DISCLAIMER: Any trauma brought about by this post should be addressed to Aunty Olivia, our in-house agony bitch. As you are well aware, she is very much qualified for your petty, self-induced, downright stupid issues in your miserable life, and she will advise you accordingly.
Now as you are all very much aware, as an esteemed writer of this blog it is, in fact, a prerequisite to be completely lacking in mentality and have a rather high tolerance of anything that’s revolting and disgusting and despicable by normal standards. Normal is used rather loosely here, but who gives a fuck. (Please refer to the following post to confirm: http://donotfeedthebloggers.com/2012/01/29/the-day-the-earth-stood-still-2/).
Now, I was supposed to write a post about something else altogether, but there were some very interesting shenanigans going on with my roommate this morning (they begun last night, apparently) that had me grinning like the maniacal bitch normal person you all delude yourselves to believe that I am.
Now, since I landed in the land down under, I was just cursed with the most retarded people for roomies. Semi-druggies, people so filthy even Aggrey would cringe in pure disgust, girls with both daddy and mummy issues etc etc. The current sad existence of a human being I’m currently shackled with in a lease for the next few months just has a serious case of attention whoring issues that even the combined efforts of Maury, Oprah, Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer cannot attempt to solve. Whatever her relatives inserted in her vagina when she was younger caused a great deal of psychological effects that are doing a fantastic job of causing her currently continuing mental deterioration every ticking second. She’s still entertaining, to say the least.
She has a penchant for bringing dodgy male species home after nights of drinking or whatever she consumes. I’m still quite not sure whether or not she sleeps exclusively with men, because some of the…living entities she’s brought have caused many a sleepless night for my herpes-infected cunt of a landlord (Story for another day). I think as long as aforementioned living entity has something that resembles a penis is enough for her to hop into bed with.
I was awoken at the ungodly hour of 7 am with a scream that would awaken the kraken. Against my better judgement, I agreed to accompany Jup into my roomie’s room to see what was going on this time and what I saw would scar most of you horribly for the rest of your lives. I’m still quite not sure whether I should have puked the food I’d eaten for the past month or just laughed until I’d peed on myself. I settled for morbid amusement, because I’m friends with Aggrey. (I love you Pervy Perv. Very much so. :*)
The sheets (white cotton) were a tangled mess of lime green puke with what looked like McDonalds chips, diarrhoea and human bodies. The first thing the landlord muttered after the tears refused to fall was “What the hell is this shit?” I very nearly died at the pun given the situation, hence the name of this post. Calm down and let me explain.
Last night, attention whore extraordinaire decided she wanted to go out. She put on a scarf to cover what she calls breasts, a belt to support said scarf, bikini bottoms and stilettos sharper than a hospital needle. Why she didn’t just go naked, I donno. She brought back a dude who dropped out of law school two weeks into the course (because I started said course with him) who was far more inebriated than she was, though I don’t think any legal substances had caused their intoxication. They proceeded to have sex, and by sex I think he probably inserted his dick into all her natural orifices. At some point of their intoxicated funtimes, she proceeded to diarrhoea all over his dick and her bed sheets. (I think they were doing anal at the time. I wasn’t paying much attention because I was too busy trying not to outright laugh.) Someone ended up puking the lime green mess on one or both of them, which is why I strongly suspect they were consuming some very illegal and/or inedible things that caused their intoxication. They proceeded to slide and coat themselves in the wonderful mixture of her runny shit and the puke until they got tired and went to sleep afterwards. She woke the next morning with a smell that should be classified as a biological hazard to human health, a mixture of semi-digested things and human waste matter and a random guy on top of her. Cue scream.
The sheets she was sleeping on aren’t hers. Neither is the bed. They are both the landlords, hence why he was too traumatised to cry when he realised absolutely no one would wanna rent that cesspit the day he decided to kick her out.
I don’t know what happened next, because I had class and Jup had work, but upon arrival, the room is smelling fresher than a bed of daisies. There’s a new bed a clean, crisp sheets I’d very much love to behave inappropriately with Jupiter on. All her stuff is gone. I think there’s a new tenant incoming, and I cannot wait.
Do have a morbidly hilarious week.
Ladies and gentlemen,
It begins. The Mayans were right. The world is ending in about a month or so. The fact that I may or may not
(definitely am) (be) attracted to a 19 year old and my beloved really isn’t bothering to give any fucks despite how many of them he has goes on to prove this.
