FILM

I was under the notion that, like in the films that sheltered my childhood – people only kiss. Films place a great importance on a kiss, it seems to be what every hero hopes to return to after his adventure. It’s what brings about infatuation in the first place. It’s what directors will film again and again and again until it’s just “perfect”.

I was under the notion that, like in the films that sheltered my childhood – that sex was the end point. That every piece of tension, every time a potential couple are caught about to get into it, look embarrassed and stop… It’s all to lead to a very sexy climax at the end. Get rid of bad guy. Kiss. Fuck. Flash forward to the beach with some children. Roll credits.

No. Just no. This is what twisted every part of my development. The very idea that people have sex once and then feel amazing forever. That it just ends there. It stops. The idea that sex was so precious that it was a big deal, a poignant and pivotal moment in life. This is what led to me covering my ears and yelling LALALA whenever anyone mentioned sex to me. This was my key for being impossible to seduce. I had a very strange, very terrible reaction actually, and I wanted to write it down while I still remember what it was like.

PERSONAL

There was something that twisted inside me, my stomach left in knots every time one of my female friends would mention a sexual experience. It was like I was going to be sick. It was like heartbreak. There was nothing sexy about it. I had a physical inability to process the information, and reverted to childish dismissal “eww gross” “yuck” or sometimes even anger “but they’re shit!”. Eventually people got used to that, they accepted my asexuality. I effectively controlled their behaviour until the word “sex” was eliminated and occasionally replaced with “making the baby Jesus cry”. It became a part of who I was. The perfect gentleman who didn’t want sex, writhing with discomfort.

We all start out virgins, we grow up and our friends are virgins. Suddenly you hear that the person you had a crush on was caught having sex at the local swimming pool. Then your friend tells you their plan to lose their virginity at a party, some original idea they coincidentally dreamed up after watching American Pie. Maybe you were that person who started young, the first among your peers coerced into it by older influences, replacing past mistakes with new ones. But where do you find yourself when you’re the last person in your world who isn’t having sex? Fuck the 40 Year Old Virgin. Even it predictably ends with overly important sex. Where do we end up after it though? Credits don’t just start rolling up our fucking faces.

STUPID RULES

We find ourselves wanting more sex, and it’s fair enough. The human body is designed that way, but the human mind is another story.

- I’ll only have sex after I’m married/I won’t ever marry
- I’ll only have sex if I love the person/I want to be detached
- I’ll only have sex in an exclusive relationship/I don’t want to limit myself
- I’ll only have sex after the 3rd date/1st date’s fine if we hit it off
- I won’t have sex with friends/Friends with benefits are convenient
- I won’t have sex with “sluts”/I love knowing who I can go to
- I won’t have one night stands/Give me alcohol and I’m good to go.
- I’ll give oral, but we’re not having sex-sex. I’m Catholic?/(Sorry. WTF?)
- It’s not cheating, it’s just cybersex/phone sex/smutty text
- It’s not cheating, it’s not like I’m in love with the other person, it’s just sex
- I’ll only let someone have sex with my partner if I’m there too
- Rough sex is demeaning vs rough sex is hot with someone trusted

Everybody fucks.

Whether it’s because they’re lonely, sexually frustrated, wanting an ego boost, or just enjoy it like a sport it doesn’t matter. What’s really pissed me off, and messed with me for a good 20 years is women pretending they DON’T fuck. Dangling their vaginas like carrots in front of a donkey, using sex as some kind of incentive to control men’s behaviour. Acting like they absolutely HATE how “men are all rah rah rah sex this, and sex that, I just want a guy who’s interested in ME” adding that they don’t want sex, and that they can go without it but men can’t. Bullshit.

You spend a billion years making yourself look more attractive. Is that to try and turn men off because you hate sex so much? And when you do all that, you go to all that effort just to assert your GIRL POWER to not have sex, and you get ANGRY when a man looks for it elsewhere. Well done, you. Anyway, back to me:

My internal monologue ran rampant as I processed every desire and criticism uttered by every woman I’d ever interacted with. “Okay, I’ve got to be polite. Well spoken. Not be looking for sex. Financially stable whilst generous with money. Gentlemanly. Interesting. Funny.” but little did I know this was all a ploy to throw me off track.

