I’ve started to lose my edge. I’m mellowing out. I’m treating people better and looking at things from their point of view. Looking at them like fellow human beings with valid feelings and emotions that I can relate to. It’s making me sick. I have been contaminated by all the humanity around me despite my best efforts. I didn’t want to do this, but I have no choice but to take drastic measures to erase this moral growth. I am getting a teddy bear.
What else can remind me of the abundant stupidity of humanity than it’s inclination to present a murderous machine of claws, teeth and death as a fluffy, cuddly children’s toy? What other reminder people’s lack of self-preservation do you need than the feelings of tenderness that arise in them and the hugs they readily dish out when they see this crude voodoo doll of a literal monster. What other species has evolved to train their young that a rough likeness of a predator is something to be cherished? Clearly mankind is social engineering its own demise when this is what our offspring are raised to adore.
But more than that, the reason a teddy bear will keep me on edge has less to do with what it symbolises and everything to do with their looks.
With their never blinking beady eyes that stare right into your soul. Their blank expressions that give no indications as to what might be going on in their wooly brains. Their ability to keep forever still, and yet to never be exactly where you left them. Night after night, they allow themselves to be held close by children and adults, never complaining about how hard they are squeezed or how roughly they are handled. Just watching. Always watching.
But I know better. I see the malice against us building up in those unblinking plastic discs they have for eyes. And the longer they wait, the more sinister and diabolical are the plans that they lay for the utter annihilation of the human species, if not the world.
“So how does getting a teddy bear help you keep your edge?” you ask with the kind of sharp wit a brick wall would look down upon.
It’s blindingly obvious. I will have one to keep my eye on. To keep me vigilant. By keeping the enemy close, I will have a constant reminder of not only the threat that comes from them, but also that mankind isn’t worth saving because it can’t see what is so glaringly self-evident. And there is no need to care for what can’t be saved. And while the teddy bear might think of me as unsuspecting prey, it’ll serve me as an early warning system for when the takeover starts. When it rises up to take my life, all I’ll have to say to it is…
Jidenna walks into conference room for a meeting with Mary, the video creative director.
Mary: Hi, Nice suit.
Jidenna: Thank you.
Mary: It looks familiar. It’s the one you wore to the BET awards isn’t it?
Jidenna: What? No. I threw that away. I wouldn’t wear a suit twice. Goodness me.
Mary: Wait, you’re trying to tell me you don’t ever ever repeat a suit?
Jidenna: Well…there’s the one I wear to funerals.
Mary: Really? That’s the one you don’t replace?
Jidenna: I mean…the people there are either dead or grieving. And it has to be black like everybody elses. They won’t be able to appreciate it.
Mary: I…You know what, let’s get down to business. We need to discuss the idea for Janelle’s Yoga video.
Jidenna: What have you got for me?
Mary: I was thinking we’re going full on with this yoga theme. You’ll be a yoga instructor and…
Jidenna: Wait, what do Yoga instructors wear?
Mary: T-shirts and yoga shorts or…
Jidenna: T shirts and Yoga Shorts? Is that like an ironic name for some kind of spring line-up? Sounds like something Canali or Tom Ford would do. “With the ‘T-shirts and Yoga shorts’ suits, feel lax but look immaculate”.
Mary: No just plain old t-shirts and yoga shorts. I’m sorry Jidenna…are you choking?
Jidenna: … Shorts?
Mary: Maybe not shorts, sweatpants maybe?
Jidenna: Good God…
Mary: Look Jidenna, the theme is yoga…
Jidenna: I will not do this! I reject this madness.
Mary: A track suit then
Jidenna: Just because it has suit in the title does not make it a suit!
Mary: Fine…fine. Maybe we can play around with it. A suit made out of that sweatpants material.
Jidenna: You’re trying to kill me.
Mary: Excuse me?
Jidenna: You were sent from Nigeria weren’t you? I should have known. They wouldn’t let a light skin get away this easily .
Mary: I don’t know what you’re talking about
Jidenna: Terrible fashion as a weapon. I never saw it coming. The cruelty. The inhumanity
Mary: Oh for the love of…ok, what do you suggest?
Jidenna: I’ll wear a suit…
Jidenna: But I’ll be in a diner.
Mary: I…what? What the hell does that have to do with Yoga?
Jidenna: A diner!
