Wednesday, August 31, 2005

I Jumped Off A Cliff..

There are three things people feel they should do on hearing of a suicide by someone they know. One is to convey the message to everyone who met the guy, even if only briefly. Two is philosophize on existance and the meaning of life. Then three is to compose a 'statement' extoling the diseased person's virtues, in what way the world failed him, and how the world would be a better place if there were more of his type around.

The first point has practical benefits. There is a genuine need for wide transmission of information regarding someone's death. Firstly, everyone must know to conjugate verbs in the past tense with relation to the deceased guy's name. Secondly in money matters, if the deceased owed someone money, it's only right to tell them they're unlikely to ever see that tenner again.

The second point is simply navel gazing, practiced by immature teenagers and grizzly bears who sit in that cute way with their legs stuck out infront.

As for the third point. People who assume such behaviour are either lying, or close to reaching for the razor themselves. A person commits suicide because there is something wrong with them. The signs are there, suicide itself should be notice enough, but no one recognised them in time to stop the act. Now, if some not well understood quirk in a person's character leads to suicide, the best thing would not be to heap praise upon them, and hold that person's life up as a great example of what is true happiness, kindess, being charitable or anything other trite shite. The only example this guy's life exemplifies is the 'how to be someone who successfully commits suicide' example. That is a life deserving neither promotion nor emulation. Like I say, people guilty of point number three are either stupid enough to mean what they say, in which case they'll be taking a lukewarm bath some everning soon, or they are lying.

If like me you value being alive, you would no doubt class the suicide commiter among those 'people to avoid'. Now if I were to find someone at my house who thought we should all be like that guy I would make my excuses, and hastily put all sharp objects out of harms way.

I jumped off a cliff to get a woman to sleep with me!

Monday, August 29, 2005

I Offer Only The Finest Pork Pies..

Women can be so competitive.

I mention german cars once and now she's got some huge nest egg left by her father.

My lovely Ullia does write such excrutiatingly long e-mails. This time I was forced to be quite violent with editing. The original was close to four times what you see below.

My Darling ,
.....I am more than happy in your reply to my mail. Mine is a little bit hot over here in Dakar Senegal
..... all our relatives ranaway in the middle of the war the only person we have now is Rev.Emmanuel George ..... he has been very nice to me since i came here but i am not living with him ....
.....I want to go back to my studies because i only attended my first year before the traggic incident ..... i have my late father's statement of account and death certificate here with me .... in a leading bank in Europe .... the amount in question is $9.7M(Nine Million seven Hundred Thousand Dollars)...... I kept this secret to people in the camp here the only person that knowsabout it is the Revrend because he is like a father to me.
.... Awaiting to hear from you soonest.
Yours in loveforever,
Miss Ullia,


I shall not me outdone by a bloody refugee.

Ullia,

I am glad to hear the weather has warmed since last time we talked of marriage to a third world girl is my dream but you are too rich for me money is no object while my parents are alive and paying for everything you need I have a modest inheritance of several small to medium sized oil fields.

Richard M Suave Esq.


I offer only the finest pork pies to get a woman to sleep with me!

Saturday, August 27, 2005

I Was A Fan Of Jackanory..

Heard this one before?

Japanese people have this superstition about bad spirits and keeping them out the house. Spirits over there don't haunt one single house, they're too jumpy, but if given the chance will stay a short time causing bad luck for the family. Beacuse of this, all Japanese houses have wooden storm shutters fitted as well as windows. At night they're closed to make sure no bad spirits get into the house while everybody's sleeping.

There're an old wives tale that says if all the doors and windows of the house are opened then closed, when you go to shut the last door you will feel the spirits darting past you, afraid of being locked up in the house for good.

Now, in Northern Japan lived a girl named Yuko. One day she decided to test out the story about the spirits and the house. On a saturday afternoon she went around opening all the doors and windows, waited a couple of hours to let the spirits find their way inside, then quickly ran through the house shutting everything up again. She ran around to the front and was about to push the last door closed... when something suddenly grasped her by the leg. She froze there, with her hand on the front door. Looking down, there was the half torso of an old man spralled at her feet, one of it's hands wound tightly around her ankle.

It's eyes staried up at her, and it's mouth opened and closed, making desperate gasps for air.

"Grghaaance, grghaaance!". It said, looking up at Yuko like it was imploring of her.

Yuko panicked, she screamed out loud, let go of the door and ran away blindly as fast as she could.

Later in the day she came back to the house, her mother was already home and had come back from shopping to hind the house empty and the front door wide open. Yuko couldn't bring herself to explain what had happened so she apologized and quickly ran up to her room.

That evening at dinner there was news of the family. Yuko's great uncle, a man of eighty two who lived far across Japan, was dying and not expected to last the night.