After becoming some sort of pseudo-aristocratic piano-playing conservative, with a faux-British accent, humorous demeanour, throwing money about carelessly, while calling everyone “sir” and “madam” I was a Goddamn caricature of a human being. Entertaining yes, but desirable I was not.

Having since resolved all of these issues, and now being the (cough) sexy, sexy man that I am… I wanted to try looking at things more objectively, more mathematically. All you nosey types might enjoy this bit:

THE EXPERIMENT

Presently, until some of them read this blog, I have 65 female friends on Facebook. I have calculated and evaluated that would WILLINGLY “do” 33/ 65 of them. That’s half. I counted. Want me to rank them? Didn’t think so ugly.

I made a sexy spreadsheet (to destroy after). The numbers are calculated rather than estimated. I’d never really crunched numbers before. They were broken down as follows (some automatically being greyed out due to a lack of attraction or simply because I couldn’t think of them in “that way”):

Would I do it with them? Y/N
Would they do it with me? Y/N/Maybe
Are they in Australia? Y/N
Are they available? Y/N

As you can see, I’ve put a lot of effort into sinking to a new low.

Now if half of those women also wanted to have sex with me, then I could potentially have sex with with 1/4 of the women I talk to (on Facebook, test sample 20th Sept 2011). However thinking about who might flirt with me, there were 10 who I thought would, 13 I was unsure of, and 10 who would probably rather have sex with a deranged hobo if it meant avoiding me.

Surprisingly balanced. This is freaking me out now. So let’s knock that down to 23/65.

Now of those 23, let’s cross off anyone who isn’t single, or local enough for me to feasibly encounter within my lifetime. Done. The number remaining has almost halved again and we come to 10/65. (3 of whom I actually like as people, as of 20th Sept 2011, subject to change).

What does this all mean? Well, mostly it means that I’ve got lots of time on my hands, but really, my point is this… The reason I started counting was this: with all the people I could be maybe having theoretical sex with RIGHT NOW, instead of WRITING THIS DRIVEL. Why aren’t I? Why do people put up such ridiculous fronts?

FINAL THOUGHT

Why is it that couples attending church seem to get married so young? Love? I love bacon, I’m not going to wait for a ceremony to bless us. Often it’s because they’re tired of waiting to fuck. If they already were fucking, then they marry to fuck guilt-free from the church.

Why is it that people who’ll send naked pictures of themselves via MMS will bitch and moan when they see someone in their underwear in a profile picture? Or why do our parents act so disgusted when they see sex on TV when they’ve OBVIOUSLY fucked at SOME point or another to bring about our existence.

Why is it that people fuck someone other than their partner, and have the nerve to get upset when their partner does the exact same thing? Why not stick to the basic principles of human jealousy and fuck one person at a time as agreed for a happy healthy never-ending sex life? WHY? Because of bullshit double standards, and a human tendency to lie to yourselves about the most pointless shit.

Drop the fucking façade. More specifically, drop the “Fucking Façade”. We’re all filthy, deal with it. Either fuck, or fuck off.

With one girl, two nerds, one normal quiet guy, and one of the foulest flannel-wearing bogans I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

There were 3 rows, can you guess where the two nerds sat? Of course you can. And the bogan? You don’t even have to say. I sat in the middle of the two only signs of sanity available. The calm eye of the cyclone.

Every time one of the nerds front and centre brought up “just one more safety concern” I wanted to give him a safety concern he’d never forget.

Day 2: Hell Is Other People

The Goddamn nerd keeps paraphrasing everything the expert says just so he can hear people awkwardly agree with him. Oh, and he tried to tell a funny joke. Good joke. Everybody laugh. Fucker.

Did he laugh at his own jokes? Did he ever. Forcing the presenter to laugh awkwardly and patronisingly along with him. Meanwhile everyone else in the room looked at their feet; to hide our expressions of utter contempt.

In fact if he hadn’t laughed at his own joke, we probably wouldn’t have known that he’d told one.

Day 3: The Early Signs of Hulking Out

Today I found myself forming a silent allegiance with my mortal enemy, The Bogan to pay out Nerd #1, or Captain Obvious as he will now be known.

After a hard morning of paraphrasing information that was fed to him, claiming it as his own, Captain Obvious proceeded to enlighten all in his path “Oh! I didn’t know that!” – A fairly redudant exclamation in a training program developed soley to teach us things that we evidently did not know.

