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My Occasional Thoughts About Stuff…

Once More Unto the Breach

Ah, keeping things separate from each other, a place for everything, and everything in its place. The left hand not knowing what the right hand is up to. Although, truth be told, the left hand knows what the right hand is doing, and is absolutely disgusted. It wants no part of those there filthy shenanigans. I imagine the day the first left hand found out the nasty shit the right hand got involved in, it was shocked to its core, its innocence shattered in a single stroke. Just walked in and was like, “Hey, Righty, we gotta clasp hands and pr… Oh my God! What the fuck are you doing?! That better not be my…It is! No, don’t you dare come closer! Stay the fuck away from me you nasty motherfucker! If I wasn’t Christian, I swear to God…”

And from that day, the left hand insisted it didn’t want to know anything the right hand was doing. Ignorance may not be bliss, but it sure helps with peace of mind, and old Lefty had that high blood pressure that year, and was told to take it easy and avoid stress, and keeping Righty’s dealings secret is just fine. Left hands have since issued a declaration expressly demanding not to be informed of the dealings of right hands unless except in matters of grave importance, like clinging on to the surface of a cliff, defusing a terrorist’s bomb, or deciding whether the milk goes in the bowl before the cereal.

You all know the things your right hands get up to, and thus I can’t really blame your left hands for their stance. You know you’re nasty. Yes, “you”. No, I don’t include myself in your group, thanks. Both my hands cooperate just fine. Have you ever tried to use a full keyboard with one hand? Hell, I tell you. Pure hell. Thus, my right hand is a candidate for sainthood, and I’m sure a Pope will be by for the canonisation ceremony shortly. I know there’s the whole requirement of being dead first, but all I have to do is spend the night before the ceremony sleeping on my right side, and the hand should be sufficiently “dead” come the big day, and what a glorious day it would be.

And yes, it’s only my right hand guaranteed a shot at the big gated community in the sky. Probably my left too. Maybe my right leg, the left one has always been a bit jammy. My brain would definitely not be allowed in, seeing as it’s quite the fire hazard, and there’s no water up there. Of course there’s no water. You’ll never get thirsty or hungry or tired or dirty, so what would you need water for? Shoot, you’ll never be hot or cold or wet, so you wouldn’t even need a house. Oh, you had already picked out your 50-foot HD TV and 60-room mansion? Hahaha! LOL! Dead!

Maybe I could get one of Pharaoh’s embalmers to prepare my body. They used to liquefy the brain during mummification, so that would solve my afterlife brain problem, though it would create a new one. You see, they used to take the brain out in those days, because they were convinced that the heart controlled all the body’s actions, and that squishy thing inside your skull was just, as Johnny Bravo once eloquently put it, “spare parts”. No, your heart would do your speaking for you when you got to the other side, and came back to inhabit your body with your other internal organs having been preserved in jars. Now, those were guys were considered extremely knowledgeable, well-versed in all the healing arts and all. And they used to take Pharaoh’s brain out, and send him into the afterlife with his heart. Then Pharaoh would stumble into the afterlife unable to see, hear, speak, or walk. And his fucking heart wouldn’t work either because it didn’t have a brain to control it anymore.

Then the gods would see Pharaoh slump to the ground unable to move or do anything at all, and they would roll their eyes and say, “Another one.” What, you thought DJ Khaled was a mere mortal like you? Hahaha! LOL! Dead!

Forks in the Road

Forks in road.jpg

People are by and large are consumed by the idea of destiny, of events being pre-planned and pre-arranged. The idea that everything that happens to you happens for a reason, or was set up. Perhaps as we seized control of our various environments, imposed our sense of order upon them, it began to seem like a pretty good idea that someone, somewhere had control of us as well, and we were each merely living our lives in accordance with that plan. Thus, every event is viewed as part of that plan, and every person is a work in progress to some degree or the other. It is a nice idea, isn’t it? I mean, you wouldn’t build a house and leave the roof off, that’s crazy, that’s not a complete plan.