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?
I happen to play LoL (League of Legends.) I play lots of it, because it’s a ridiculously addictive game. League of Legends, by the way is MOBA, (Multiplayer Online Battle Arena), kind of DoTA and DoTA 2 (Defence of The Ancients). It’s really awesome, and after playing it for a while, I happened to garner enough interest in it to find out about the majourr tounaments and pro players and pro teams etc etc.
Now, one of these pro players is a dude called Crumbzz, and he plays for a NA (North American server) team called Dignitas. Google him. He’s sexy as hell and is a fanatastic player. He laso happens to be from Vancouver and goes to the University of British Columbia, which fortunately my cousin, who also plays LoL, goes to and she stalks the hell out him on my behalf; but that’s a storo for another day.
Anyway, so I suddenly develop a crush-obsession on the probably the hottest Canadian ever, and in my impulsive stalkerness decide to google him and what I found out forever destroyed my soul (or what’s left of it after selling it to get ACIII. I’ll blog about that later). He is 19 years old.
Naturally, I was not amused in the least. How?! BLOODY HOW?!?!?! Why is Mother Nature so cruel?! Why does such a sexy, sexy guy have to be four goddamn years younger than me?! What did I ever do to deserve this?!
I one told myself that I’d never allow myself to get attracted to a guy that’s younger than me. Even agements is pushing it. Lust however, has other ideas. Issorait, though. Issorait.
Jup, my boyfriend, was not amused at first, then he saw his age. The smug smirk on his face said it all. I was very tempted to take his rig and smash his face in with it, then I remembered I play games on stupid thing, and it’s also one of the best rigs I’ve ever seen in my life, and there’s nothing else in my immediate vicinity that is light enough to inflict the same amount of pain and damage.
Also, his mother would very probably skin me alive with a butter knife if anything happened to her baby.
So, it begins and it continues. Despite his flaws (he goes on 4chan in the middle of stream, and he’s not above having rather blunt, explicit conversations, which only serves to make his stream that much more entertaining) I cannot deny that Crumbzz is very attractive, and the lusting shall continue till the apocalypse.
It begins. Be prepared.
Truth be told, I’m not the most technologically savvy person in the world. In fact, I think I’m pretty much hopeless at it, but hanging around geeks and nerds all the time has given me enough vague knowledge to know when it’s a very minor issue, things could be worse, I should start panicking, or if I’m totally fucked.
Hormonal issues, coupled with exam stress, brokeness, hopelessness of knowing there’s a very high probability we’re all gonna fail aforementioned exams and one (or ten) too many lost, broken and/or scratched game CDs somehow managed to twist itself into an Android v Apple debate. Matters were not helped that all of us were drunk and some were stoned as well as drunk. The concluding slurred line of ” Jobzzzzzzz gonna raizzzz from his graaaaa- and, and, and kick you in the bawwwwlls with your SamSony capsule, aaaahowl” by Minerva to Francis did not help matters in the least.
I really love my friends, more so when they are intoxicated.
Nonetheless, I did my research, and though I have my own petty reasons for hating apple (they are a capitalist, cult-like group of wannabes who think they are socially acceptable and technologically savvy) I must admit that their products are damn good. They know their market and they exploit and milk them like the fat-ass cows we see in the European Alps.
Many of the idiots I chose to associate myself with (they prefer the term “friends”) are Apple fan(atic)s. They have apple everything, from the PC, laptop, phone, tablet, tv, mini, any other thing Jobs’ memory demands the poor overworked, underpaid, slave-driven Asians to create, my boyfriend being one of them. Honestly speaking, I don’t see the big deal. Apple, like weed, sex and boobs is overrated. *waiting for the cult-members to start screaming*
Apple is not open sourced, very rigid, expensive, overrated, and almost not customizable. It’s their way of the highway, mother*bleep*er. If you don’t like the way the app(s) work, you can soak your opinion in vinegar and shove it up your ass. their software is very likely to almost totally destroy your poor, unsuspecting PC. I should know, considering the number of times I’ve had to format my laptop coz of bloody iTunes.
Android, on the other hand, is what Apple will never be and more. The freedom they give us, the versatility and the all out epicness is what, me thinks, makes it better than Apple.