Then came our catered meal break, where more unnecessary conversation was initiated from the mouth I started to hate more than any other. After he politely ignored my miserable attempt at engaging him, if only to hear myself speak for a change, the conversation moved to computer equipment in the home – my area.

‎”I have a website, I sell stuff like that.” he said much to my dismay, as I just knew that more would follow “It doesn’t work at the moment, but I could give you the URL anyway.” What? I didn’t bother to question him, I didn’t want to hear it. Relentlessly he pushed on “I’ve set up a PHP file to say it’s out of order.” Thanks for that, Captain Whatsyerface.

After he explained how poorly set up his system was, making some excuse or another, I watched him write down his crappy website for an uninterested bystander, who smiled, accepted the note, and pocketed it. It would be found in the rubbish later.

I was getting all green and shit, I was on the verge of hulking out.

Day 4: No Flash Photography

A new trainer presented himself before the class, introducing himself as… Phil. No complaints there, it’s hard to hate anyone named Phil. He reminded me of everyone’s father, mixed with a radio presenter, mixed with Mr Scorpio somehow – constantly talking but going off-topic. It was nice, because at least Captain Obvious(ly A Dickweed) was unable to get a word in.

Perhaps nerds wouldn’t spoil my day? A wishful thought, floating like a bubble blown into a fierce wind. Pop. Please split up into groups. I looked in horror as he approached my desk. I raised my arm, pointing to the door – panic-stricken. “You’re in that group” I cried at Captain Dickweed, along with my comrades. Even Phil directed him out the door. I owe him one.

Lunch. I made it, and yet I wish I hadn’t. Conversation varied from socially uncomfortable, to socially unacceptable. Not in the fun way – bowel movements and exploding cats were discussed, probably funny in the right time and place – but I can only imagine that place with him as far away from me as possible, being eaten by lions, or sharks, or both somehow. Something relevent, consumption related.

We ventured to the Australian Broadcast Corporation (ABC) building, to perform our mock-inspection. Captain Dickweed would jump the gun and point to occupational health and safety flaws that didn’t exist while I corrected him, on more than one occasion. “Can I take pictures?”… The tour guide said he could, and I tried to swallow my own tongue, longing for death.

Here we have a radio booth. Click. Here we have some stairs. Click. Here we have a make-up room full of mirrors. Click, click, fucking click. Here we have a dark room full of computer monitors. I tried to turn away but it was too late… FLASH! …

…The room fell silent, as my angered face was illuminated by his camera phone for one brief moment. He now had a photograph of my utter contempt. Everyone saw it. I couldn’t see a Goddamned thing, aside from my daydream from earlier involving sharks, and his face.

The tour concluded, and we said our thank-yous, and goodbyes. We made our way back to the class and split up into our groups again. Adults have a funny habit of surpressing things like this, but I couldn’t help it I had to say something “He is an EMBARASSMENT. For the record, he does NOT represent the company I work for. As far as you guys are concerned, I do.” They laughed with understanding “Oh thank GOD! It’s not just me who feels that way”, then poindexter came back into the room to tell us something unimportant about a fire extinguisher, or otters – I don’t know, I didn’t care anymore.

The day concluded with him leaving early, just as it had begun with him arriving late for the 4th day in a row. My desire for him to be out of the room conflicted with the fact that he had no fucking excuse. If he outlives me tomorrow, avenge me.

Day 5: Constant Judgement Day

The day began like any other, with my teeth grinding and my head pounding coincidentally just as Captain Obvious burst through the door – wearing his virtual Cape of Intolerability. It was only mere seconds before he began narrating his life, somewhat like myself; but absolute shite.

‎”Oh yeah. Haha, I don’t like this fake coffee. Maybe I’ll go downstairs and get a real one. Nah, too lazy. Oh wait, nah yeah, might as well.” He left, and I prayed the elevator would have a horrible malfunction, somehow propelling toward the sun via some divine miracle.

Class began. “Oh hi um, uh, sorry my manager’s just giving me a call. Is it okay if I take this outside?” It was probably just his parents, or girlfriend, letting him know that they hated him almost as much as I did. Why couldn’t he just quietly leave to take the call like anyone else? Why did he pretend his manager gave a flying fuck what he was doing? An optimist would say it was cancer, eating at his brain.