Which is what makes it odd that we are also quite obsessed with the choices we didn’t make. If life conforms to a set plan, every choice you have made along the way is part of that plan. It makes no sense to obsess over the numerous roads not taken, or to look back on your life and regret the things you didn’t do. Everything you did conformed to the plan, right? Or is it part of the plan that you would beat yourself up day after day for zagging when you could have zigged? A house with no roof doesn’t know that it isn’t complete, that’s for observers to point out to the builder, or occupant, as the case may be. What if, instead of life being part of a set plan, or forks in the road you missed, where you are right now is simply the sum total of all the choices you made, informed and otherwise? Does that make life less worthy of living? Sometimes, the path less travelled is less travelled for a reason. There might be a bear waiting at the end of it, and ain’t nobody giving you an Oscar for getting mauled by one of them unless your name is Leonardo.

Let’s say you meet someone, and you fall for her about as hard as it is possible for a human being to fall. I’m talking Superman flying Doomsday from outer space into the ground hard. The impact rattled buildings in Tokyo. When you look back on the day you met, it was a series of choices you made which led to you being in that spot at that exact time, standing in front of her at the cinema and trying desperately to get some coherent human speech to spill forth from your lips. Like, say you’d already seen one movie, and then, looking at the time, decided that you could just about make it to another and so dashed to get a ticket (your life is so hard core, dude), and there she was, standing in the popcorn line. Now, perhaps the plan was structured in a way that you would see that movie on the list and go, “Meh, it’s not like I have anything else to do” because your options were see the movie or go home and cry. Or she could have come in an hour earlier and been seeing another movie, and you would never have met her. Or you could have come out of your movie five minutes later and never have met her. Or you could have come in an hour later than you did and never met her. All those are intangibles, and it would be pointless to obsess over them, but would you say it was fate?

Of course, things could go spectacularly wrong, as they often do. And you would one day wake up and kick yourself in the head for not just going home after that first movie, or spending an extra five minutes browsing in the shops, or a million and five other things, but it wouldn’t change the fact that one day, you met this amazing person, and you would probably do it all again in the exact same manner. Except for the part where you suffered the world’s most spectacularly mistimed case of lockjaw. Oh, she bailed you out, she spoke first. Which means, naturally, that if she ever marries you, you will have no claim upon the family pants.

And, no matter what happens, whether you crash and burn or live happily ever after, you will always be glad that one day you decided to see two movies in a row and there she was. Even if this doesn’t work out and your world becomes an unending mosaic of pain and loss and all those other wonderful things. Even if it never got off the ground, she never felt the same way about you, or she falls in love with someone else. You will hate that it happened, but at the end of the day, it’s another sheet on the roof, but it’s your sheet, and it’s your roof, and you’re responsible for how it turns out.

I guess the bottom line is no matter what you do, you must remember what the lady said: at the end of every fork, there’s a cliff.

Everything You Want Is a Dream Away

Come with me, let us take a walk down memory lane. Are you following? You are? Good. Memory lane is just around this corner. Behind those trees. And here we are. Now, didn’t your mother tell you not to go wandering off with strangers? Oya, you over there, bring that wristwatch, very nice. You, empty that wallet! Only 500 card? You broke die! Chai! Still bring am sha. Aunty, pull that your shoe, e be like my babe size. Next time they tell you to follow them into memory lane, you people will use brain.

Ehen! Sorry for that interruption, I had to teach some people a lesson. I don’t know if they learned it, seeing as I didn’t hang around for course evaluation forms, quick getaways and all, you know how it is. How have you guys been? Good? I don’t really care, but it’s apparently polite to ask about things in which you have absolutely no fucking interest. I mean, it’s not like you’d say, “I’ve not been that great” and I would do anything about it. But, these rules exist, apparently. Who knew? Oh, you did? Well, shut up, nobody likes a smart ass. Besides, I also knew, I just wanted to see who else knew, okay? Stop nodding sarcastically, you prick. You know what, fuck off.