Anyway, I’m hangied, so lemme go back to gaming, and maybe, just maybe catch up with those crim notes.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is a question that I’ve wanted to ask for a very, very, long time.
We are currently doing crimes against humanity in crim, and, of course, one of them is rape.
Rape, in lay man’s terms, is generally forcing someone to have sex with you, i.e. sex without consent.
Question: Can you really rape a dude?
Legally, you can. But technically, is it possible? Think about it…
No discrimination to the dudes, but knowing how much men love sex, if a chiq asks a dude to shag her, and he refuses, and the insane mama is dead set on having this guy shag her, how is she gonna go along with it?
I was thinking she’d probably tie him to a chair and ride him, but isn’t this some kinda sick sado-masochism? (not that all other…forms…of sado-masochism aren’t sick. We shall live that…erm…bit to Pervy Perv.)
Wouldn’t the guy kinda, sorta, enjoy it at some point? I mean, he’s getting laid for free, and it’s not like he’s gonna get some random disease like Chlamydia or genital herpes or something.
Okay, maybe he might, but for the purposes of this post, let’s just assume, okay?
Again, I understand that attractiveness lies in the eyes of the beholder, and not all mamaz could be shaggable, but, again for the purposes of this blog, just assume. There’s a chiq who’s very shaggable, but you can’t shag her for some/most/all/not limited to the reasons listed below:
1. Her big bro is a forensic scientist, and if he realises you’ve been messing with his baby sis, no one will ever be able to find your remains.
2. Her dad is like mine, and if he finds out you’ve been messing with his lil’ baby girl, the last time you’ll be heard from is when you’ll be pelekwad to CID HQs.
3. Her mom is like Conjestina, and if she realises you’ve been messing with her dear beloved daughter she’ll see to it that your skeleton is rearranged.
4. The chiq is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay above your league, it’s not even funny
5. Mama is more high maintenance than Kate Middleton.
6. Mama has a sharper tongue than Margret Thatcher.
7. Chiq is quite younger than you, that anyone seeing you as much as touching her hand will frown in disapproval and call you a paedophiliac.
8. Chiq is quite older than you, that her husband is constantly gonna be on your ka-scrawny, skele ass.
Etc etc etc.
So, if a chiq you can’t shag decided she’s gonna shag you, could you call that rape?
Personally, I don’t think dudes can be raped, but I stand to be corrected.
Hola at me.
PS I think I’ll ask Malcolm in daro.
I’m April, Nuthead’s friend and classmate.
Yes, I did, in fact write up the first comment, due to the fact that I was bored. I also did it because she is stupid enough to not log out of her wordpress account when she is done. I wonder what kind of lawyer she’ll make.
I must add that I am very displeased at the lack of cruelty displayed at her stupidity. I expected much more. However, there are other opportunities. I’m sure she hasn’t learnt from her incompetence.
I do not apologise for putting that comment up.
Well, it iseems I’m done with this “note”. A sort of PS if you will.
For the first time in a very long while, I’m actually speechless. This is just those kinda topics that are washaing me like an itch in one’s butt crack, but you don’t even know where to start, like said itch in one’s butt crack.
So, men and boobies. Question: what is the big deal?
I know Pervy Perv is going to probably close this page when he reads this line, but I just don’t understand what’s with dudes and boobs. What is the fascination with them? I asked this once (to Pervy Perv. This tends to be his area of expertise, hence why he’s called Pervy Perv) and he gave your typical geek answer: Science.
Apparently, according to science, men tend to gravitate more to women with big boobs because it shows that they have high fertility rates therefore then the men can trust that said women will take care of their kids well. (For more information on this, ask PervyPerv.)
Well, there may or may not be some truth to that. My mum has 8 kids, and my grandma had (has…? some of them passed on) 11, my sis got a set of twins on her first birth and, well, yeah, all of em have big boobs. They claim they even got bigger after kids. Something about breastfeeding and boobs expanding. Wasn’t really paying attention to those vybes.
Now, I’m still not satisfied with that answer. All the guys I hang out with are always ogling my boobs. Okay, not always, but whenever they see me, they have to make some lewd comment to me about my boobs. Perv Minion, in fact, always has the gall to stare down my top. He does it so often, it’s a standard part of our interactions. I’ve zoead it so much, mpaka once when he pelekad me to the stage, and stared down my top (again), and I ingiad the mat, the mama sitting next to me was like “excuse me,I think that guy was staring down your top.” I looked at her and nonchalantly waving my hand said, “Who, him? Yeah, I know. It’s a kawa thing. No biggie.”