Lunch was glorious, the great outdoors; the greatest thing about them being that he had decided to stay inside. He had a habit of ruining every beautiful silence… though noise normally isn’t all that bad. I rationalised that I would have gone out even if it was hailing basketballs of ice, or even lava. Sadly the sun shone bright, and I consoled myself that at least the end of the day was nigh.

A quiet activity followed – at least it was supposed to be that way as we worked individually. He looked at his page, perplexed, and turned to ask me
“Hey, how do you spell extinguisher?”
“I don’t care.”
“No, but c’mon how’s it spelt?”
“I DON’T care. It’s not important.”
“…”
“Use the dictionary on your phone.”
“…”
Apparently he was impervious to disdain.

Finally, a video – it was something 80′s and British. The only thing I expected to learn from it was that none of the actors had had any work since. It was awful enough without a particular invidivual getting up to adjust the blinds, close the doors, and rock on his chair while laughing at every unfunny moment of the program – even inappropriately comparing one of the actors to his CEO.

The lights flickered back on and I was free to go. I fled. I looked over my shoulder only to ensure he didn’t follow us as we entered the nearest pub. Waiting, holding my breath, nervously looking about until the coast was truly clear. I breathed a sigh of relief… Now able to drink Captain Obvious out of existence entirely.

I stumbled home and reminded myself of him as I wrote all of this. Fuck. I need another drink. Goodnight.

“Lordi” – Finland. The gayest looking… whatever they are. Ever.

And sure, perhaps we watch it to laugh at them, rather than with them. Perhaps it’s the excitement of competition, and making a sport of the whole thing. Perhaps the commentator is someone astoundingly witty or cruel. I just can’t stress enough that everyone should be watching this not just every year, but all the time. I held off watching the Australian Broadcast since no friends showed up, I waited another week and still nobody. When I eventually came to terms with the fact that I clearly had no friends? I finally got the vodka ready and here is what we got:

Roadkill Dress Lady, Some Guy Who Isn't Simon Pegg, and some lady who gets to watch.

When even the British commentator says things like “and that lady in the roadkill dress…her name’s Anca. She’s a comedian!” You know you’ve tuned in to some quality entertainment and can be ready for some wacky and hilarious slapstick gag, knowing full well, that the jokes won’t get better from there. Even the hosts get to have a sing and dance, and drum! Complete with their own brass ensemble. Idol doesn’t have that. Idol doesn’t have shit on this.

These guys aren't even competing, seriously... They just get to fuck around.

Afterwards, we watch a 90 second time-lapse film “which seems… quite long” about the stage being built in Germany, the location of the last winner (some German hussy named Lena), along with a song and dance with “43 Lena-lookalikes, representing the 43 countries that participated.” – Here are the 25 finalists, along with increasingly drunken comments!

#1 gave up on lyrics halfway through dadada dadadum dadada dadada.... "Very different from Lordi, their last winner"

‎#2 - The audience are clapping along patronisingly to this old man as if he were bad karaoke. Not sure why some wigger is prancing about the stage, but I approve. Now he's playing a trumpet!

#3 - My housemate says this one's like a really gay, really tame Wayne Static (also pictured). Oh God, he just went for a run like Immortal.

#4 - A slightly frumpy woman with a very tame piano backing, and stars, and fog machine. Uh-oh! This bitch just went French. And Disney.

#5 - Hungarian women are fucking scary, and tall, and manly. Housemate just leaned down to check under her dress "nope, no dick". This one sounds like Shakira with a dance beat and I'm officially terrified.

6 - Wayne Static's likeness strikes again with Jedward. As catchy as they are awful. Holy. Shit. This falls under "any outfit so ridiculous that you feel the need to drink to make it go away". A deadly mix of sugary sweets and hairspray fumes.

#7 Might not LOOK that interesting but he sings a particularly ambitious song about ambition "What's he singing about? Being popular?" "Yep. 'I will be popular, I will be popular. I'm gonna geet there! Popular!'" I wish I was kidding.

#8 - Thank crap the commentator warned us that this song would have some of the most annoying dancers ever seen. Oh God, they're looking all bewildered. It doesn't help that that the singer looks like a Hi-5 presenter.

#9 - This song features Stereo Mike. He's a rapper! He sounds like a combination between the dude from Aqua, and Nick Cave. Fuck yeah!

