beyond description
So, when those fine gentlemen are candidates for the famous moustache competitions, I reckon, the night before, they must be in tremendus anxiety as any contestant in their place would be, thinking till the very break of dawn what other option could there exist in order to make that extra facial hair look most superbe and unique? During all that agony, they may be saying to their wives “Don’t touch me!! Don’t you dare touch my moustache!!” or “Give me the spray! Where the hell is my “mousse excellence”? Find it at once! I have a competition to attend, rememeber?…” or…”Why do you always change the position of my things? You don’t seem to care at all about my dreams and ambitions, do you? Is my agony amusing you? Where is it? Where is my spr… So, all this time the spray had been right in front of me..Why didn’t you say so earlier? I hate you! Leave me alone; I want to cry”
Sometimes, I remember the tragic story of the sad Princess, Diana -God rest her soul -and who in his logic senses could blame the woman for looking like a complete emotional wreck? Any effort for a successful orgasm could certainly be not considered as an easy task to put up with, when that Charles forcefully refused to put on the god damn paper bag -the bastard - and the ”cow” position and such were stricktly excluded as “too barbarous” for a Lady of her class. Therefore, when the sad Princess Diana decided that she was simply unable to bare such nonsense for any longer, she put on her bikini, placed her yellow flip flops under her armpit and said “Damn you Charles; that’s it! I had enough of you and I am leaving you for ever, for I cannot be spending the best years of my life bearing such atrocities! I am a WOMAN! I have demands! I can’t help it, as currently, my ”biological clock” tells me that it is the right time for me to have my go the hell out of here!” and just like that, she flipped her otherwise unsurpassed misery right away and from then on she became the happy Princess Diana. It must have been then however, when she was the happiest looking one of the whole bunch and at this point, I can’t really say whether her abandoned British family was jealous of her dashing bathing suit or her amazing tan, but something got them terribly upset when they saw her pictures in the newspapers later on, in which debauching images Lady D seemed to have the time of her life, cruising merrily around the seven seas on a yacht and -what’s to say- enjoying her well-deserved bliss, while they were stuck in cold, foggy London, drinking their tea with lemon or no lemon at all, periodically staring at the rain that refused to stop from falling and sometimes even at the Big Ben, as there wasn’t anything bigger lying around or at the very least, interesting enough to lay your eyes at. Ironically enough, as if this insanely dry routine hadn’t made their lives a living hell, the most horrible of all would make it’s presence known at any time of the day possible, planning to finish off the whole Royal family of Albion; the dreadful combination of tea with rain! Believe it or not, out of all the rooms in the grand Buckingham Palace, the rest room was the most popular room, if not the only one in use, especially during the long freezing Winter months and with all that H2O? God knows; they were restless! Oh dear! Don’t ask; it was insufferable! Now, after all this, who wouldn’t be disappointed at that rebellious Diana, for leaving all of them behind and especially after everything they’ve done for her, I ask you… It just wasn’t fair and anybody could understand their difficult position! Therefore, due to the shocking evidence displayed globally and for other various reasons that we’d never guess (because we are incredibly stupid), no remorse was present upon Diana’s death (and not assassination as some very very bad people who are best known as filthy bastards dare to claim) that followed.
Some days before the accident, over the telephone: “The bitch looks too damn happy and this is outrageous! We cannot allow that! We are British; we cannot just go around manifesting our emotions to the whole globe! It’s a matter of our British etiquette God damn it! Speaking of which, who would want black babies around the throne? What are you saying? No, I don’t care that Arabs are not considered as blacks! They all look the same to me. What? Now she wants to marry him? Oh my! This has passed above any rate of insanity! He is an Arab; eventually, he will make her live in a tent in the middle of nowhere in Sahara and wear a burka, for Christ’s sake! Although I’d give my crown away to see Diana wearing a burka for the rest of her life; because I reckon just go ahead my fair Lady and try applying for divorce from a Bedouin; he’ll bury your god damn face in the sand! No joke! That silly merch; I must say though, I’d kill to see her following their customs…and so I will, but for other reasons! Ha-ha-ha! Oh thank you darling! Indeed so witty innit? Yes, I just came up with it..Ha-ha I’m just so naughty today, honestly!!! Seriously though, you have to do something about it… What do you mean “why me”? She’s your wife and therefore it is your duty to manage this situation, you hear me? We don’t want people to get the wrong idea, do we? Exactly! Don’t you worry about a thing dear; you will be memorized as a widower. Now, to the business! What? Don’t make me come over there cookie; Behave; leave that Camilla alone for one day and go get the bloody job done at once, you no-good of a son!”
