Permalink 11:01:01 am, Categories: Random Verbosities..., 342 words   English (NZ)

Life... and an amnesic concussion to forget...

"Where am I... and why am I lying on my arse?"

I try to open my eyes, but the sudden appearance of new friends called Headache and Nausea convinced me that it was probably a bad idea. I don't think I've had a hangover this bad since I drank my liver to the brink of extinction in my first year of university. I try to get up but the effort is futile. My body appear to be quite adament to just stick itself to the hard, dry, icy snow.

Ah, yes. I must have been snowboarding. Acquiring a mid-week pass... check. Buying a snowboard online... check. The sudden realisation that I cannot remember how I got to Mt Hutt... interesting.

Someone was trying to talk to me. I open my right eye, and it was greeted by a shoulder length blonde-haired girl with kind grey eyes. I wonder if I'm in heaven. I wonder if angels like coffee and supports the crusaders.

She tries to ask me if I am ok. All I could do in my inebriated state was to look around and try to remember where I am. Nothing looks familiar. Buildings, chair-lifts, the five-foot orange sign asking people to slow down, they all appeared totally and entirely foreign. This is probably what being born feels like. She pulls out a radio, she must be telling god how much of an idiot I am. Damn it, I guess that's no coffee.

All of a sudden I am on my feet and walking in slow motion. I could be Ben Affleck boarding the space shuttle in 'Armageddon', but apparently we're going to the medbay instead. For the first time in my life I wanted to be Ben Afflic. My snowboard, goggles and trusty blue beanie are miraculously in her hands. Wow, she is pretty quick with taking my gear off. She must do this fairly often. Apparently I left my goggles and beanie further up the mountain than I had bargained for. I bet that's what she tells all the boys...



Permalink 02:23:18 am, Categories: Random Verbosities..., 165 words   English (NZ)

Life... and its most insomniac moments...


Its nearly two in the morning, and I woke up with the distinct impression that I should save the world. Atleast, I woke with enough energy to save the world. But alas, the world outside is asleep, and I'm awake. I'm probably the one whom needs saving right now.

There is jazz in the background, and I've made myself the most geriatric drink of all - Pimms and lemonade on ice. My brain probably just reached the grand age of 82. I should probably get what I've always wanted: the bifocals and hearing aid set from the warehouse. Oh but wait. They're closed.

My eye lids are getting heavy. They finally serve a meaningful purpose. Their rest is now over, time for them to do their job. Hell. They've been hiding away for about 14 hours today already. It would not suprise me to find that I'm the proud owner of the laziest eye lids known to mankind.

I should get something for that. Some sleep maybe.



Permalink 08:48:50 pm, Categories: Random Verbosities..., 279 words   English (NZ)

Life... and torment of the dreaded man-flu...

You - who say marriages sucks the life out of a good honest, hard working man... Desist. For I have succumbed to the worst fear known to men-kind...

The Man Flu.

Be afraid! For winter is upon us and the Man Flu will plague this land once more. You can fight, hide or shriek of your mother's maiden name, but your fate will be unavoidable. Its slimy cold tentacles will smother you with its germs while you sleep. Its dark ominous steps will creep through your hall ways. Your screams will be unheard. No one will come to your aid... Not even your girlfriend, mistress or wife! (Especially your wife).

For they do not understand the pain that is the man-flu. The suffering we go through is both physical and emotional. While our body is being ravaged by biological warefare, the minds of those affected are warped by its strange mystical powers. You women who mock and make fun of our dreadful misery - remember the emotion you went through on that overcast monday morning as you realised a pimple have suddenly erupted on your forehead without your prior permission. Now multiply it so it has filled all your facial pores with its uncontrolled rage and pus filled darkness. That kodak moment is a true picture of a Man Flu soul. The mucousy, pustulated sickly fingers of the disease prying away at their very heart, layer by layer.

You point and laugh at our pain. You fill your faces with such mirth and jovial circumstance. But I know you only do so because you don't understand the colossal suffering that is the common Man Flu.

I... have been afflicted.

Sympathies please.



Permalink 08:09:51 pm, Categories: Random Verbosities..., 313 words   English (NZ)

Life... and is there obesity in heaven?

