[self censoring]

What do you mean?

[self censoring]

I’m not troubled, just annoyed.

You look more than annoyed…

what are you? the fucking visual police?

[self censoring]

[self censoring]

[self censoring]

it’s always a she, Sherlock!

fine, be condescending…be a prick…you’re gonna die alone you know…it won’t be pretty…they’re gonna find you from your rotten smell…neighbours are gonna think you were a creep…which is partially true…no?

fuck the neighbours…

[self censoring]

so nothing man…boy meets girl, girl meets boy, girl turns out [self censoring], the fucking end.

*slow claps* you’re pretty original you know…I’m only here because of you…so tell me…what’s up?

[self censoring] for once in a really long time, I put my guards down, and I got what I deserved.

which is…?

[self censoring]

get it off your chest…

do you really want me to?

why not?

well…I don’t know…this won’t be pretty…she won’t like it…that’s for sure!

wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?

I wouldn’t know…I don’t eat cake…

it’s a figure of speech…dumbass!

I know what it is…condescending much?

[self censoring]

[self censoring]thinking this might last a week or two…perhaps a month! before she gets tired of me…or me of her…

and?

I turned around for a second…and then I felt this warm sensation…fused with pain…and a weird smell…I wasn’t sure…but it was there…then all of the sudden the world got darker…as if I just put on some shades…or the sun vanished away…no bang…just pain and the smell…

[self censoring]

not this time…we had our knife fights…I would cut her from time to time and she would cut me…using East-European blokes…they were a lot more effective than I gave them credit…and more talented…but that’s a different issue all together…

what did you use?

[self censoring]

you’re an asshole

I get that a lot…

go on…

well…despite our best efforts to hurt each other, we never really crossed the line…until that forsaken night…

what happened that night?

I turned around…and I saw her eyes…big and round…laced with sorrow…I was no longer sure how genuine they were…then I saw the smoke…dancing in front of her face…as I traced the smoke, to find the source, I found her stretched arms, holding a pistol, equipped with a silencer…

ohh…I’m sorry to hear that…

that makes one of us.

"Everybody knows that I love you baby
Everybody knows that I really do
Everybody knows that I’ve been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows I’ve been discreet
But there were so many people I just had to meet without my clothes
And everybody knows…”    -LC (slightly edited)

I had this story in my head for a long while, and almost a year ago I decided to write and submit it to a magazine. It got rejected. So it is safe to assume that it isn’t very good, but I really like it. And to be fair, I got a very nice rejection letter, so maybe it isn’t all that bad. The title has very little to do with the story. But it is very special to me, because a dear friend of mine gave me the idea and inspiration to finish it. I hope you enjoy it. You should also use the comment section…if you want!

When In Doubt…

I walked past the lobby and entered the elevator. The numbers were staring me in the face, and I pressed “37”. Elevator doors slowly reunited, and up it went, taking me along for the ride. Once the doors separated again, I didn’t need to look at the condo numbers; the music was loud enough to guide me to my destination. I walked to the source, and as expected, the door was unlocked, so I entered. It was a fairly dark room, with only source of visual assistance being the candles that were scattered throughout the living room. I figured any darker and the guests would have to wear night vision goggles, and that thought intrigued me for a second. A party in total darkness, can’t think of a better way for a river of sexual harassment lawsuits. A mellow tune was playing in the background and everyone seemed to be having a good time. The living room was filled with a "hip" crowd. I only knew a few of them, but in my head, that was still a few too many. I didn’t want to be there and wasn’t even trying to hide it. I heard a loud vibrating noise from the kitchen, and figured that was a good spot to say hi to some of the guests. I entered the kitchen and was confronted by a "bartender", mixing drinks, and a hive of folks buzzing around him. As I was canvassing the small crowd, my eyes decided to focus on a well-dressed girl across the room. As our eyes locked, she approached me and offered me her drink, without so much as a word. It looked like Rum and Coke, but smelled like a whole bunch of Rum and only a splash of Coke. She was a couple of drinks away from throwing up and it wasn’t even mid-night. She was pretty, but a lack of self-control, especially when it comes to drinking, is an issue that I seldom ignore. I politely refused her offer, and walked towards the rest of the group. My buddy gave me a nod, which I interpreted to be about my view in regards to the girl. I gave him a disappointed smirk, mixed with a half-raised eyebrow, indicating my lack of interest. He replied with a puzzled look, demanding a better explanation, and I closed my left hand’s three middle fingers, motioned him the drinking gesture, along with my right index finger pointing at my empty wrist, where normal people would wear their watches. He replied with his classic puckered-lips look, suggesting that he understood. I wanted to remind him how much I hated that pose, the standard "I-wear-too-much-makeup-and-I-don’t-really-feel-confident-but-you-don’t-know-that-so-here-I’ll-pretend-that-I’m-kissing-my-best-friend" look that some girls use for their Facebook pictures, but I suppressed the urge and let it slide.