#10 - Gay Greasers. This makes me sad.

#11 - Dirty-looking surfer dude singing Opera. Housemate says he's an André Rieu wannabe. I asked "Does André Rieu even sing? I thought he just played violin." He replies "I don't know, all I know is that he doesn't like vegemite."

Unnecessary explosion!

#12 - This guy is not Michael Bublé or Frank Sinatra. Housemate: "It's not in English either, so I've gotta drink."

#13 The only dull performance. In amongst all those bubbles and bullshit is someone boring who sucks. She started singing "Nana naa naa naa naa" so in all honesty we got distracted and looked up Land of 1000 Dances by Wilson Pickett instead.

#14 - sounds inspirational. It's inspired me to kill myself someday. 3 of the whitest white guys, and 1 of the blackest black guys who contributes the occasional "c'mon!". The crowd are wearing Marge Simpson hair in celebration of "Blue".

#15 - I stand corrected. The people with Marge Simpson hair were the next band!

#‎16 - The German slut is back this year! Better than ever in some kind of full-body parachute pants, and she's singing like Bjork! Fuck YES! So much! Oh God. Commentary: "Wander off and burn those costumes. If dancers looked bad in those, just imagine what regular people would look like".

#17 - The backup dancers/trumpeters look like Rhianna. How degrading, for them. Not pictured: Fabio on piano, or hipster douchebag on drums.

#18 - Well, at least her haircut doesn't suck. Shame about her singing, and appearance, and performance though. But yes, nice hair.

#19 - if Yellow by Coldplay were somehow a duet about two people in white pyjamas that seem to like each other very much, but not quite enough to stand face-to-face.

Commentary: "That's a Slovenian man, who has clearly lost the will to live."

#20 - Here Maija shows us what Britney Speares would be like if she were brunette; turns out it'd be equally as horrible!

#21 - Now this is just sad. Iceland's lead singer looks like Ricky Gervais. Creepy. Now their song just went slow motion - how drunk am I?

#22 - I didn't realise Elaine from Seinfield would be representing Spain.

#23 - Screw the singing (it's some miserable shite about angels) BUT, some chick is doing sand paintings - live!

#24 - One of the backup singers looks like Ugly Betty! (Probably, I've never actually seen it). OH GOD, MY EYES! So 60's.

#25 - Finally a band that looks really cool. She even doesn't sound like bollocks! Her dress is really fucking raver! If I were a woman, I'd wear that. No wait, what?

So that’s 2 hours gone. The remaining hour and a half is just the voting part. Oh, and the hosts get to fuck around some more!

Ergh! Flannel Suit? Disgusting! I love it!

AND WITHOUT FURTHER ADO! THE WINNER IS:

#19 – Azerbaijan, with their crappy Coldplay-sounding thing!

And they are showered with toilet paper from the ceilings, as is tradition.

You can of course find out more about the Eurovision song contest here: http://www.sbs.com.au/eurovision/ or on Wikipedia, or whatever.

See you next year!

The first was written in 2002, at age 13 about a man and his psychiatrist, with a heavy focus on structure.

The second was written while procrastinating in early 2008, with a heavy focus on sound.

The third was a challenge put forth by a friend in March 2008 with a rather vague criteria “It should be about accusing someone of being fake, like they were nice to you, but all the time they were laughing at you. Just wasting their time for the sake of it. Humouring fate.” – I didn’t understand what most of that bollocks meant, so I wrote something good instead. They seemed to like it, perhaps you will too.

#1. Back to Your Inner Child 

Back in the days when you would run and hide
When your idea of fun was climbing a tree
Back when on horses you did ride
And when you splashed around in the sea
All these things you did with me
So go back to the behaviour that wasn’t mild
It’s time to go back to your Inner Child

Back when you would frolic by my side
When kicking a ball was your cup of tea
When the kite you made started to glide
Those were the days that you felt so free
These things that I speak of were meant to be
This eccentric behaviour was so wild
It’s time to go back to your Inner Child

Back to the days when you always lied
Just to get out of trouble, I see
When your mother yelled out: “Come inside!”
But you didn’t, just to be cheeky
I remember you’d lock the house and hide the key
This true info I’ve compiled
It’s time to go back to your Inner Child

Practice these things in front of me
I’ll just sit here comfortably
When you’re done, make sure I’ve smiled
It’s time to go back to your Inner Child

- A. Snrub.

