Category: Random Verbosities...



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 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 09:16:48 am, Categories: Random Verbosities..., 237 words   English (US)

Life... and the unwavering preoccupation with lips and chocolate...

She had chocolate on her upper lip - the part where it lined up neatly with the left edge of her nose and easily hid whenever she pronounced any syllable with a 'm'. It appeared to have been there for many years, unassuming and unobtrusive to the conversation. It had only been there for the last ten minutes, all from the first moment the warm glazed pottery met her lips.

She talked with a smile from her heart and with an untainted vigor from her eyes. Her hands moving in unison, orchestrating it all into one synergistic voice. She does not appear to know it.

I watched on, though discreetly so as not to stare and make obvious of the new flavoured lip gloss she has applied. My mouth on autopilot, making the required responses to keep the conversation going. She does not appear to know this either.

I felt selfish, and amused at my own sefishness. She is a doctor, probably will be a paediatrician. She will be a good paediatrician. I should probably inform the future paediatrician that she has some chocolate on her lips.

My conscience asked me to point to the opposite side of the lip, where it is prestine. She widened her eyes in disbelief and wiped not only that side, but also the other side... plus the entire lower lip with both of her hands.

It remained untouched, unsmeared and unaged.


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...

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