To better the Joneses.

Hello hello, Mabuhay! I am aware that weekend updates are usually and promptly reported on Monday morning itself. The reason this post was left out was because we publish on the basis of drawing straws and the fellow who got the shortest straw also happened to be the least adequately equipped person. But I could be thinking of another straw drawing session I was recently involved in. That’s what I sometimes do, like how movies have shown us that hordes of people will unquestioningly follow one singular person who breaks out into song and dance; I too am afflicted by this uncommon urge to draw straws. I also might have said too much in regards to being inadequate.

Like I said in my opening salvo not 6 lines ago, weekend updates are something that slithers sultrily down a vine and rests itself on your lap on a Monday morning. However I’ve made it a disturbing habit to rub against the grain but don’t worry, I rub felines and all it’s synonymous variables the right way. I always go out of my way to make people feel uncomfortable, sometimes naturally, sometimes just out of curiosity but mostly for spite and fun. There are lines all over the place and damn it, I say cross as many as you’d like! Now, I have to say that I had a fairly slow paced weekend which was exactly what Dr. Pepper told me to do.

I don’t know who Dr. Pepper is. The last thing I want to do is to visit a doctor named after the very seasoning that served me with the sneezy sniffles in the first place. Before I go on any further, this is a little obscure, but something in the last sentence just made me force a timeout to analyse the language, the syntax, and these strange little things we say in our daily conversations. It perfectly complements one another; last thing and first place. They’re direct opposites. The former’s an ultimatum, and the other is an opportune chance.

I tried explaining this to my friend the other night (Yes, I am that big Thai guy who crashes over on weekends) that ‘this blows’ and ‘that sucks’ both are usually connotative of disapproval or contentment with any given issue. Yet, they’re both direct opposites.

The physics of language, the art of speaking... Oh, the languid penalty of being an over thinker.
But coming back, over the weekend two significant things happened that sparked off this volcanic upheaval inside of me. It just left me seething with such uncontrollable sedated rage a la Bruce Banner without the muscles and Barney’s boxers. On the first matter, I won’t get into the asinine details of it because well it can happen to just about anybody. Let’s just say that I considered the “what if” but I didn’t act on the all important “should have.”

The second thing, and this is really upsetting. This is akin to walking out of the house wearing a top hat and having nothing else on. It is just the type of thing that leaves you fuming and you go off on this self retrospective diatribe...like most of you are doing right now, trying to figure out exactly what it is that I am trying to say. Even if you don’t...you will. Soon, trust me. To coin it short, I was playing chess and I left my Queen unprotected and wide open and let’s just say that...she was greased down and penetrated.

Innocent little thing, it doesn’t affect me in any way; it’s just a little game of chess. My speech is fine, I still have my sense of balance, I can still string together decent thoughts to make words dance. Sure I’m fine, right? No. No, I wasn’t fine. I had a scowl on my face that made me look like The Dark Knight; the only difference between us is that one actually wears a mask.

I actually stormed out of the room with tears streaming down my face and I ran to the other room and jumped in to mid air to plop myself down on the bed like those girls in the TV series but it was a big mistake because my friend’s brother’s bed is just a mattress on the floor. The silly logic that ‘oh it’s okay, my face broke my fall” isn’t a carefully thought out one and it should be reviewed immediately. That made me cried even harder.

Now this isn’t good. I’ve overstepped the boundaries here, I had only agreed to cry so much. There are regulations, there’s a methodology behind this. But then I woke up and realised that I was on the floor and I had fallen asleep while listening to jazz music. I slept for 6 minutes in total. Nothing really changed; I was still reeling from the chess game that was the sand that slipped through my fingers.

When I was a child I had a fever..well no, actually this is quite precious and precocious, depending on whose reading but I used to think that if you cut a fat person with a knife, layers of fat would just seep out through the cut. Just like a piece of fried chicken. I don't exactly know why I was thinking of cutting people up but now I think there was logic behind that because some people are just too large.

They're like invertebraes, they're bulbous beings. Now I have nothing but love for the formidably formed, the generously girthed, the ominously outlined...you get my drift but why, oh why do they have to wear clothes that are brought from baby stores? I blame those damn lying magazines. Wearing tight clothes do not, in any way; provide the illusion of a slimming effect.

It just screams quick fix, laziness and not to mention the deplorable but somewhat convenient way in which it allows me to differentiate which is a fatty fold and which isn’t. When a large person chooses to wear tight clothes, certain parts of their loose, lumpy bodies are like quicksand, it sinks in and it’s endless. Like a bottomless inward concave. When that part is covered by fabric, the fabric follows the general direction of said part and it results in what is commonly termed as a camel toe.

I too had the misfortune of having once flaunted the camel during rugby. The only reason I bring this up is because this morning in the train on the way to work I was face to face with this.

If the accepted terminology is camel toe, then that otherworldly vortex between her legs must appropriately represent the camel’s entire hoof. Or lower leg.
I would've taken an actual photo 'cept I don't have a camera and I didn't want to come off looking like a pervert. The moral of ths story is not to wear tight clothes. That’s why sizes exist in the first place.

FYI, I was never the fat kid, I was a walking Macy’s Day Float.

Byez! Xoxo.