#2. Time to Write

Do not doubt your time, your time to write
As we stutter, the clutter of my mind’s own sight
We shalln’t wonder whilst wandering any more
Nor spill out a sonnet to plunder from its core

Let’s begin, ringing on the ballad of rhyme
To bring singing, clinging to no pitiable crime
Silliness strikes, pendulums swing
Ticketing, ticketing, each clunk bring sting

Time halt, halt like salt upon an open sore
Slowly burning, churning whilst it’s raw
Hourglass cease, beast of constraint
Time, lend lease, to finish this complaint

- Adrian E. Snrub

#3. Who Plays the Fool?

Actors immersed in performance rehearsed
He strives on with comedic glee.
Clearly though… he hates her so,
And stupid me; I cannot see.

“Bonded at heart, we shall not be apart
My only confidant and peer;
You brought all this joy! To a lost little boy!
We needn’t here… be shedding a tear!”

He’ll happily shout, compassion about
We observe upon Act 3.
Forgetting of course, there is no remorse
Behind curtain, we cannot be certain.

Tabloids propose, this man in the pose
Is only passing time.
Dismissing his friend; “It’s only pretend”
The man, thou slime, commits no crime.

“Curtain!” They call, and all in the hall
We cheer, we smile, applaud;
This use of our time, a free pantomime
Before it’s performed, abroad.

He quits later on, one moment – he’s gone
New friends, new colleagues, new plays.
The actress declined, is now left behind
His friend,
Her talents,
Dismissed as a phase.

- A. Snrub. 

For the past 3 months I’ve been torturing myself by monitoring the Facebook activity of two teenagers who seem to think that pregnancy is the new black. One larger girl from Perth “Z” who leads a promiscuous city night-life, and one scrawny lass from Dubbo “K” who doesn’t presently live in a trailer, but probably wouldn’t turn one down if you had a spare. Both of these girls are living at home with parents, and neither have a steady partner. Neither know each other, in fact the only other thing they have in common is the apparent ability to piss me right off.

Because both have decided to skip the pill around the same time, we have a scientific experiment within a fairly controlled environment (Facebook)… Between these two, we should be able to determine exactly who is: The Shittest Human Ever.

Take a minute to see exactly what I’m talking about.

SPOILER WARNING. READ THE ABOVE LINK FIRST (It will open in a new window):
Right! Let’s crunch numbers! The below are estimates, some may overlap. I’ve recorded mostly updates that would most likely be to brag about being knocked up.

TOTAL (Not counted toward the final score):
Z: 50  Statuses
K: 45 Statuses

FOOD:
Z: 18 Updates
K:  20 Updates

MENTIONS OF “DOCTORS/ULTRASOUNDS”:
Z: 8
K: 8

REMINDERS OF DUE DATE:
Z: 4
K: 6

MENTION OF ALCOHOL/CIGARETTES/PARTIES/CLUBS:

Z: 4
K: 6

PARTICULARLY IRRITATING IMAGE UPLOADS:
Z: 6
K: 24

SPECIAL AWARDS FOR SHITNESS:
+1 for Z: For that little comment about The Beatles vs Glee.
+1 for Z: For multiple abortions in the past, but keeping this one for fun.
+1 for Z: For that “Pregnant and Perfect” t-shirt that screams “I’m pregnant. Kick me down stairs.”

+1 for K: For having twins. Automatically twice as bad.
+1 for K: For being the younger of the two subjects. Well done you!
+1 for K: For announcing the pregnancy in a slightly more terrible way.
+2 for K: For that God-awful Facebook Banner AND Profile Picture.

THE RESULTS!

This is only the first 3 months of each pregnancy, I couldn’t stand the thought of reviewing the results after 9 months… I would have killed myself. At first, I thought things were so, so close. But how wrong I was. Thanks to mathematics, and science we’re quite easily able to determine who The Shittest Person is. 

Z: 43 Shitpoints
K: 69 Shitpoints 

CONGRATULATIONS!
“K”

You’re The Shittest Person Ever – for now. Take a hint from your score (69) the next time you’re out of pills, condoms, or sandwich bags. Better yet, just take the stairs and have a nice trip. Sorry “Z“, better luck next time.

