from existence.

Cannibalism, is the WORST. They'd, be SO curious on HOW would human flesh tastes like, he/or she would start self-mutilation. Then, they'd realize ; the meat tickles the taste-bud, in a different dimension. THUS, REAL ; cannibals, would only hunt down sinners, and would put extra salt and pepper, and all that.

GOD, is so MERCIFUL, that ; even the most ruthless act of cannibalism, done by the most merciless of massacre-driven axe-swingin', kitchen knife flingin' chief of particular tribes.

Their sensory organs, would adapt so fast ; that (inversely proportional to the modern society) people would take them as monsters.

And that is when, they smell fear, and humiliation. And the sense of not knowing what to do anymore.

So, they eat other meat for the time being, but that indigestible hunch of munching sweet human flesh (of sinners) would still linger around the air.

Thus, they'd smell fear. And with fear, they'd sense that the victim's shivering.

Let's say, they'd found a girl, getting gang-raped, and be left there all alone. THE CHIEF, would KNOW ; what had happened to her. THUS ; making her the temporary princess of the tribe. Just so, she's protected for the time being.

THIS ; would make tribes smarter, with the girl explaining that there's a LOT of GOOD FOOD, at the other side of town.

And, that is EXACTLY, when PLANES, and CHOPPERS ; would be super-heroes for a day.

"GET TO THE CHOPPAH" - Said Arnold Shwartzhnaniniegrr (sorry)

Thus, the girl ; being the princess of the tribe would later benefit so MUCH to the society ; that the tribe (and the army) <- BOY YOU DO NOT WANT TO MESS AROUND WITH THEIR POISONOUS FROG TIPPED ARROWS AND SPEARS

Thus, they'd derp.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Massacre Must Mean Menace

This guy doesn't get it since whenever he tried.

So, I am back and writing and not giving a shit on not getting invited to parties anymore.

This blog has been dead for the longest time, and you don't even have the tendency to check it from time to time because you're already consumed by greed and greens to even come up with a better point than zero.

And here you are complaining, (Why are you exploiting your sense of grammar to make a legit point)

Music has been around since forever, and it has been trying to tell ONE thing ; it CONNECTS people.

And here you are again, thinking that you know best while you copy-paste lyrics to make your band that should be rooted on a greater basis.

Real artists and musicians should make their records out of inspiration, out of everything else.

At this point in time, your argument is invalid.

Arnold Shwartzmanniiger REALLY thought he WAS, the TERMINATOR.

And now, he's just - Arnold.


I know that, this is a LOT to consume at ONE go, but it has been told by many times ; SIMPLE English makes the best storybooks.

THICK books, are based on THINNER books made easier for little kids to read.

Here you are again, trying to argue my (not that I'm opposing yours, because really ; ALL FEEDBACKS ARE WELCOMED) logic.


Don't you know, we all co-exist on Planet Earth, and Planet Earth alone.

Yes, call me crazy for believing in Mad Hatters riding bunnies with bows and ties and drinking tea and sucking on chocolate sticks.

But, a MOVIE, has got to come from SOMEONE, who OBVIOUSLY went through a LOT to make a legit POINT.

What's the point of arguing when you can't even stare eye to eye, and still tryn'a struggle words out of your breath to AGAIN, argue behind a monitor?


I am not mad, or pissed.

I went through enough, and a LOT, to know the KIND of people that WALKS, Planet Earth.

Here you are again, thinking that ; WITHOUT money, all civilization would crumble to dust.

But dude, we are what we are SINCE, birth. I change my mind from time to time, to pick friends, GOOD friends, that's WILLING, to hear rants and shit (but NOT, going against the EXACT opposite of whatever I'm trying to deliver)

All questions, have been answered from time to time. Trying to prove who gets to sit, and not sharing money, and asking me to do shit for your own liking ; is not exactly right.

Cigarettes DON'T kill you. WE, don't DIE. If, for the LONGEST time, you TRIED (and will forever more TRY) to bring me down.

You will.

Here, have a glass of gossip and more gossip.

And more money to spend on more handbags and more handbags that carries more money and all your beauty products.

I am not a girl. I, don't like to argue with one. Because with silence, the truth would, inevitably delivers itself.

I don't even like debating, but don't point a finger when I sneeze and snicker when you think you've made a valid point.

Because REAL human beings, (but this d00d is just some normal d00d, go get a j0b d00d)


I don't even need to work, I already KNOW what I want to do in life instead of whining about this and that and this and that and would STILL argue a point with me.

I have been called names that are displeasing, but I'm alright with that.

I've been slapped (for reasons I don't even care ANYMORE to fathom) one two many times.

If that's for showing how MANLY you are, sure go ahead.

At this point in time, no conviction would ever go through you and your numbskull.

You have went here and there, to show me this and that, to PRESENT a greater logic that is (was, whatever) original (or normal, or whatever).

Don't you see? I am not capable of hate, I am only capable of putting down judgment on people thinking they know shit when clearly, they just shit to clear out their intestines.


It's not that you're dead, or are you alive. I have just mindfucked you to an optimum level that you don't even know what to say anymore.

So yep, spitt'n buck't. Hunt'n ducks sounds more fun than listening to illogical, la la la la la la la literature.

I am just skin and bones, I am capable of things but irrational hate is not it.

I have been tested for the thousand'th times, and I have given ENOUGH chances to repent.

But it was you, since DAY 1, that TRIED to pull me under.



