September 22, 2010

Transients

ooh you want ur voice to be heard by the world
-- Mahmooda

Theme song: Bionic, Christina Aguilera, Bionic

So, I'll count this as the "first" official post on this blog, since the other one really just is groundwork that I've layed down. And a disclaimer; I can't forget that.

But really, trying to type this out is like sitting on the toilet pot while being constipated -- the words come out in a most difficult, painful and awkward way (well, not really painful but I'm just going with that for the sake of riding the constipation wave).

So, in the words of Xtina: follow me, follow me to a place unknown, of no return...


Well, we'll cheat in the sense that we will be returning. I mean, not returning will most certainly cause a whole wave of inconvenience and discomfort to ensue: lost & found, a nation-wide search, conspiracy theories (yes, someone's been spirited away -- I know a rather interesting story about this one, by the way, but that's for another time) and, ultimately, a get-together of friends, family, sponges and haters, all crying long crocodile tears and "regretting" (and I'm using this lightly) that they've not spent enough time with you.

On this topic, well, seriously, I've seen a load of this gunk littering Facebook over the past few years: In Loving Memory of Settee or even on the Settee's profile, messages of apparent heartfelt regret and longing -- I saw you walking down the road the other day and I was in a big rush to get somewhere, and then I heard the news from Coffee Table that you've passed away. I always wanted to speak to you more and now I regret doing so and -- RUBBISH! I mean, just stop for a while and ask yourself a logical question: will Settee ever get the chance to read it? Will they? Well, if they do, then you ought to be scared -- remember the fat kid you used to bully? Yeah, that's right, now we all know why you suddenly woke up with a heavy weight on your chest the other night...

I mean, really now, it's all a case of could'a-should'a-would'a. Only that they didn't bother to do any of it.

Maybe it's one of those politically-correct-five-stages-of-grieving types of things that makes the poster in question feel a bit better (well, I'm really only referring to the residuals here, but if the shoe fits...), or maybe it's to show the whole social network community that they "care(d)"; it's all completely subjective, hand-wavey and limp-wristed stuff!

It really all does remind me of the classic 1900's damsel in distress; one of those over-dressed, over-sugared and under-brained women who squeal:

"Oh, oh, oh, my hankey has fallen on the sidewalk and this stray cat's about to pee on it! Someone, please, SAVE MY HANKEY! Oh!"

*stops to check if anyone in the vicinity gives a damn*

"Waaaaah! My hankey is getting peed on!"

*notices the attractive gentleman staring at her with his tongue clearly in his cheek*

*picks up the un-peed-on hankey, covers her face with her bag and walks away quickly*

Now what was the point of that rant? :/

~

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