from my hibernation hole, my tiny small eye watches as the red-‘litter’ day unfolds. my pinhole was so clear i could see right through tomorrow, literally. its clear that this fella who has just rushed by with a mamsilla tagging along with a bouquet of red roses isnt in sync with the mood their (red) attires exhibit, i mean can someone look so awestruck like she is made of mahogany or something??
wait, can such a perishable so-easily rotten good cost that much sincerely? and its state will be detestable a day later?
And what is vals in the first place? a day that was born in the inept mind of a bloke called valentine to send broke blokes deeper into the abyss of serious brokeness and financial stress…n cardiac arrests at the shockers that this day holds for them…watever!
i brushed shoulders with merchants as they made their way, smiling, grinning and groping their bellies all the way to the bank as i trotted to the lib and find out about this baller…
n i was forced to think that vals was better-back-in the days, long, loooong before our forefathers wore any undergarments and not any century near the time when livingstone sampled the warmth of the bossom of the african woman…
i mean when the whole affair was not marred by commercial scam and mass financial exploitation in the name of love…manze i never thought that 200g of that damn afrodisiac-cum-lovely choc could cost more that a R.V.F. -free kg of meat, drats!
anyhow, as i stuck my broke cheap-ass at home, i guessed i’d have loved to live in those days…
i mean wasnt this cycle a bright idea:
youngmen in ancient rome wud pick the names of young teenage girls from a box and that was the begining of bliss the rest of the year as she’d be his sexual companion till the next ceremony in mid-feb….i guess there was no rigging and if it at all occurred, it was for the good of the game. right?
now, any space-ship that can take me back in those days? i bet my last dollar (ok, shilling) that id hire it in exchange of this lifetime of technological nuances…
so you guys tell me how your vals was…mine was super bloody boring and i was of blund and dump spirit…so much for a day in feb that wasn’t ..
its even better for me to wait for four years to celebrate my birthday now that i was born on the night of Feb the 29th…
gals are fantastically amazing when all that is offered is friendship. come to think of it, you ‘ve just been chatting with this gal you’ve nevr laid your eys on before and minutes into the banter she comfortably introduces to you as her ‘new pal/friend.
thats cool,but my thinking, natrally does not stop there. it just wants to have what they think it can’t have…
still on the same line,’ disaster’ strikes when prefixes are added to the name friend, or rather, any attempt to do so.
ha, ever heard a shriek out of the blue like:” wewe! he’s just a friend!”. mmh, you can almost hear the ‘just’ in italics i tell you, damn and you rack your brain cells, hey kwani that ‘he’ is lucifer?. truly, lucifer can’t be a friend but the magnitude of the denial makes him look like angel micheal in such a case!
further to that, has it ever occured to you how you’d feel if some mama said that of you?
nevr mind.i also have dont understand the stigma or phobia that crops up when some smal harmless words are added to ‘friend’.
did it start in eden? that even a girl would hesitate to admit that that dude-over-there is indeed her sweetheart…in this case,i take the exceptions of those loud-mouth halfwits that go shoutign around campus ” you know my boyfie this, you know my boyfie that..”
how i loathe them.
or am i jealous? sh*t, why should i?
yesterday, i got this lovy-dovy text (who cares!) that had my hormones rumble in a wild rant. ‘twuz from a certain blondie i adore non-intellectually as she gives me the chance to be the ‘teacher’ i’ll never be, with my over-the-hedge geeky stuff…i mean, he who can, does, i who can’t …teaches, got me?…about her? first, she is always at my beck, text and call and i think thats cool for someone whose greatest fear and phobia is commitment and strings-attached thingys. i like her speciality – mushiness in its highest order-as every well meaning wild goose needs that once in a while, when the real missy is giving him a hell hole of a time…not that they carry me with ‘them’ to cloud nine,naaaaaaaaaah, i doubt they ever stick in my memory leave alone making a maiden trip to my heart. nevertheless, they just keep me in touch with that softer side i was never meant to have. they assure me that one of my quadrant-engines is running well for the continued floating of the boyish-bliss plane…
its maintanace is a simple FFWD>> ing of previuos txts from equally enthusiatic parties as her.
that allows fair play to avoid run-ins and female scowls and hows..sijui ” why dint yu reply..blah, crap”
now thats two cent crap about it all….lakini , this text had something really really wierd…i presume it is beyond the call of bubble-gum headed blonde-ship to ‘dedicate’ certain songs. do they listen to them or they judge the song by its title?
or what has irreplaceable have to do with one who kisses the ground you trudge on….n loves you to death???
WAIT!..on second thoughts… i think she is dropping a hint here… ati she can get another in a minute..GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.. let me lay my hands on her….
welcome to my site y’all. i finally found my itch, inch and niche and i think its time i quacked for all i care. you dont wonna miss the rest of the story, dont you? i hope my musings will prod you to share your views, news,phews,issues and well…your ignorances too.i’ll always quack back.this i promise…as i let the wild goose in me out..scroll on.