“Unforgettable You”

Unforgettable…
Your scent that left me weak,
Inconceivable,
Perfection in physique.

Unreliable…
When waiting for your call,
So contemptible,
That I question why bother at all?

But now I know, it’s all a show, so tell me just to stay or to go
You drive me wild, I’ve reconciled, but take me; take me fast or slow.
Untouchable, untameable, unreachable, unbreakable
Unforgettable you.

Am I unlovable…
Best admired from far away
Am I regrettable
Worst mistake until this day

Are you intangible…
Femme Fatale ’till the end
Are we conflictual?
A love/hatin’ fight baitin’ perfect blend…

But I confess, we’re in this mess, causin’ too much ache and distress
I just come back, and you attack, yet you’re my aphrodisiac.
Untouchable, untameable, unreachable, unbreakable
Unforgettable you!

Love is debatable, but I’m insatiable, for all of your
Untouchable, untameable, unreachable, unbreakable
Completely hate-able
Adorable, and admirable, uniquely unattainable attributes…

It’s true…

…Unforgettable you.

PS: I basically gave up when I found this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6raVzrbqrM

 
Comment:
Name: Traveller
Email: Traveller@live.com
Web: www.gulliverstravels.com

All I could think about was how poorly written this article was, how it contained repetitive and annoying vocabulary,and flowed like some meaningless stream of conciousness that you were somehow hoping to draw meaning from (or at least give an impression of meaning that by confusing the reader with the vague details of your mind might do).

 
By cheating your readers, attempting to baffle or confuse without a clearly explained thought process (or any presentation of facts) you’re claiming we’re “thinking freely” because we’re confused and questioning things – you existentialist fool, making such trivial references to The Matrix and Alice in Wonderland. Rubbish. You are transparent.

 
Also, I was thinking your presentation might be better if the images had… more effort, so that one doesn’t have to click them to see the writing, and so that it doesn’t look like a kindergarten student’s first experiment with Microsoft Paint.

 
All I could think about was the overall poor presentation, and your inability to come across as likeable. You can’t force your audience to be interested by writing them that way, you have to actually impress. 1 star.

 
Would others like this comment if they could see it? Who knows, that’s for them to decide, you pseudo-intellectual ass. Take this criticism with a grain of salt, Oh Oracle of Ambiguity.

We are writing in response to your many, many complaints which we have assessed to be very, very similar and unnecessary. We will address all issues; you need not reply, unless our shredding machine should hunger for more of your intimidation, manipulation, and unreasonable requests.

* You claim one or more of our staff were rude to you.

Now we can’t really put a price on that, as much as you think it’s worth $50 each time. We assume you will understand why we will notate the idiom that there is no smoke without fire, and whilst our staff may be emotionally inclined and motivated (much like yourself), they’ve controlled their language and voices far more than you ever will.

* You claim the time spent complaining to us has cost you valuable time and money.

When you call us. It costs us. It costs per hour to pay our staff, it costs us per minute for you to make that ‘toll free’ call, and it costs time that could be spent helping potentially hundreds of other customers in all the time we’ve spent dealing with your issues which you insist are more urgent and more important than theirs. Why, what have you done for us? You insist on taking our time. We did not ask you to complain, you chose to. It costs us each time you call us, it costs us each time we call you, it costs us to write you this very moment, and it costs us each time we give you ‘freebies’.

* You claim that other companies offer cheaper, better products. And ‘better’, customer service.

We are pleased to hear the market in today’s economy is so competitive! You have so many choices. Some of our things are more expensive, and some are cheaper. Some are worse, and some are better. It’s called differentiation, so we will not ‘match’ what anybody else is doing. You can take your money elsewhere, and next financial year we’ll make even more improvements to see if you’re worth winning back again. Which brings us to the next point…

* Your attitude indicates that if you ‘break even’, then we also ‘break even’ and you’ve refused to meet us ‘half way’ because of our ‘shitty’ service.

We don’t owe you anything. Even if we paid for 5 of your products you have broken, and even it was one hundred times as ‘shitty’ as you say it is, you haven’t paid a cent. So whilst you can threaten us that you’ll no longer deal with our company we can only say this: thank you.

We don’t want your money, it costs too much.

Sincerely,
One of the many people you’ve annoyed in your lifetime.