Yuko realised, it must have been his spirit she saw that afternoon. She tried to remember what had happened, what the old man had been trying to tell her.

"Grghaaance, grghaaance!". It sounded like "Dance, dance!". As a small girl Yuko had taken ballet lessons. She had vague memories of family get-togethers with eveyone crowded into a small room while she performed, her great uncle playing the piano.

That night, while Yuko lay half asleep inside her futon she felt something grab her left ankle, and heard that rasping voice again, the voice of an old man desperate and fraught.

"Grghaaance, grghaaange!"

This time Yuko didn't panic, she managed to stay somewhat calm speak to the man.

"Uncle, I can't dance for you. I stopped taking lessons a long time ago."

But the hold on Yuko's ankle didn't slacken, nor did the voice stop repeating it's request. Instead, the old man started dragging himself across the tatami floor, closer to Yuko's face.

"Grhaaance, grghaaange!"

Too scared to get up and run for help, Yuko was frozen in place.

It was then she heard it, what the old man was trying to say. It had been difficult to make out but now she could hear it almost clearly, he was saying "Change, change".

The old man wasn't asking her to dance for him, he was asking her to change with him, to take his place in the next world.

Yuko lay still out of fear as the voice came closer and closer "Chaange, chaange!"

I was a fan of jackanory to get a woman to sleep with me!

I Appreciate Jazz Fusion..

Things seem to be developing nicely.

She included a photo this time though as a gentleman and to protect her modesty I shall refrain from posting it.

Actually she goes on a bit so I've cut it down to the interesting parts.

Sender : ullia <######@yahoo.co.in>
Received: 2005/08/26 10:49:19
To : suave richard
Subject : here is my picture.
Attached file :  ullia.jpg (0.04 MB)

dear
I am more than happy in your urgent reply to my mail.
How was your day? mine was cool over here .... presently iam residing with in the refugee camp here in Dakar Senegal, as a result of the civil war going on in my country.
My late father.... was the personal advicer to the former head of state before the rebels attacked my house one early morning killing my mother and my father.....
I would like to know more about you.Your likes and dislikes, as i love cooking, handball reading,etc. i don't like dishonest person.
..... I will tell more about myself in my next mail, Hoping to hear from you soonest.
Ullia


I feel a little sorry about not showing the photo, let's just say she's doing fantastically well for a refugee.

My reply;

Sweetcakes,

Oh I was so happy to receive your photograph yesterday I almost crashed my father's BMW into a fashion boutique of designer clothes must be hard to come by my place sometime it's summer where I live thank god for air conditioning and my parent's swimming pool together resources to get yourself out of that horrible place for god's sake how can you have internet access living in a refugee camp it's the third world nationality is a quality I've always asked for in a future wife should be a good cook and experienced in bed though not too experienced if you know what I mean the opposite of what I say on occasion but not in a dishonest way so people say there's nothing like the cool sharp taste of iced daiquiris on a beach in Dubai lying next to one's own sleeping beauty is my favorite Sun Ra recording far superior to most new-age Jazz of recent decades your country has become a terrible mess since the white man left you have a great set of melons are a wonderful fruit and vegetables at my local supermarket are just terrible about the death of your family but quite common in that part of the world good clean mineral water must be a bugger of a thing to come by my condolences.

Lovingly yours kisses care taking hugs and hearts xxx

Richard M Suave Esq.


It's always a good idea to mention one's expensive lifestyle when conducting long-distance courting. It keeps the girl interested and by the time she finds out she's already in the country on a dependents visa.

I appreciate jazz fusion to get a woman to sleep with me!

Friday, August 26, 2005

My Favourite Animal Is The Hyy Ztrezhrtezt..

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

First message received after putting profile up on a singles site;

Message received on 8/26/2005 6:27:00 AM

cherry hello
i am miss ullia i saw your profile at ########.com today after going through it i think that you are the type of person i am looking for so i will like you to mail me back through my mailing address thus; #######@yahoo.co.in, thanks i am awaiting for your soonest respon.


Her profile lists these as her 'favorites';

Favorite Music; Jazz
Favorite Band; tgtrgea
Movie; fhaj yt
Actor; juyer hafetzyr
Animal; hyy ztrezhrtezt
Hero; itriu jt
Place; z tryt"駻

All very exotic, and surprisingly we share a number of things in common.

Anyway desperate times... my reply;

Ullia,

Your name is pretty because it sounds like my favorite part of a woman are unreliable creatures though I expect different from you are from Senegal which is in Africa where I've never been to tell you the truth I'm looking for a wife someone like you maybe but a little taller but that doesn't matter so long as your face is pretty girls always turn on you look good in heels what about in profile or reflected in the ceiling mirror of a japanese love hotel every chance I get when I come here to stay for just one day we should meet and talk through your interests are so interesting people make interesting partners don't you think your profile is difficult to make out please attach a photograph to this mail handed to us while while sit on a beach in Dubai sipping daiquiris together hand in hand under the blue note was one of Miles' strongest recordings in my opinion have you heard of frotting before we meet better tell me do you prefer your men cut or with foreskin?