After I greeted some of the guests that I knew, and got introduced to a couple of new partners that had just joined our "circle of friends", I wandered off to the balcony. I really needed a break. Everyone looked the same and that was making me feel a bit claustrophobic. Same hats, same glasses, same brands, even almost identical colours. I felt a bit left out. Either they all shopped together, or I missed the memo on what to wear to this party. I was tempted to whip out my phone and double check the Facebook event’s description, just to make sure that this wasn’t a costume party. Logic won, and my phone stayed in my right pocket, where it usually rests.

The host came to the balcony, and handed me an ice-cold beer. I didn’t want to drink. Just wasn’t feeling it, but at the same time, I didn’t want to explain my stance on drinking, and further reveal that I am, in fact a freak of nature, albeit a handsome one at that. I took the beer and thanked him, had a sip and it was as cold and crisp as beers come. I’m sure everyone else would’ve loved it, but I was secretly wishing for a perfectly chilled glass of apple juice.

Shortly after, my friend joined me on the balcony, just like I thought he would, and asked me about the drunken girl, but this time using his words:

-"you don’t think she’s hot?"

-"hot? I don’t know…I mean…-"

He interrupted me, with a traumatized face, as if he just found out that I brutally murdered a kitten or something:

-"are you fucking kidding me? You wouldn’t fuck her? You mean to tell me that if she just came to the balcony right now, and grabbed your arm, and said: "Rasam, let’s fuck", you would reject her?"

I was taken by his passion. Maybe he knew her from before. I was trying to analyze him now, something I’m good at. Maybe she’s his ex or his crush. Or maybe they were secretly dating. I hoped to God that at least the latter wasn’t true. I didn’t want to spend the next 48 hours explaining my taste to him.

I replied:

-"c’mon man…that’s a different story…even if your ugly ass came up to me and offered me a hot sexy night, I would probably take it…", half hoping that the subject would change and he would calm down.

-"PROBABLY?!…get the fuck outta here! First of all, you WISH! Second of all, you would be all over me…I would have to grab one of them rape whistles or something!!"

I took a silent sigh of relief; I had managed to change the topic, and now was fairly confident that at least they weren’t dating or anything like that. Saved myself a ton of headache.

He continued:

-"but seriously…what’s wrong with her?"

-"nothing really…well…I mean (I decided to choose my words very carefully, last thing I needed was silly disputes over a drunk girl)…I think she’s coming off a shitty relationship or something…or maybe her ex is here with a new girl"

-"why would you say that?"

-"look at her dress and makeup, they both look fairly fresh, but she is too drunk to be able to walk, go to the bathroom, and freshen up…which means she’s only been drunk for an hour or so. Why would someone drink that much and that quickly? Never a good sign"

-"I guess…but maybe she just has a low tolerance…or maybe she’s celebrating”

-"naaww…she’s pretty much the drunk person at this party…normal-happy people don’t celebrate alone…not like this anyway…and also…Rum and Coke? That’s no Smirnoff Ice shit…you need a decent tolerance to drink that…besides, I smelled the Rum from 2 meters away…I think she can handle her booze"

-"I guess…but maybe she has problems at home? Or at her work?…still…I think she’s pretty hot"

-"I can’t argue with that…You might be right, but if I had to bet, I would still go with relationship issues…but I say you go for it. I would act quickly though, and stop her from drinking anymore…’cause she’s really close to puking…chances are you’ll either have to clean up vomit tonight, or rape accusation in the morning!"