Jidenna: Look from what I’ve heard here all you really need me to do is drop some class. Get down and dirty as it were. I’ll lower myself and actually enter a diner. Sit down even. That’s the most I’m willing to compromise.
Mary: oh my God!
Jidenna: I know. It’s brilliant.
Mary: sighs Fine. I can’t sway you. But there is one other thing.
Mary: The classic man remix video. Some people…*cough* some people seem to think you’re a bit stuck up.
Jidenna: Really? Why would they say that.
Mary: I …erm, have no idea. But it’s out there and we have to deal with it. We thought for the video you could do something to change opinions maybe?
Jidenna: I have the perfect idea.
Mary: You do?
Jidenna: I’ll be in this sleek white suit right….
Jidenna: Then, this is the part…I’ll go into a convenience store.
Jidenna: You know, a convenience store. An actual one. Selling…things. Junk food or whatever is in those places. Then I get an ornate type box thing and walk out.
Jidenna: That’s it.
Mary: What’s the point.
Jidenna: I buy things in convenience stores…like a normal person. I’m just like everyone else. Between the diner and the convenience store – I’m a man of the people Mary. A Classic man of the people.
Hello there demented people of the world. It’s been quite a while since I last actively showed my angry presence in these parts. I take it that you have missed me because let’s face, you are obligated to. Fear not, however, I’m back.
Now, as expected of me, I am an avid browser of reddit. I go there every single day. It’s excellent for procrastination. Drafting legal documents can be quite the bore. I sometimes really ask myself why I chose to do this degree, but truthfully, it’s the only degree I actually could do, but I digress. (Un)fortunately, had to downgrade from 4chan. There can only be so many fucked-up-beyond-redemption writers here at a given time. (Also, my 4chan days were dark, dark times in my life. Second and Third years in law school weren’t kind to me).
One of my favourite subreddits to brows is BBP, or Big Boob Problems. It’s very comforting to know that there are other ladies out there who share the same every day struggles as I do: selling your whole family and mortgaging your parents’ house to buy a bra, having things lost in my boobs, underboob sweat, cringing as you walk down the stairs, every single top you buy having to be adjusted, OMG buttons refusing to close on shits, rants, etc etc. Kwanza wewe Olivia have you ever gone there? You really should. (They also provide great resources and great places to buy bras. If you’ll consider selling your grandma to buy a bra, it better be a goddamn fantastic bra).
Let me even tell you a story so that you can truly see how real this struggle is. Early last year I walked into a shop, which I won’t say to be polite
(Woolworths Sarit) to look for a couple of bras. As in I hadn’t even lifted my hand to check out the sizes and the mama that was standing there just takes one look at me and says “I’m sorry, I don’t think we stalk your size”. I’m telling you I was so offended. This bitch didn’t even know what goddamn size I was and she already decided that they didn’t stock my size?! I couldn’t even bring myself to complain. I just walked out and went and ate greasy food. S o fucking rude.
So yesterday evening, I came across a sub called BDP, aka Big Dick Problems. I was very amused, because this sub was kinda like BBP, but for men. I clicked on one of the links and it was about a well-endowed gentleman telling a story about how he was hospitalised and hospital gowns are not exactly…discreet. Another link was about a guy who saw bananas that could only have come from Uganda and was saying how big they were and even he felt a bit inadequate (tihihi). I even discovered a test. A test.
At this point I was grinning like a mongoloid because oh my God this test was just…very, very entertaining. It’s called the toilet paper roll test. How it works is, you take the roll and cut it at your insertiable length (I have no idea WTF that is) and I think you use how tight it fits around your cock as a representation of how thick you are. On average, the roll is about 5.5” girth apparently, and this dude (and other blokes on this sub) was (were? What is English?) bigger than that. They were even saying how they now respect women that give/had given them head.
So my mum walks in on me with my mouth agape and covered and I’m giggling like a school girl and she decides for the sake of her sanity its best she doesn’t ask. Ignoring the shade she was throwing, I told her what I’d discovered and she had a look of appalled confusion on her face as I continued gleefully browsing through BDP and kind of relating to the struggles these poor blokes go through. (Mum once told me she’s already feeling sorry for the poor bloke that’ll shackle his soul to me. Clearly she doesn’t know I’m friends with Aggrey). Poor guys have problems finding condoms that fit them, LOL. I think most of our West African brothers should sub to this sub.