You are in shame, but you are too proud to even admit so. You are in guilt, but you are too courageous to think that ghosts don't exist.

They do.

They, do.

All the victims, you have killed and raped and shit, they DON'T die (for the LAST time)

The human body is capable of SO many things. Those fingers, they could cook and all that shit, and you'd only use that to wipe your snot and pick your nose and chew a booger and repeat.

Sure, call me an Atheist for not BELIEVING in GOD and NOT supporting RIGHTS.




And why am I not surprised that you are still eating your boogers and is smelling your pointer finger that was just out of your ass-crack.

Somehow or rather, you kinda LIKE the smell.

And now you are,




It's not that I was jealous with anyone, I simply compared. I don't look like this because I CHOSE to, it's a FACE I have been masked upon a sturdy skull and a working set of anatomic structure.

Argue with my logic, you're just hesitating.

We ALL got this far, UPON centuries UPON centuries ; HISTORY, was there to keep us in place. (IS STILL ONGOING, AND WILL EVER BE).

It's not that you don't believe in Hell, you went to and fro just to KILL a FRIEND.


I'm sorry guys, you guys are not dead (obviously).

But, this is me signing off with the biggest stamp of shame stamped on your heads.

And I am not surprised, that you will still argue with me, and us.

Sure, go on with your lives thinking movies and games didn't actually come from a legit source.

The war was never about who's right or who's wrong ; It's about what's in your head.

You are what you are, and you're too weak to even command an army as of now.



Signing off,


Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Hate Rates Gate Of Fate


(That above ^ , is supposed to look like a teethy monst'uh)

Writing in my blog after what seemed like four millennia and four days, feels like venturing into a secluded crystal cavern that's pillared by mammoths' fossils with Hieroglyphs engraved on them. I feel both weathered, and inspired. Ancient, but smacked with newly found, significance. New discoveries upon aged artifacts. That contradictory feeling I shall spare no time in elaborating. As if there's a definite, a possible way to do so anyhoo'. There isn't.

Old posts (even the drafts, yep)/pictures dictating how I've been in the past two decades, although incomplete but at least there's a harsh shmarsh-mellows reminder that the past ain't at all obsolete. I'm as careless as the act of balancing a silver tray of delicate tea cups on a loose unicycle.

I've never been on a unicycle.

If I were to keep constant records of myself and all my everyday-average-albeit-awesome-adventures, with a paper and a Kilometrico pen, I'm sure that I'd lose a large portion of em' to the merciless wrath of the washing machine. Turning my writings on paper scraps, once tugged nicely in pockets of jeans, into fluffy lints. All those years written, would go to waste. As something giddy kittens would chase (hint ; the lint <- rhyme intended).

"On a side note, receipts, order forms and spare papers (spare-pers, lowl bowlz) you will not think twice in scrunching them up for target practice, are the best kind to unleash inspiration on, somehow. The absence of fear of ruining an expensive art canvas catalyzes the whole sketching process, I guess. J.K Rowling made Harry Potter up on napkins for Severus's sake.

-Not that I'm a Potter fan'boy, just some scrap of an informative bit gathered from a "Did You Know?" trivia on, uh -somewhere."

So, here's a "Whoop'ee!" for Blogspot!

I'd like to think, this is why being a little sentimental (little? pffscheh~) have it's importance. You, consciously, or subconsciously, keep track of your own singular self. No better evaluator, second to The Creator, of your own super self, other than the owner of those eyes reading this. (y)ep.

To think, I used to write about my birthdays, and how I'd welcome the new year with a red-charactered-carpet before this. But just look at the sad, sad sight of number of posts under the year 2010. That's less than a post per month. That's less than a post per TWO months. It's unheard of to not find the slightest amount of free time as for me, in a month, to actually sit down and let thy' fingers loose.

It's pure, concentrated Procrastination Purée right here. Like a glass of bitter herbal health drink. The hard part is just to attempt to swallow it and to tame the gag reflex. A gulp later, you'd be thinking, "Hey, it ain't that bad" . And, you'd feel good, knowing that the good ol' herbal drink, despite tasting bad, is good for you. There is all to it, feeling good is good for you. Good.

So, here's me trying to write again, taking a cyber sip of that said syrup.

-Good God, do I really have to muster more metaphors on welcoming myself to write, each time. The last few posts are of the similar topic wei. Bleh. Nevermind about that.

It's obvious that I came here without a specific motive. Like an alien that's set on world domination that came with nothing - not even pants. Why don't they ever, wear pants. You have atom-altering laser blasters, but no - pants? . We should trade technology for a day. Just sayin~

As determined as that unprepared little naked Martian, I, too, would dominate this intense urge on clicking the hell out of the red "X" at the upper-right corner of this window. I, WILL- finish this post. This will not rot, in the damned dungeon of drafts.

Where am I going with this post even. I'm like a lost survivor on an exiled island, not giving a steaming shit on a still-working compass I found wedged in between a dead castaway's ribcage. A compass would not call me a rescue boat. Makes a better bait, as a compass is shiny. Edible aquatic creatures are attracted to - shiny things.

This is getting out of hand. Before I'll be mysteriously led to talking on unicorns having multi-coloured tongues, I better put a plug of pause onto this.

If all I wrote doesn't make sense, here's your two sense back. LOLZ GEDDIT.

Kill' next time. Laterz.

They'd still call me young, but I feel like I've been in this skin forever.