Obesity... the invisible scurge of our nation. Its lipophilic tentacles traverses through all walks of life, from young to old, rich and poor, the wise and the not-so-wise. Its cold, cruel existence serves only one single and simple purpose - to screw you over anyway that it can. Heart attacks, diabetes, peripheral vascular disease, premature arthritis, aortic aneurism and stroke to just name a few. Not only that, one also ends up with a body odur not too dissimilar to liquid shoe polish. Once you've died from its McCombo clutches and reaches heaven, will you still be obese?

Here are a few reason why I don't think there will be:
1. given that people are already dead before they go to heaven, the word 'obesity' loses value as it no longer determines a morbid outcome for the individual; for the morbid outcome has already occured. Similar words would also include 'arrogant git', 'suicide bomber', and 'Hitler'.

2. Given that people seem to glide over surfaces so easily in heaven (as depicted by common Hollywood movies), it would stand to reason that heaven has no gravity and all is weightless. If something is weightless, how can it be obese?

3. How does one weigh a spirit in heaven? To start, my heaven certainly won't have bathroom scales.

4. Given that we won't actually need to eat to keep ourselves alive, will there be food in heaven? If there is no food in heaven, how can people get fat?

5. If there is food in heaven, it is no doubt the most devine cuisine ever created. Surely of all places, heaven would be the place where we can ingest and digest all we'd like without being overweight.

6. Given our current culture and established fashion sense, once we die we'd probably be upgraded with bulging biceps, ample abdominals and thunder thighs.

7. What would Jesus eat? Thats probably the food available in heaven.



Permalink 06:54:25 pm, Categories: News, 409 words   English (NZ)

Life... and with all its possible January ruminations...

January was a fine month. People often say 'fine' to lament upon the boring atrocities that might have happened during their day. However in this case, I use 'fine' with sheer respect to Carmen Electra's sultry chest melons and the new Jaguar XKR - hot, fiesty and filled with steamy X-rated adventure to the proverbial brim.

Work is going well. Shakespear would probably compare it to a mid-summers twilight, and gaggle forth some soliloqui about comfort, hope and freedom. With this job, I can actually have a chat to my clients about whatever I want to talk about; whether it be about their job, spouse, or just a leisure banter about their warped dietary habits. Every now and again, I might actually solve their problems. Occassionally there might also be some form of cortical thinking and tea drinking involved in between consultations. And I've discovered something here-in that I've never managed to discover before...

I love tea. If there is a way to get a pseudo-British citizenship by drinking tea, I'm sure I'd be the first person to achieve it. In fact, by the way I'm drinking they'll probably start to put warning labels for pregnant women on the packaging; thats quite an achievement since I'm neither woman, or pregnant. Seriously, here is a lesson for all you coffee drinkers out there - instead of polluting your body with toxic levels of caffine, why not do it with more class and drink tea instead?

Not to be entirely biased, but the women in Christchurch are also more mature, with less issues, and more fun to be around. Somewhere in there I should also probably mention they also present themselves better; not in a British 'oh poor peasant-slave, bring me my gin and tonic' kind of way. But just with a touch more R.F.H. - Relaxed Feminine Hippiness. I think there might also be a touch less facial hair down south as well, but I have not yet conducted a randomised trial to confirm or deny my theories. For the moment, lets just trust my male intuition for now.

So what more can a man ask for really? Besides a wife who just happens to be a Swedish stripper with an executive chefs' degree tucked seductively in her G-string? And which breed of men would not flock to Christchurch for the described sumptious deliciousness of life? If they're lucky, there might just be a lonely bird left before they're all gone...



Permalink 10:03:08 pm, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 129 words   English (NZ)

Life... and a resume on how to miss somebody...

Someone once said, how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. And how true to the point they were. But unfortunately for all of us, for some inexplicable reason, that someone must depart to some distant land, sometime.

You turn away, and it starts with a slight niggle in your stomach, you know whats wrong but you still try your best to ignore it. You don't look back, because it will only serve to make it worse. Names of people scroll through your mind as you continue your futile search for a suitable replacement; in the meantime, the niggle has turned to an ache - apparently such desperate measures is considered uncuth and ungentlemanly.

However, with the ensuing days that pass, it does get better.



Permalink 11:53:15 pm, Categories: News, 453 words   English (NZ)

Life... and its tid bits of missing pieces...

To encapsulate the entirety of what has happened in the last year in one concerted effort would be a most mammoth task. In sheer literary terms it would perhaps compare to the likes of 'The Iliad' or 'Odyssey'. Only without the sweaty abs, the scantly clad Greek women and a little three lettered word called 'war'. So all in all, my story could be somewhat bland, something that one might perhaps come across in your grandmother's bi-weekly subscription of Knitting Secrets (for People with Cataracts). But hey, last time I checked woollen jerseys are filled with warm fuzzies and all the fluorescent colours of the rainbow.