To conclude, I strongly recommend this sub. It’s really weirdly educational. And entertaining. Please go look at it. Please. It’s worth it. I promise.
Just like in prison, your hierarchy in the workplace can mean the difference between good living or spending your time as everyone’s doormat. This has little to do with your actual position, but everything to do with your place in the eyes of your fellow inmates/coworkers.
There is no magic formula that can guarantee alpha status but here at DNFTB, we are committed to giving our devout converts helpful hints that will set them on their way to
successful brainwashing and joining of our cult happiness. In no particular order, they are:
Step 1: Always maintain eye contact.
This is very common advice, but the most common mistake is that people are too afraid to take it to the next level. Truly committing to maintaining constant eye contact is what it means to be top dog.
What does next level mean? It means staring directly into someone’s eyeholes while you’re both at the urinal. The fact that you can pee while still holding your coworker’s gaze shows your confidence in the control you have over your bodily functions and that you’re not ashamed of it, unlike most others. If you’re using the stalls, leave the door open so everyone can admire your excreting technique and learn that you have transcended the base concept of shame and are no longer under its power. When they see you seated on that throne, looking straight into the windows of their souls, the only feeling they’ll get (apart from nausea and after complete disgust) is a grudging respect for doing what they have no hope of ever pulling off.
Step 2: Constant nipple play and/or crotch massaging
Most people hate their jobs and all they want to do is suffer through the 8-9 hours of grinding slog to get back to their “real” lives. But for the alpha, pleasure in your work is a constant. And the pleasure is not just intellectual or emotional, it is also sexual. Constantly playing with your nipples while hard at work (pun intended) is a sign of above and beyond commitment to your job. If you’re still not feeling the connection, try rubbing your hand over your crotch for that extra sensual stimulation. Do this during meetings and when having conversations with your colleagues to display that extra level of engagement. Showing just how much you enjoy the work you’re doing is not only a great way to find enjoyment at the office, it is also a surefire way to impress your higher ups. Even they don’t enjoy their work that much, I can guarantee.
Step 3: Make your presence felt
Storm into board meetings demanding to see the quarterly reports. Barge into client presentations to vouch for the integrity of the sales team. Offer unsolicited advice whenever you come across people deep in conversation. Kiss everyone on the cheek (gotta be respectful), no matter how many times you run into them. Come into work on casual Fridays with a full suit, only bottomless. Whether you choose to wear your special lace panties or go commando is up to you. These are just a few ways to make sure you’re on everyone’s mind. The alpha’s presence in a room is always obvious, but there’s no harm in being blatant about it, just for the benefit of the few numbskulls who can’t take a hint. This also helps to reinforce your dominance with the rest of the pack. Show them that you’re the only cat in this rat race.
While definitely not comprehensive, applying these few steps to your daily professional life can lead a long way. It’s all about mixing them up and coming up with your own style of implementation that suits you. Ham fisted application will only lead you to rubbing people the wrong way. Whether it’s sexually harassing the janitor to show workplace enjoyment, or blackmailing your supervisor with pictures of him and his mistress to make your presence felt, make sure to put your own personal spin on it. Be the most stand out individual you can be. This is what being an alpha is all about. Success will follow naturally.
If it’s past midnight, get off the internet. Take my word for it. Nothing good will come of being on the internet when the witching hour strikes. Only disaster awaits you. You have been warned.
I know this because last night I was on the internet at 3 AM. I was tired. So tired that the only real movements I was making were scrolling through OLX free classifieds which, when you think about it, is the only way to truly go window shopping at that hour. Why I thought late night window shopping, online or off, was a good idea is a concept whose root can easily be traced back to I WAS ON THE INTERNET PAST MIDNIGHT.
Lets compile the ingredients making up the “how did I get myself into this” recipe.
1. I was tired.
2. I’m impulsive and easily impressed when I’m sleepy.
3. The curse that strikes late night net denizens foolish enough to go against it.
Stir it together and let it simmer.
Long story short…I bought two rabbits.
One moment I was looking at electronics and then I blinked and found myself marveling at the idea of rabbits being sold online. Then looking at the prices and going, this is fairly affordable. I’ll take one. No no no i’ll take two, so the first one doesn’t get lonely. And then, worst of all, I was dialing a complete stranger and asking for my rabbits.