-"shit…you’re right! But what do I tell her?"

I thought to myself in a Jim Carry from the movie “The Mask” kind of tone: "Relationship advice! Must be my lucky night!!”. I really can’t stand telling people what to do with girls. Most of them don’t listen anyway…but he seemed genuinely interested, and I tend to like showing off, so I figured that I’ll give him a hand.

-"not too much…just be nice…build her confidence a bit…but if she gets all mad and bitchy, then retreat. But if she takes the compliments well, that’s a good sign. But please don’t go on an ass-kissing expedition. Just compliment her hair…she should like that…looks like she’s spent a good 40 minutes on it…and the shoes…always the shoes…ohh and move her away from the fucking bar man…go try the hors’ dovre’s or something…try to make a game out of it…I don’t know…you’ll be ok…just make sure she eats a little bread…"

He looked like a 12 year-old boy, witnessing the miracle of making love for the very first time; super eager, with eyes and ears wide open, observing every letter of every word of every sentence that was coming out of my mouth. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.

-"anything else?" he uttered.

-"get outta here! Ohh but remember, if her ex is here, or was here, drop it and run. Not worth the trouble…cause then she will cry…and you don’t want that. Trust me!"

-"gotcha! So…text me when you wanna leave"

-"don’t worry, I won’t leave you hanging…have fun!"

-"love you man!"

I couldn’t help but smile,

-"you too!! But save it for the girl!…ohh here, finish this beer for me“

-"you’re my hero!!"

-"you’re such a suck up"

As he walked back in the room and got shuffled into the crowd, I couldn’t help but wonder about the reason that I was at this party. Social obligations and I never really got along, but everyone keeps telling me I should change that. I never understood the reasons behind them, and it’s very difficult for me to accept something, when I don’t fully understand it. It’s funny how some say I’m an attention whore and others accuse me of being anti-social. When I hear such contradictory comments about my personality, I think back to what one of my ex-girlfriends used to call me, which was: "a super bitchy pregnant woman, who’s also PMSing”. She knew me too well.

As I was pondering my universe altering dilemmas, a girl in a lovely black dress walked into balcony. I was looking at the view to my left and decided to continue doing so. I didn’t want to give her a reason to strike a conversation with me. I didn’t have an excuse for this, from what I could see using my peripheral vision, she seemed perfectly normal, which led to me believe that maybe sometimes I’m just an asshole.

She was polite enough to drop a "hey" my way and I replied with a "hi" and a smile. It wasn’t a genuine smile, but it worked.

I heard the clink of her red wine as she placed it on the railing, and started to dig deep into her purse. I figured this was the best opportunity to secretly check her out. Years of dealing with the opposite sex has taught me that they pretty much always want what they can’t have, so no matter the circumstances, I learned to always act indifferent. I’m sad to say that this terrible habit is now pretty much part of my nature.

I started from her shoes, not that I really care about them, but that’s usually the more subtle way. You can always pretend that you’re thinking of something very important, and your eyes just playfully danced towards her. Same cannot be said about checking out a girl’s ass. I was pleasantly surprised with what I was seeing. A pair of comfortable maroon shoes, with just a tiny heel, to make them all “dinner-party-ish”. In a gathering where almost all the guests sacrificed comfort for fashion, this was like drinking ice cold water over a minty gum, refreshing. The front of her shoes had a very delicate style, which allowed me to see her perfectly pedicured toes, and the fresh layer of matching maroon that was splashed on top of them.