Somewhere near Moumpaalanghaa, the “crocodile river”, adjacent to the city of Zenith, at around five o’clock in the afternoon, Cairo time, he visited her apartment for the first and possibly the last time, for she didn’t seem to be in any mood for his games anymore or at least for that day, because she didn’t know whether she should trust him again after all he had her going through and because she was on her sensitive days of the month and thus, to all of his attempts to open a friendly dialogue, she responded almost in anger;
”Some day you’ll marry a nice bright little woman and ruin her life and yourself. Tending to such a degree, is no longer a mere reflector, but it is! Then on a lucky night of the full moon, the bride, having no doubt, will look tearfully at the stock quote and think; why didn’t she come with that idea yesterday”.
Although he knew he had messed up a lot of things in the past unintentionally, yet it was pretty obvious to him, that something was out of the ordinary in the atmosphere between them at the moment and this felt quite hazardous and so, he wasn’t really listening at first. However, this drove the woman completely insane!
“Why aren’t you ever willing to listen to me? Why? What else have a I got to put up with in order to make you listen?” cried out she
He then lifted his head, with his right eyebrow slightly higher than the left one, to give her one of his creepy looks full of dark promises, which made her realize, that this time, she had gone too far and he was not pleased. Realising she was planning to behave finally, he took a deep breath and proceeded to a statement required for a moment as such;
“There is no need to hold onto anger for the past, but if you still insist on it, all I have to say is that you gave me so much but I did give you something back, didn’t I? I kept kept trying. I cant always be a noble and good man or “Hound of the Baskervilles” as the dog that didn’t bark and everybody knows, that the dangerous dog, is the one that bites without barking first”
“I ca’t see any difference; a bite, is a bite” responded she
“In that case, if it really doesn’t make any difference to you, then we have nothing else to discuss about. I must leave at once” said he and got up to leave at once. She then grabbed his hand and said;
“Wait. Don’t leave at once, before I explain myself! When I saw you in the doorway, I thought you simply want me to return to work” said she, but then, something weird happened; she saw his concern was genuine, because he brought her a sandwich and some wine. How could she be so blind all this time? he had the sandwich and the wine in a paperbag in his hands from the very first moment he arrived and she had witnessed herself the shiny bottle. She just didn’t realise at first, because she was too jealous; she thought it was for someone else! She broke down and embraced him! At last, peace was declared between the two! Feeling secure in his lover’s arms, he felt unable to bare the rising agony for any longer and thus he decided to finally ask the most important question;
“Why do they call it the “crocodile river” anyway?
“because it’s full of crocodiles!” said she.
“I would have never guessed, honestly…” said he and he was honest!
“I know” said she and she knew and then they kissed and words vanished through a pantomime beyond description, somewhere near Moumpaalanghaa, the “crocodile river”, adjacent to the city of Zenith, at around five o’clock in the afternoon, Cairo time.
When I lived in other people’s bodies, lots of times I was a monkey, a cat, a puppy twice and once I even was a duck. It was quite an experience whilst switching, because when I opened my eyes realising I was already in the new body, I would almost forget all about the other ones and what’s worst, my real one. This made the next shift an unpleasant task for me on each such occasion. I even started to avoid going to bed, in fear of falling asleep to find myself the next morning in another skin. What was I to do, when as a puppy for example, I didn’t know how to bark or wave my tail properly at first. It had been really frustrating in the first two days. It wasn’t my fault I was like that though; I was driven into this condition by the good will of someone who claimed he knew of one way for my own improvement, because obviously, I wasn’t good enough the way I was naturally; I believed him. So, here I am, sleep deprived again in my own body, waiting to take the ride on the sleep train amd wake up in a new form.