Well. Technically I didn’t buy them. I booked them. But if you wake someone up at 3 AM for a barely intelligible conversation demanding rabbits you’re honor bound to actually buy the damn things. I believe he would legally be allowed to kill me if I didn’t buy them after that. It’s in the constitution. No really. Read it. It’s surprisingly in depth about rabbit sale etiquette.
So I bought two rabbits.
You know what I’ve learnt from owning rabbits (that I don’t have yet.) It sucks being the only one with rabbits. So I shall challenge you all to buy your own.
Why would you do that you ask? So we can all train them and have a rabbit race (that I will crush you all in). You heard me. I’m saying my rabbits, Malcolm X (The black one) and Iggy Azelia (The.. this doesn’t actually need any clarification), can beat your rabbits.
If you feel threatened by this utterly meaningless challenge then GAME ON. You’re my kind of person. The rabbit race is on. Train the little bastards.
PS: If one of you has a tortoise bring it to the race. I want to test their supposed intelligence that we all heard so much about as kids.
I have a very…interesting story to tell you, children. Gather around and let me amuse you with the shenanigans of this place of mine that I live in.
We had a drug bust at my complex, and it was really amusing. (By it I mean all the shit that happened during said drug bust.)
Now, as you all know but don’t understand, I love this place that we stay at. My man and I are the only people considered sane since we never involve ourselves in the extra-ordinary ratchetness that goes on here a lot more often than it should. (Our new roomie, for instance has decided to share any and all STI he possibly can in any way he possibly can during this most righteous time of lent. Yesterday for example, he was walking around nude from the waist down asking people to help him burst the millions of pockets of puss in and around his nether regions. Think he had some up his bum as well. I’m sure even an andrologist would be apprehensive to check out whatever disease(s) he’s suffering from). The stupidity that happens here is quite entertaining on most days, as long as nobody bothers to involve us. On the days that they do, I take it upon myself to show them the repercussions of having little to no self-preservation and why it’s a bad thing. Some people have ended up in hospital during my more…violent moments, but that’s a story for another day, no? *smiles sweetly*
Alas, I digress. The drug bust. We had one. It was really awesome, and kinda dramatic, but it will end up pretty anti-climatic. The disadvantages of having a country that banned the death penalty. *sigh* This is where Malaysia stays winning.
So, the chic two flats above us (Colombian, by the way. She looks like something out of a porn movie really: big boobs, big bum, perfect hair and make-up, barely any clothes on, etc etc. She even had that accent thing going on, where she’d give dudes boners by just talking) was selling drugs. All the hard core stuff: crack cocaine, heroin, crystal meth, morphine, the really refined form of LSD, and the likes. She hid them in the cracks on the walls, under the skirting board, in the ceiling, in the herb garden (and no, it’s not weed that’s grown there), in her mattress and other such creative parts. The thing is, nobody knew. She was social as everyone else, never had ridiculous amounts of money from outta nowhere, she never abused any of that shit, just sold it. But she never sold it to anyone in the complex, which was pretty smart.
So anyway, Jupiter and I are misbehaving on the couch when suddenly we have the Queensland Police, AFP (Aussie Fed Police), Immigration and guys from the drug department sprinting around, busting into houses and demanding that everyone gets the fuck out. So this cop nearly breaks down our door and nearly gives me a heart attack then proceeds to (rudely) stare at me in my state of undress instead of saying whatever the fuck he wants to say. I donno who was more irritated, Jupiter or myself, though my irritation was brought about by embarrassment.