As I was slowly working my way up, I heard the sound of a flint, and noticed that she was lighting a cigarette. Usually, this is a warning sign to stop checking out a girl, because people that smoke tend to observe their surroundings, and she only had one subject on that balcony. I really wanted to see the details of her perfectly black dress, and perhaps glance over what my imagination was now colouring as a perfect ass, but I knew better. I slowly moved my eyes away from her, and made it look as if I was solving a very difficult math problem. Not only does this method make me look busy, but it’s also an effective way to weed out the confident versus the low self-esteem girls. Confident ones know that they are interesting so they don’t mind starting a conversation, even if you look busy, while girls with low self-esteem just get intimidated and back off.

To my delight, she looked my way and said:

“Would you like a cigarette?”

This is a very tricky situation for a non-smoker. You can accept, and try fake smoke your way out of it, which is sad and too obvious. Your next option is to politely decline, which isn’t bad, but probably not the best answer to a smoker. Almost every smoker I know likes to quit, and seeing a non-smoker is usually a reminder that they can’t shake off the bad habit, and that’s not pleasant. But I have come up with a third way, which is almost perfect, and I automatically went to it.

“3 weeks sober now…kinda wanna earn my chip, if you know what I mean”

“that’s pretty cool…good for you… do you mind if I…?” she said, while placing her cigarettes and lighter back in her purse.

“nah… go ahead” I allowed.

As she was taking a long drag, she looked my way and asked:

“so…how do you know the brides?”

“amm…which ones?” I replied, with a baffled look.

“I don’t know, you tell me…the ones with the most makeup I guess”, this time her maroon lips formed a subtle smile.

I smiled back, ”Ohh I see…yeah…we tend to that…well, not we…but you know, Persian girls in general, they sure like their makeup.”

“I love makeup too, but the cleanup afterwards, that’s what bothers me, and for what?”

“what do you mean “for what”? For us! You need to look pretty for us, otherwise we won’t marry you, and you won’t be able to fulfil your evolutionary destiny!”

As soon as I finished that sentence, I knew I was walking on a tight rope. I figured either she’s cool and we will have decent laugh, or she will kick me in the balls and leave me on the balcony. I was wishing for the best, while preparing for the worst.

She slowly raised her right eyebrow and replied: “ohh…and what exactly is that?”

I was delighted by her answer. She had given me an escape, and along with it a second chance to prolong the fertility of my reproductive organ. But before the logical part of my brain could react, I uttered:

“make sandwiches and bring beer of course!…no?”

As those words escaped my mouth, my fight or flight responses kicked in, and I slowly moved my palms towards my penis, as if she was David Beckham, and I was standing in front of her curvy free kick.

Her lips widened, but words failed to come out. She closed them again, only to form a heart-warming smile. Although I was starting to notice her beautiful brown eyes, and the minimal touch of eye-shadow that was brilliantly accompanying them, she couldn’t fool me and by this time I had changed my stance a bit, adding the extra security of my right thigh to further insure my family jewels.

She slowly opened her mouth again, while holding her lipstick stained cigarette, and replied:

“ohh…I see…but I think you forgot something…didn’t you?”

“have I?”

“what about fulfilling all your sexual fantasies while giving birth to your future Olympic-ready offspring?”

I was stunned. I can usually predict how conversations go, but her answer came at me out of nowhere.

I said:

“touché”, while trying to secretly wipe the shock off my face.

“you look a bit surprised…”

“well, I’m surrounded by hard-core feminists, so to hear you say that…I don’t know, I’m just not sure how to react.”

“ouch! I feel for you…some of those women can be borderline insane!”

“it’s so great to hear it from someone else…I understand passion, but they can get scary!”

“ohh trust me, I know”

This was officially the turning point of my night. I finally met a very pretty girl who liked my sexist jokes! For the first time during the entire party, I felt relaxed and at ease. I wanted to get to know her better, so I figured I should properly introduce myself.

“I’m so rude, my name is-“

Before I could even extend my right arm towards her for a handshake and finish the sentence, she abruptly interrupted and said:

“no names…not tonight.”