I returned to Palmerston North for work. Or in truth, I actually returned to Palmerston North because of my incessent fear for my festering mortgage. Having a mortgage feels much like an itch in the middle part of your back - the part of your back where through millions of years of our primate evolution we have lost the ability to reach with our spindly arms and supposedly useful opposable thumbs. Unfortunately for us, the only way the itch will stop its cruel supernatural torment is for us to pit ourselves aganinst the dark abyss of work, and all the rest it offers.

Fortunately for me, the dark abyss wasn't actually too bad.

My friends were all still there. I love them. I love them because they're like pets who would obediently stay at home, clean themselves and cook great food while you're away. Joseph also had a rather impressive collection of alcohol and tried his very best to give me fulminant liver failure as a parting gift. Luckily for me, my many years of binge drinking as an Otago undergraduate student prepared me for such darstardly plans. I will also miss the cigars, the poker, and Kevin's generous supply of plum wine.

For some strange and bizarre reason it was also the year where the majority of my friends and collegues decided to leave the fine city for bigger and brighter pastures. I see half of them have decided to migrate to Auckland - the land of the long white traffic. I think they've made a mistake. I think I might miss them.

Work itself was ok. But I have come to the realisation that it really wasn't quite me. There just happens to be quite a few things I'd like to do and I can't seem to find the time should I keep commiting myself to a daily barrage of the mundane. So in sheer coincidence I have also come to the conclusion that there maybe a greener pasture awaiting for me elsewhere... like here, in Christchurch - where I might just have the perfect plan for myself...



Permalink 11:53:14 am, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 304 words   English (NZ)

Life... and the trip back to work: the realm of reality...

Life... and the trip back to work: the realm of reality...
The holidays are over. The fun has ended. I returned to my morose self like a turtle retreating reluctantly back to its shell.

The packing was easy. I never really unpacked in the first place. The only thing that required packing is the computer and road bike. My precious road bike. Yes, my precious. You are coming with me this time. You will help me lose a mammoth quantity of weight; something I have come to aquire during my month and a half stay in lazy-hazy Christchurch.

The drive was fairly unexciting and mundane. I tried to enjoy the brilliant sunshine on display, but the thought of work would cast an instant shadow over the horizon. I drove on, with my fate wrapped in a box of half-eaten chocolates.

The ferry ride was ok. I watched more episodes of Robot Chicken to calm my restless tide. I think there was a kid watching behind me; he ran off after big bird started getting high on weed.

I saw real, live and untamed dolphins for the first time in my life. There were three of them following the boat from starboard side. Once their presence was broadcasted throughout the ship, people gathered, and they were gone.

My flat is as I had remembered it. Though the rotting mailbox and shower has been replaced with newer mailbox and showers; ones made with more rot resistant material, I hope. Unpacking proved to be vastly more tiring than driving for six hours. I threw everything on the floor and hungered for a tasty tender chicken breast. I didn't just hunger for it. I knew it would complete me. And it did.

A new day passed. A new love found. A future of diabetes and heart disease await.



Permalink 09:16:48 am, Categories: Random Verbosities..., 622 words   English (US)

life... and love-hate relationships... (with my lawn...)

Humanity is addicted to grass. If it be the smell, the gentle fur coat, or the occasional playful scratch that entices us for more. The fact that it is green is merely an aesthetic bonus. Children frolic amongst it, our four-legged friends douse their torrential excrement upon it; we cannot live without it. Grass is here, they have planted their roots, and they are staying until the surviving hippies have run out of weed as their most valuable natural resource.

I have three small patches of lawn surrounding my estate. The estate is a self-containing granny-flat, second from the road. The houses down the driveway look almost identical. If my guests squinted they'd think these houses came with MacDonalds happy meals, or could even be the happy meals themselves. It would not surprised me to find them exclaim how the lawn would appear to be a blanket of fries surrounding the burger-like houses. Or when it rains it would seem as if a cup of coke has been spilled all over the tray, making the fries and burgers turn all soggy.