To say the chiq was shocked would be an understatement. That very incident also gives credence to my assessment that I’ve become soft, at least where my friends are concerned. Either that, or I stopped giving a fuck. Probably the former. Yeah, the former.
Back to the question at hand. What is men’s fascination with boobies? Me that science answer just isn’t enough for me. I need something more…understandable…? Yeah. I need something that I, as a chiq, can relate to.
Oh, and it also doesn’t explain why some men can’t stand fake boobs and others just don’t care, though it does explain why mamas go out and have silicone shoved up their chests. I mean, if that big boobs theory was actually right, then no man would be picky about whether some chiq went and got implants or not, right?
Anyway, clearly it’s not in my place to say anything. Ebu you men talk to me. What’s the big deal with boobies?
PS on a very, very different note altogether, what the hell are you guys posting and not posting on this blog? Akina twin, Perv Minion, Cass, Adam…get your lazy asses to a cyber or wherever the hell you’ll get internet from and post on the freaking blog, ala. Ya’ll know very well Kevo is just gonna mess with people’s brains and Pervy Perv is just gonna traumatise people on here. You children are really joking with life, ne? You have no shame. *mscheeeeeeeeeew!!*
PSS Yes. I was indeed extremely bored and had absolutely nothing of (relative) substance to post. Deal with it.
Word spreads. Fast.
Apparently, I’m violent. Whenever anyone asks anyone else about Nuthead, the other guy will automatically say “loud.” They’ll be a random silence kidogo, then an “and?” The other person will nyamaza for a bit, as if to think. Then, “violent.”
Now I’m not gonna deny some of these adjectives used to describe me. I’m loud. Even I know that. That, though, is a result of genetics. My dad is loud. My grandfather was loud. My grandmother is loud. My siblings are loud. Bieng loud is fun. If you can’t win an argument, simply outshout whoever you’re arguing with. That storo will die.
I’m aggressive. In fact, I’m apparently so aggressive, my aggression can be felt from the interwebs. That’s Kevo’s aka Gachagua’s analysis. Considering he’s one of the retarded writers of this blog, his analysis is, undoubtedly, questionable. Well, I have my seasons. I should say I’m selectively aggressive. It’s those kinda defense mechanisms that’s subconciously activated all the time, and they come out in random, sporadic bursts that even I donno when I’m gonna grab you by the collar and shake you like a rag doll before promptly throwing you into the nearest wall, brick or otherwise.
I’ll agree to those two, the former because it’s genetic and the latter because it’s just a part of me. There’s nothing me or anyone else can do about it, really.
I am NOT violent, though. Many of my friends, particularly those with a Y-chromosome will vehemently disagree. Ignore them. I will admit, though, that relative to everyone else, I have the potential of bieng violent, what with my aggressive and loud nature. Just because I threaten to inflict grievious bodily harm upon your physique does not mean I’m violent. They are threats. According to dictionary.com, a threat is a declaration of an intention or determination to inflict punishment, injury, etc., in retaliation for, or conditionally upon, some action or course. It’s a decalration. All I did was say it. There’s a chance that I will or won’t do it. The probability of it happening depends on my mood and the importance of the reason of the threat.
Now, the whole point of this blog is because a few of these authors of this blog and other individuals are supposed to be at the JKIA international arrivals section on Monday 22nd November 2010 at 2:20pm to pick me up, or at least yell back “OKAERI, BITCH” when I yell “TADAIMA BIYOCHEZ”.
Now, I promised to raise hell fire when these guys did not turn up to worship the ground I and my folks walk on, and for that reason they claim I am violent. (Disregard the fact that said hell fire I would raise would be a
hard and painful gentle punch on the back and a painfully loud yelling, including cursewords and other insults gentle inquiry as to why they did not turn up).
Can you these lies and slander people are saying about me?! All because of a
rough demand polite request to come get me from the airport. I mean, just look at my nice, sweet picture. Do I look like I can hurt anything?! Don’t I just look so adorably sweet? (Say no, and I am gauranteeing you a slow, sadistic and painful death).
Now, ya’ll will turn up at the airport, ne? Good boys and girls. *smiles sweetly*
Tutaonana monday next week. Bye bye children. Mjichunge.