Our Colombian is arrested, (along with the guy she was entertaining. As in the cops walked in on them when she was giving him head and he was in the middle of his orgasm, since when they came out she had some of his nether fluids around her mouth and he was…well, spilling them out. XD The cops are asking them questions and the poor boy is so terrified he proceeds to start crying and one of the cops goes like “Are those tears part of your orgasm?! Jesus…have you never had sex before? How the hell do you cry during an orgasm?!” Then they turn to question the chic and she can’t answer anything, when one of the cops realises she still has this dude’s semen in her mouth. So the cop [a lady who probably doesn’t get laid much] snaps “Are you gonna swallow that shit or spit it out, because you are going to answer my questions, brat.” She then proceeds to like gulp it down and in my head I’m wondering kwani she was storing it in her mouth for a later time or something? XD) and the cops get into her apartment to check it out. (She was living alone. I donno how many sessions of disturbing, yucky sex she had with the cunt that’s my landlord. This is a guy who has the potential to traumatise even Aggrey. He really needs to be locked up in an asylum. He’s very disturbed) and man, they are coming out with like 30 250g bags of EACH of these drugs. As in 30 250g bags of crack cocaine, 30 250g bags of crystal meth, 30 250g bags of the LSD, and those drip bags of the hospital, like 6 of them full of morphine. And when I took a peek into the apartment, it had been systematically pulled apart. The ceiling was cut at the corners on one corner, there was no skirting board anymore, the walls had been chipped apart…heh, it took them like 12 or so hours to get everything, since they began their operation at about 10pm and when I woke up the next day at about 9 they were still there, questioning everyone. Kwanza one of them tried to question me and I pulled the racism card out so fast he promptly apologised and proceeded to go look for someone else to bully. Ain’t nobody gat no tahm for that.
I remember how guys freaked out though, and it was hilarious. Someone actually jumped out of the balcony into the pool because of how the cops were bursting in. There was also an orgy going on in another room, I understand (to which the landlord was peeking at through the window and probably fapping to. See? I told you this guy has serious mental problems). As in people were being chucked from the house in the middle of their showers. Hilarious shit.
So, to summarise, this chic will be charged, very probably found guilty and receive life imprisonment. Moral of the story, don’t give people head in the place you’re stashed your stash. You may get caught and people like me will blog about it.
Peace, from Down Under.
I once blogged about a certain yummy pro gamer here by the name of Crumbzz. Today we’re gonna talk about another equally yummy pro-gamer called xPeke. Please don’t leave yet. It’s gonna get morbidly interesting. I promise.
Now, Peke is hot. He’s just hot. There’s no other way to say it. He plays for a team called Fnatic. He’s Spanish, but their gaming house is based in Cologne, Germany. He’s like the ambassador of his team, a poster boy of sorts. Not in bad taste, coz he’s quite sexy. He’s also 21, so he’s internationally legal. Yeah ;). He’s also a pretty solid player. His mechanics, plays and in-game reactions are pretty beast, so he’s not just a pretty face. (Go to youtube and search for xPeke Kassadin backdoor to see his most legendary play). 2 Chainz said he wants a big, booty hoe for his birthday, I just want a naked xPeke in a bubbly bathtub for some fun times for mine. (The thirst is real. I know).
AND HE’S SINGLE!!!
Anyway, moving on, he obviously has a crazy huge fanbase, and the video below shows why some dudes have been questioning their sexual orientation in regards to him. He also gives no fucks at all, because giving fucks is overrated.
Sorry, I donno how to do the links thing. Excuse my shadiness.
Back to what I was saying, after all this rather important background info, you need to understand that being hot and good at what you do has it’s rather…negative side effects. A couple of weeks ago, dearest xPeke received a parcel from a fan. A female fan. From Spain. How the hell she managed to stalk their house in Cologne, I donno, but nonetheless she got the address and sent him some fan mail the ol’ skul way. What did she send him, you wonder, that she couldn’t do it the digital, 21st century way?
Her period blood.
BOTH OF THEM HAD HER PERIOD BLOOD ON THEM.
I’ll let you stew on that for a long while.
Now at this point in time, I find it hard to blame the chic that did this. She obvious has some very serious mental problems that ran very, very deep that her parents have refused to address, so we’re gonna blame the German and Spanish postal services. I don’t understand how they couldn’t realise there was something exceptionally wrong with that parcel. Granted she must have wrapped it hella well and so the sheer smell of period blood couldn’t filter out, but they surely have those x-ray scanning thingys that could have blatantly shown SOMEONE IS SENDING A FREAKING PAD AND TAMPON DRENCHED IN PERIOD BLOOD.
Needless to say, it’s understandable that he never took his…gift with much grace, and burnt it with all the fire, larva and brimstone right from the deepest pits of hell itself. (Okay I donno what he really did, but I assume he did this).
I’m still disgusted though, though I must admit, it was morbidly funny. Is this how cavemen women displayed their primal feminine possession over their prospective mates? Sent them a few millilitres of blood and other dead cells from their vaginas? If so, then evolution is really not doing things right. Either that, or natural selection continues to fail us.
Have a disgusting free week. On that bombshell, Peace.