During my nine month stay I have come to realise having three patches of soggy lawn is like caring for three small insolent children. The reason why they're insolent would probably be because I ignore their every single need and wish. I was never exceedingly brilliant with kids anyway. During my first month of stay I did not tend to the lawn once. I would let it grow and prosper under the summer sun like the pit hairs of a Mexican gypsy woman, whilst convincing myself that it still looked beautiful and I would not mind cohabiting with it for the rest of my life. I think I'd have a better time dealing with an over growth of pit hairs than small whiny children. Though as luck may have it, both may not be mutually exclusive.

My neighbour clearly did not appreciate the carefully orchestrated art form that is my Mexican gypsy lawn. After three month of free, unrestrained growth an anonymous neighbour complained to my property manager regarding its rather distasteful condition. I tried to argue that it was only a matter of aquired taste, one should not judge a book by its cover, and the lawn was actually beautiful on the inside. My proclamations were deemed ludicrous, and I was ordered to have the lawn shaved at once or face an emotional separation from my loving abode.

To the phone book I went, and to Mr Green I called. He decided that it would be most wise and generous to offer twenty dollars to mow the three stamp sized lawns outside. I though this was ludicrous, even more ludicrous than the excuses I tried to pan my property manager with not five minutes ago. Twenty dollars was a small fortune to me. I could survive a week with twenty dollars, though with a much more fibrous diet than I'd like. I eventually found another gardener, visibly younger, more desperate and more malnourished than Mr Green; he was able to mow the lawn for half the price. His dietary intake must consist of twice the fibre of mine.

These days I mow my own lawn for the fear of an over fibrous diet. Myself - with the mind of a juvenile octogenarian. The same mind which would suffer at the mere thought of taking care of a single cactus. The one mind that would have an aneurysm should I even contemplated the mere possibility of manicuring the lawn myself. I didn't care anymore. I dove in with the sense of duty and unrivalled enthusiasm that I once had for waiting in lines. Now mowing the lawn is not so bad.



Permalink 11:57:16 am, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 459 words   English (NZ)

Life... and discovering true love...

I have found true love.

It was Moorhouse Ave on a dreary overcast Tuesday morning. I was ruthlessly devouring a Shell Station steak pie with one hand while drowning my loneliness with Bundaburg Lemon & Lime in the other. Then past the self absorbed hunger, I saw her.

She stood out like an aura of perfection. A gym-going Greek goddess, perfectly poised for smite or pleasure. Others would look upon her and gaze at the amazing Amazon beauty that is before them; a six-foot voluptuous figure with bright beaming eyes and radiating complexion. Her every move spelt elegance, but with a subtly dangerous imposition. She could crush my ego, much like a Boeing 747 could crush an anorexic stick insect in mid-flight. It was love at first sight.

She noticed me looking. My eyes whispered how I wanted her, how I could have her, and how I would make her every breath seem like an exotic get-away. But only if she can behave, just for me.

Her eyes looked back with dire fascination, ones filled with lust and intrigue. She wanted me, and wanted to know more about me. The animal magnetism grew with every closer step. Her body desired a soft voice and a caring hand above fame and fortune. But it would be fame and fortune that could acquire a magnificence such as her.

I walked around her, admiring the sculptured features from the corner of my eye. I blinked, and through the momentary darkness I can see myself running my fingers slowly and softly down her curvaceous body. The moment was exquisite, it was a moment yearned with every sight and sound of the real world.

She was perfect. She was perfect even before I knew she was perfect for me.

I rubbed her with exotic oils until she swooned with a hint of mist in her eyes. Being inside her felt like heaven; the friction cemented our emotions for one another. I could give her a ride to remember, all day and all night until the rest of the world was just one blurred hazy background. Once we get to our destination she would let out a half-restrained scream, and her body would vibrate with an echoing pleasure. I would tell her the truth: I would tell her that I love her, and things couldn't be better. Wanting more, we would lie there with bodies molding as one - resting and dreaming of our next journey together.

The 1997 Isuzu VehiCross is currently on display at Paul Kelly Motor Company, Christchurch. The list price is $16,999. She may scream for you as she did for me, but this is no guarantee.

I think I need a girlfriend - urgently. Though a cold shower may have to come first.


:: Next Page >>

Christchurch Bachelor

Ever wanted to gnaw your way into the deep, dark recess of your typical Christchurch Bachelor? Knaw no more my good visitor! For here lies the answer for your every inkling and festering question. Read... for your answers lie within...

Photo Gallery

| Next >

August 2018
Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat Sun
<<  <   >  >>
    1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28 29 30 31    



Syndicate this blog XML

What is RSS?

powered by