I apologise for that other unintelligent interruption, it was due to the voices in my head. Oh, it’s perfectly fine, we all have them. You don’t? Lying to yourself is not a good look, darling. I know you’re a man. Does another man calling  you darling make you uncomfortable? Are you that insecure in your sexuality? No? You’re as straight as an arrow, eh? Straighter than an engineer’s slide rule, eh? Straighter than a Nigerian builder’s level, are you? You know those aren’t quite straight, right? I mean, have you seen many Nigerian buildings? You know what I mean. You don’t? Ok, I’ll explain, break it down for you sweetie. What you’re saying is that you’re sort of straight. Don’t worry, love, it will be our little secret, eh? Give us a kiss. Oh, stop staring, the rest of you. You’re going to make him uncomfortable, the sweet lambchop. Speaking of lamb, I had the most divine lamb the other day. I moaned, it was that good. Yes, lamb, as in the meat. What on earth? You were associating it with something else, weren’t you? I can’t even with you right now. Like I am physically unable to can. Or even.

Speaking of closets and staying in them, it is hard work. Or at least, it must be hard work, all that pretending and sneaking about, and hiding your true appetites. Oh, I wouldn’t know, personally. Do you see a Nigerian builder’s level around here? Straighter than the road between Fort Worth and Dallas, and that was built with American tools. Big, Texas tools. And no, the gentleman doth not protest too much. In fact, the gentleman doth protest too little. Way too little. Ok, not that little. King Kong ain’t got nothing on me! In fact, I just left Mrs Kong, and she gave me a great big bunch of bananas as a thank you. They came in handy, seeing as I had to hide behind when King Kong came home all huffing and puffing with a plane in one hand and that white woman in the other. Ah, that explains Mrs Kong’s affections. I wonder if she’s told him that consummating that relationship is not medically possible. Kanye did have it right, he’s leaving her for a white girl. Just like Kanye eventually did to Amber Rose… It’s not like she didn’t see it coming, she paid attention to his lyrics, right?

Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, in the immortal words of the legendary Bob Izua, we were where where we were o! Which was where, exactly? What do you mean you can’t remember? It’s your job to pay attention to these things. What good are you if you don’t pay attention? We might as well take you out behind the Engineering shed and put two in you. Bullets, you dummy! What two did you think I meant? WHAT? You’re just nasty. And wrong. Such filth. I apologise, we apparently have a troupe of comedians backstage. Basketmouth and company are safe from you lot, never fear!

Whew, it’s getting so one would need a bunch of cowboys just to keep this lot in line. Is that the proper term for a group of cowboys? Should it be a herd or a flock? No, a posse is what they put together to chase after the rustlers what made off with 100 of old man Johnson’s prized cattle. No, every man who rides a horse isn’t a fucking cowboy! What’s the matter with you? Ever heard of jockeys? Pays better than being a cowboy, minus the guns. Wouldn’t that be fun though? Armed jockeys horse racing. Equestrian Death Race. The horses would have to be armoured too. Good armour, not that leather bullshit. We’d have to erect bulletproof glass around the spectators too. It wouldn’t do for them to get hit by stray bullets. Although, we could make them all sign waivers at the gate, and buy ourselves the local sheriff so we wouldn’t have to deal with pesky murder investigations. By the way, if I see this concept on TV somewhere, I’ll come drag the people responsible off behind the Engineering shed, and put two in them.

What? Oh, you know the kind I mean.

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Sonia's Beauty Blog

makeup . hair . lifestyle

Pencil Goddess

My Occasional Thoughts About Stuff...

Red Lips Win

Lifestyle curator

Gorgeous Brown Skin

A lifestyle, beauty, health and fashion blog

amandarylee's Blog

4 out of 5 dentists recommend this WordPress.com site

Dame's Caucus

Romance... Erotic... Naija Erotica.

The World Of Pootermobile

Spreading Joy One BlackBerry Theme At A Time

Mickeymoye's Blog

Just another WordPress.com weblog

KANAYO'S VOICE!

LINKING THE LOCAL TO THE GLOBAL AND THE GLOBAL TO THE LOCAL!

A Monk's Words

My opinion, my thought process..a valve for the bedlam in my head.

Didicola

Musing... Brooding... Educing

7am Kickoff

An Arsenal FC blog from an American perspective

zindzi

The best way to become acquainted with a subject is to write a book about it. - Benjamin Disraeli

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