She surprised me again, and I was officially in uncharted waters. Not only she was controlling me, but she had managed to control the conversation and this was very new to me.

“oookkaaayyy…” I replied, while still trying to figure what just happened.

“A bit unorthodox, I know, but…I just feel a bit more comfortable this way…I don’t really do this you know…”

“do what? Having a conversation with a guy you met at a party?”

She replied “no you silly!” with a grin, as she started to walk closer to me.

She was only 3 steps away, but with every footstep, her elastic body swayed inside that gorgeous black dress. I was still fighting lust in order to keep my eyes in check and don’t let them stray all over her erotic presence, but I knew it was a losing battle.

She took a quick puff of her cigarette, looked away and gently exhaled, and then got close to my ear and whispered:

“Take guys back to my place and show them my cat…”

The world around me got a bit brighter, which I can only assume was the result of my widened pupils. Here I was, talking to a girl who knew exactly what she wanted, and her needs were perfectly aligned with my services. My witty charm was just confronted by its Kryptonite, and I just couldn’t think anymore. Once again, I was left flabbergasted by this untamed creature, and I wasn’t sure how to react.

What I can only assume was my instincts, kicked in and replied:

“what makes you think I’m a cat person?”

She looked me straight in the eyes and replied: “the bulge in your crotch”, as she nodded her head and indicated my pants with her eyes.

I felt naked. Not that I was embarrassed or anything, I just felt like she robbed me from my manhood. She was calling all the shots and I needed to change that. She had managed to surprise me three times, and I vowed to myself that this will be her last, a promise that I failed to keep.

I glanced down at my pants, and then looked up again, smiled and said: “ohh that’s just a roll of quarters…or something similarly shaped…”

She calmly replied: “I’m sure it is”

She then continued:

“so…why are we still here?”

Her aggressive nature was beyond my imagination, and I figured that I might as well let go and let her call all the shots, because I really liked her way of thinking.

“I can’t think of a single good reason…let me just text my friend…”

She didn’t raise any objections, so I grabbed my phone, unlocked it and quickly texted my friend:

“Rude jm oarry but I reallu have to go…long story but ill tell yiu later. Be goof and if you dknt hear anuthknh from me by tommrow vall the cops! : D ill call you later”

Just before I pressed “send”, I realized that I had left my phone’s “auto-correct” feature off, but it was too late, and I figured he’s not that stupid.

I looked at her and asked:

“did you drive…or are you coming with me?”

“I have my car, don’t worry…but you aren’t drunk or anything…are you?”

“I’ve had a sip of beer, I think I’ll survive!”

My phone vibrated, and I assumed my friend replied back. I didn’t want to check it, so phone stayed in my pocket.

“shall we?” she said, as she took the last drag of her cigarette and looked at the balcony door.

The lights from the inside were just bright enough to reveal her red-wine hair, and just then I realized how everything about her was in harmony. From her dress to her hair and makeup, and even her purse, they all formed a beautiful chemistry, and I was eager to mess all that up.

I walked towards to the balcony door, opened it for her, and like a gentleman showed her the way.

As she was halfway out of the balcony door, she turned toward me and we were now cheek to cheek. She moved even closer and placed her passionate and sensual lips on my left cheek. It was one of the most erotic kisses I’ve ever experienced. I had butterflies in my stomach as if it was my first kiss.

She then slowly moved her mouth towards my ear, gave it a tongue-fused kiss and whispered: “enjoy your sandwich”. Then she kneed me in the balls, and left me on the balcony.

As I was bent over in excruciating pain, wondering what just happened, my friend and the drunk girl walked on to the balcony and asked:

“are you ok? Why are you still here? I thought you were leaving?”

“long story…long fucking story”.

The end

I wrote this while I was on an airplane sometime around December 17th 2010. I do remember the context, and I guess one day I’ll finish it.

