the clog

Verbal Diarrhea...or "Now I have to wash myself with soap"...

Yeah, anyway, as you can very well see, I've given up on giving up. There are just too many things to be commented on in this world and if I don't do it...well, somebody else probably will. But they won't be my comments, see? I mean, if there is a plague of misinformation in this world then some of us hafta stand up and introduce ourselves as the cure. Me, I'm quite content to be a placebo. If you're the world has left you hurting and you need solace...well, they have agony aunts for that. Or your granny. She's been around the block a bit, she'll probably know what ails you. Yeah, anyway...erm...I kinda forgot the point that I was trying to make. I think it's supposed to be something like: I'm here to stay, Baby...like that tomato ketchup stain that you got on your dress that won't come out no matter how many times you wash it. You know the type.

Anyhoo, I now know that people actually do read my posts. They just don't bother to comment. I mean, I LIKE feedback...but I'm not about to beg my dear readers for feedback. I'm mature enough to not expect these sorta things. Oh, who am I kidding? Gimme Feedback, you Bastards!!!! I need it like crack!

*Ahem* Sorry about that. That was the Hyde personality speaking again. I haven't taken my pills in a while. Anyhoo, we can now get on to the real meat of this post; the real reason that I felt that I had to write this. I, Rumoku, Watched a CHICK FLICK (cue dramatic music. Y'know, the one that goes DAN daaaaaaaaaaaan). The worst part of it is that I enjoyed it immensely. I feel like I've sort of betrayed some sort of unwritten covenant now. You know, the one that says that guys aren't supposed to watch chick flicks without a girl next to him. Oh, and he must bring the girl. And the girl can't be related. Anyway, I feel so dirty now. I would go flay myself now but that's just stupid. So I'll wash myself with soap. Anyway, the movie in question is one "Something's gotta Give"... which is a brilliant love comedy. Even with the necrophilia (read: really old people making out and having sex.... It seemed like I was the only one in the whole cinema who was squirming in my seat during those scenes. I mean, dude, they're uber old! One-foot-in-the-grave type old) it was still good. I really enjoyed it. As much as it sickens me to say it, I enjoyed it immensely. Does that mean that I've grown soft in my old age? Is this the type of movie that I can expect to watch when I'm over the hill (35)? No more testosterone, manly, gore flicks? Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Man, Freud would have a field day with this confession. Now I just have to go and surf for porn or something just to balance out my enhanced feminine side. *Sigh* Life is hard.

In other news, I have been labeled as a Hobbit-look-alike by an old friend from my High School Days. Actually, it was his sister that said it, but he whole-heartedly agrees. When I asked why all he said was "Look at your high school pictures". I still didn't get it. So he pointed the similarities one by one. Curly hair? Check. Chubby Cheeks? Check. Short? Check (well, I consider myself to be of average height...but those arabs and other foreigners must only eat long beans or something. They're frikkin' HUGE! Heightwise. Get your mind outta the gutter). Furry feet? Che...hey, waitaminnit....

Anyway, there are just too many similarities between you and Hobbits, he says.
That's a terrible thing to say to a friend, quoth I.
But chicks dig Hobbits, especially after the Lord of the Rings movies, he retorts oh-so-smugly.
Yeah?, I ask innocently.
It's really true, he solemnly replies.
Hot dang! I'm a babe magnet!, I exclaim.

So the question that has just popped into my mind is this: do wimmen really dig short guys with curly hair, chubby cheeks and hairy feet? I hope so. I wanna get laid before I'm 60...

Another friend says that those sort of things don't really matter (looks, that is). It's what is on the inside that counts, he tells me. What a crock. I guess there really is one born every minute (a fool, that is). Or is it me who is being cynical? Don't answer that.

Wow, this post is really long. It's ok, it should be the only one for today. And I was suffering from verbal diarrhea anyway. So it all had to go somewhere. But like all good things...and bad things for that matter, it all has to end somewhere.

So we'll end it after I tell you what happened during the journey to sharpen my wit: I still had not found anybody who looked like Mr Miyagi. So I brought a printed picture of him instead (I got one of the 'net). WIth all my preparations complete (change of underwear, socks, sandwich, comics and gameboy) I set out on the beginning of my journey. As I rounded the end of my block I had already finished off my sandwich, changed my underwear twice and read all of the comics that I had brought with me and my gameboy had run out of batteries. The situation looked grim. I had not even reached any mountains and I was already short on supplies. Fortunately, there was a hill at the end of my block (you know, the one with the kiddies playground on it?) and if you squint hard enough you can almost see it becoming a mountain in a coupla' thousand years. So I sat on the hill (actually, it was a swing) and meditated. I paid one of the kids playing there to hold onto the Mr Miyagi picture and chant "Wax on, Wax off" for me as I sat there waiting for some sort of epiphany. After a few minutes of this I got bored (so did the kid, actually. He also ran away with my Mr Miyagi picture, the bastard). It was then that I realized that I had not lost any of my passionate fires at all (since I'm almost perpetually bored)! Hurrah! I realized that a celebration was in order but that I had finished off my sandwich a long time ago. Fortunately, there is a 7-11 right across the street. Hurrah! All is right with the world...