Dear Tom, I truly understand your slight confusion and that someone has got to pay your rent this month, but please get ahold of yourself; there’s no need to get over dramatic, as long as your paycheck still arrives on time. A statement as “Russian critics (and if not the whole nation) has traditionally looked scornfully on Western attempts to screen Russian classics”, is at the very least redicilous and doesn’t help anyone, let alone the “poetry majestic” in the “Great Empire”, around where, speaking from experience, I don’t really think that anyone would seriously consider to give a fuck about your overwhelming passion as a writer and humble servant of a noble cause. You wouldn’t believe though Tom, how many nights I’ve spent in sorrow over what you’d call “outrageous beliefs” I imagine, and I’ve fought against them Tom! I have! But alas; the break of dawn would always find me on the side of those who refuse to feel guilts for not sharing the specific esthetic taste, that reminds so much of the mostly indigestible mainstream served by Nova Roma. It’s pretty clear to me now, after all this struggle, that the insufficient perspectives for an agreement with your sincere attempts for progress in the world of arts as we know it for the sake of us all ungrateful bastards, is a misfortune you will have to bare and the price you have to pay for being a thinker ahead of your time. However (and I’m terribly sorry if this breaks you heart), if the history of cinema has taught us anything worth of ringing any bells at this or any other point, is that if the Russians claim that a Russian work is performed badly or that Knightley’s hair looked like a “Medusa’s head of snakes”, it is devastating and I understand how you must feel, but probably true! Something tells me though, that you must be very well aware of this, as by amazing chance, you currently reside amongst the furious protestors, but unfortunately Tom, it all looks like “oleum et operam perdidi”!
There was a pervert, named Rodriguez
the sleaziest creature in the whole galaxy
but to all his male friends he’d be the poor little guy
that all women mistreated
you know why?
Because there’s this little detail
that some like to call
“Bros before ho’s”
and sly Rodriguez knew this
By simply stating “she was just a bitch”
he had his doings covered one by one.
Apparently, to his male friends, the fact
that every single female hated Rodriguez
would
never
ever
arouse
any
kind
of
suspicion
If you are an admin in any “most tech-savvy” forum and you are reading this, look man…just because you’re the “know-it-all”, the “super duper know-it-all” guy around those places, this does not justify a bad profile pic and especially a particular horrific close-up, that makes you look like a sleezy, creepy, sweaty pervert that took a picture with no pants on. I realise that -at least officially- it doesn’t really matter what you’re wearing (or not), as long as all we can see is your face and I really hope at this point, that your mistrusting avatar was not a cropped one. However, your sincere effort on an intriguing sexy gaze has abandoned the building, trading places with an aroused unpleasant suspicion that perharps you do enjoy secret dark pleasures that involve us, the visitors, as it can only give an impression that you are very well aware -you dirty bastard- that your mysterious visage will be memorized by countless innocent brains, planning to haunt in the worst of nightmares until death do us part! Well, that is really it; I’ve had it and I really think it’s time for someone to inform you that your ferocious doings will not be tolerated any longer! Either you replace your public image with a decent one (and put some clothes on) or…What are you saying? A man with an inner world most enriched as yourself, cannot fall down onto the level of giving the slightest damn about stupid little details like that? Alright then. I rest my case. No. No, it’s all ok. I understand. Yes, your excellent knowledge of HTML has left me speachless. In fact, I think I’m blind too. No, a privet help-out chat won’t be necessary after all. I’m all set, thanks!
John Rambo had never been the type of man who just decides spontaneously to go anywhere; he is invited first! and thus he leaves at once for a rescue mission in the jungles of Vietnam. There, he meets his agent, a local woman named Co-Bao. He kills quite an amount of people, until he is captured. Agent Co-Bao assists him in escaping the captivity. He kills quite an amount of people once again whilst escaping. They escape. She takes care of his wounds. He respects her efforts and even likes it. They kiss. Agent Co-Bao is killed. In his rage over her misfortune, John Rambo kills another respectful amount of people who are to be blamed for the young woman’s death, while they were kissing. An unsurpassed sorrow over agent Co-Bao’s cruel fate fills his heart, but someone has got to fly the god damn helicopter! And he knows he is the only one destined to manage so, but killing a lot of people yet again whilst at it, is a task he simply cannot avoid. He is angry again. He has reasons to be angry; no one seems willing to understand his noble intentions! After all, he is a man for god’s sakes who has payed all his dues to earn the justified respect! And he gets it in the end, as anyone protesting against this single demand, is killed or at the very least punched in the face!
THE END
John Rambo; a devoted patriot, a furious warrior, a hero of his time, a rebel with a cause, a gambler of his own life, a bullet, filled with lead made to kill and yet, a neverdemanding humble giver, one simple honest man who lives day by day..occasionally carriying an AK-47 in order to do what any honest man as himself has got to do!
He was so scared that at any minute now someone would step forward to ask him whether there was anything that scared him. After all this was just another random question in the list. What kind of nonsense and who created the god damn list in the first place anyway? He’d reply negatively. Problem solved. What a brave man he was!