—————————

And it began: the dance of love, without the glory or the joy. I was alone again, surrounded by people, but very lonely. I wanted to make a point, put my foot down. I wanted to show myself that I could. I failed. She showed up again, unannounced. It was a terrible habit of hers. Stopping by, just to torture me some more, and then vanish, robbing me of any chance for retaliation. I tried to force her out, but to no avail. She stayed and watched, piercing me with her eyes. I refused to acknowledge her, but we both knew it wasn’t possible. Sweat was running down my face, and every time I looked up, there she was, staring at me. Maybe it was the Ritalin, or the extra burnt coffee, I couldn’t be certain, but she was there and that, I’m sure. She seemed lonely, missing me perhaps? Who knows, but people tend to miss me. Well, not me, but what they see of me, which is different with each individual. I can be calm, polite, rude, and everything else in between. People rarely care about whom I really am, they just want me to entertain them. Like a clown, as long as the painted face is smiling, everything else is irrelevant. But she always cared.

“You look good on paper” is what one of them once told me. It was my own line that she was spitting back at my face, either assuming I’m an idiot, or simply forgetful. I even remembered when I used it. It was to describe her ex-boyfriend. And now, she was using it on me. Why? Maybe she wanted to feel smart, who knows? I guess my lack of interest was pouring out of skin, because she left early and so did she.

I don’t think I can ever be modest…

Rasam 31 December 2010 at 02:11

“You have influenced my writing and me in ways that cannot be expressed by just words, and I mean that. I also like posts that are out context, they feel weird, foreign perhaps, but somehow everyone can connect to them.
What a magical sentence regarding Sadegh. From the beginning to the end, it was gorgeous. And yes, I agree, people like him are just out of reach. Tragic is a wonderful way to describe it. I still wish I knew him…I would proudly introduce you to him, and one cold afternoon, we would all go to his place and enjoy some hot tea and opium. I can only imagine the joy of spending a “flying afternoon” with you and Sadegh. ‘Magical’ would fit right in.

Don’t be sorry about the wall, (“the wall”, China must really hate Facebook) I understand. That’s why I seldom write anything substantial on people’s walls. Because if I spend the time to truly express myself, then I would like to see their reaction to it, and more often than not, it’ll be very disappointing.

16 years is indeed a lofty absence, and I hate the way my brain works. I have a suspicion that my stupid cells are just trying to pick unattainable goals in order to push off my feelings towards [censored]. If I like someone in Toronto, then I’ll act on it, and apparently that’s not acceptable to my brain. He/she wants me to long for a question without an answer. A judge without a verdict, forever in purgatory. And that’s shit. I would rather get rejected by an obese whore, than get stuck in Bruges.

“Verbatim” is such a sexy word. Also, that sentence brought a HUGE smile to my face[;] you wrote it the same way that I was thinking about it. As the sentence was processing in my head, I wondered if she actually used those words, because that would impress me, and she didn’t seem like the type that would impress me, blocked eyes and all. Then I read: “that’s not verbatim”, and everything felt normal again. Because I was starting to feel guilty, ashamed even, of judging a book by its cover, but you saved me from Hara-kiri. It’s not easy to find the blade here, and you not only saved me from the pain and the death, but also from [the need] to go shopping for the blade.

Regarding the beautiful comments about me and impressing you, I shall only reply with a shy, and sincere “thank you” : ).

I loved your response. It was like a unique house with undefined hallways and rooms, nothing like I’ve ever seen before, but somehow I felt at home in it. And it was indeed very pretty. I’ve come to a conclusion about you and your writing; your creations are like a beautiful woman without an ounce of makeup. She rolls out of bed and you just get lost in the glow of her skin, purity in her eyes, and the perfectly sad smile on her lips. Mine, on the other hand, still requires a bit of makeup. A dash of eye shadow perhaps? A touch of lipgloss, just to cover up some imperfections and emphasize on the better parts.

I shall purposefully ignore to talk about my family right now, because I just don’t want to think about leaving them. But thank you, once again your words brought comfort to me, and I can’t think of a higher compliment than that.

Peter is really funny and talented…and I’m glad you like him. Also, that video was very funny and also very new to me! Took an hour to load, but funny as hell! And yes, the French Al Pacino steals the entire skit (or sketch?).

I’ll send you a picture of the fridge, I’m telling you, the designer was a fucking moron! And I love the fact that you understand it =) that makes it all better. I know it’s silly, but not everyone would get it.

And you have to try really hard to look like an asshole.

And you’re absolutely correct, what is sane? I don’t even know, but when I read that sentence, I figured somebody was getting ready to read “The Prestige” =).

I’m glad you liked 2 B R 0 2 B. It was an interesting read.

Best penises,
Khalil Al Sam Ra Haveej!
Post Script: The original response was nothing like this. This one is experiencing a “good hair day” and subsequently much better/prettier.”

Rasam 24 December 2010 at 21:37

“=) (that’s a huge smile)

It’s 6:15AM here, and I’ve been up since 4ish…I don’t sleep long here…which isn’t bad…but still…wouldn’t hurt if I got a decent 6 hours…
I’m super glad that you liked The Blind Owl…I really hope that one day you’ll read the original…and love it even more.
And as mentioned before, I can see the comparison with EAP, although I’ve only read a few of his works, the “darkness” is very noticeable. I like Sadegh(q), he was fucked up, in a good way. I think us 3 could’ve been good friends…and maybe then he [would] at least stop his attempts to end his life.
I read 2 B R 0 2 B. Good little short story, google it, it’s free on the net. I’ve read more, but this is the one that comes to mind.

I’m glad you’re done with them ‘zams! Fuck exams!
And also, I feel extra pretty and special that you’re finishing “the guide” for me : P (cool people who grew up with other cool people that read the books can call them “the guide”, but don’t say it too loud in front of Brits…cause you’re not really cool enough yet…especially if I’m not around…you might get you[r] ass kicked…you think the N word is bad…ohh boy…you haven’t a clue! (Love ‘haven’t a clue’…or similar sentences…they annoy me..in a good way))
Great books man! I have a couple that I want to read…but meh…just feeling crazy…

We have the AC on…it’s 25ish…no sign of winter..at all…/sarcasm/ can’t wait to get back to Toronto /endsarcasm/

I’ve got this annoying crush on this annoying girl [censored]…haven’t [censored] 16 years…and she [censored]…and doesn’t even [censored]…but yeah…my mind likes to fuck with me…and she keeps doing cute shit on FB…not for me…but in general…and I suspect that FB knows that [censored], because even though she isn’t really active, I somehow see all her fucking activities on my timeline or whatever…it’s annoying, in a semi-good way.

And [censored] is amazing…silly bitch indeed : P I assume you cave in the pressure from the crossedouteyelady?

I wanted to comment on your wall…fuck you. It’s annoying. But I guess I understand (I don’t, I’m lying).

”Nevertheless” is cool…I guess ESL and MS Word kinda showed me it was one word…but again…I don’t know…maybe my mind is just creating shit in order to impress you…my mind is tricky…

I feel like I should go back and read what I wrote…but that would take away the purity of the content…so I won’t. You’re officially my blog now. I might post this in a week or five. I’m just extra lazy. Yesterday I ended up having a great conversation with myself…after I ended the heated debate, in which I won of course, nobody was really staring at me…which leads me to believe that I wasn’t having it out loud, a new improvement. Should lessen people’s suspicions of my mental health.

I love the concept of improbable Vs. impossible. Always have, and after reading “the guide”…well…you’ll see.
I don’t want to come back. Not because I don’t like Toronto, but because I’ll miss me folks. Meh…

I’m hungry…the fridge here was designed by a fucking moron. It’s too deep and too short…with the freezer on top…it totally discourages me from wanting to open it and find anything to eat, unless it’s on the top shelf, and let me tell you something, I’m sick and tired of mixing milk with butter and cheese…it doesn’t taste good.

Your still very FOB PerSHian friend,
Al Rasam Bin Kharkhaalaash”