Richard M Suave Esq.


Fingers crossed.

My favourite animal is the Hyy Ztrezhrtezt to get a woman to sleep with me!

Thursday, August 25, 2005

I Prejudice No Single Religion..

In 9th century Spain Muslims worshipped grandly in large comfy Mosques while Christians were persecuted and their faith regarded as mortal blasphemy. In protest many Christians decided it would be quite amusing to stand in a public space and bray to God at the top of their lungs. The Muslim police people didn't see the joke, and the Christians were promptly dragged to a room of Very Large Knives.

Today people change religion much as they open a newspaper subscription. It's difficult to imagine a time when the things you believe in can mean the difference between life and Death by Very Large Knives.

Perhaps those guys were unimformed as to the Muslim faith? With hindsight I'm sure the 9th century Christians would have gladly, in Eulogius' words "spurned the holy Trinity and joined the perverse sect", if they knew about the virgins.

My guess is the Muslims of 9th century Spain weren't shouting it from the rooftops. Though quite the genius move for a religion, there is always the problem of advertising that is too successful. The facilities of paradise would be simply overwhelmed.

I prejudice no single religion to get a woman to sleep with me!

I Died For My Beliefs..

Islam and Christianity are assemblies of jaded public school boys, and Martyrdom is their blood sport.

Christians were bound to have the edge. They turned up just as Islam was entering full conquer 'n' convert mode, and their laws against blasphemy were without fail severely executed.

Romans also were not too fond of the "renegade Jews". Jesus Christ is notorious for being the first Martyr of Christianity, quickly followed by his closest friends and followers the apostles; Paul, Philip, Mathew, James the Great (re: concerning greatness in deed and action), Mark, Andrew, Chad, James the Less (re: concerning tiny penis), Jude, Bartholomew, John, etc. etc.

At the time, Christians were either to be crucified in the same manner as Roman political prosoners or eaten by lions as a circus spectacle. What if JC should have died through bowel dislodgement by angry quadrupeds? Would the cross be replaced with stylish animal print? Would there be far fewer cat blogs today? Just how far can one man carry a lion?

History is littered with the severed body parts of neophytes.

I died for my beliefs to get a woman to sleep with me!

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

I Wish It Were So Simple..

The conversations offered by listening comprehension exercises in language textbooks sparkle with wit and nuanced degrees of signification;

Man - I received a ticket for the film 'Part 2' tonight. Would you like to see it?
Woman - I really do want to see it, 'Part 1' was incredibly interesting.
Man - Oh, I haven't seen Part 1 yet..
Woman - But I've got it at home on video.
Man - Yes really?
Woman - Why don't we go to my house now and watch Part 1 on video? I would like to see it again.
Man - Ok, we can use this (ticket) next week on wednesday.

Q. What do the Man and Woman plan to do next? Do they;
1. Go to the cinema to see film Part 2
2. Go to the Woman's house to see film Part 1 on video
3. Decide to go to the cinema next week
4. Go to the Woman's house to see film Part 2 on video
5. With the pretence of watching a video, go to the Woamn's house and shag.

Correct answer; 2.
Bonus marks for making the examiner laugh; None (examiners are clinically diagnosed braindead, no points on offer)

I wish it were so simple to get a woman to sleep with me!

I Never Forget My Earplugs..

In language learning there are three stages of progression; infantalism, adolescence, and near-fluency.

To the native speaker listening to the newly arrived Korean exchange student stuttering out their first sentences of Japanese is as interesting as a spoilt shit of a kid and his new plastic-moulded toycock.

On the one hand an exchange student and loud-mouthed runt both have the rhetorical skills of a children's TV presenter, while on the other hand both Korean bimbos and shit-stained kids burst onto tears, or start throwing personal effects on the merest provocation.

Listening to Korean exchange students is actually worse though. While you can always thump a kid, thumping a Korean exchange student can result in unwelcome repercussions.

Second language learners should heed the terribly practical advice once offered by my primary school teacher Ms. Trentworthy and "just shut up".

I never forget my earplugs to get a woman to sleep with me!

Saturday, August 20, 2005

I Attend Church Religiously..

Follow-up mail to previous, sent August 20th.

Dear Bsafe,

I still need your reply to my enquiry for information regarding your internet filter. 

My three blue-eyed children of God await sanction to commence research for their Sunday School projects on the story of Christ. I seek assurance your software would not lead my ayrian angels astray to Muslimad or Israelite sites where His story is falsely represented.

Richard Suave,
NC

ps, Tardiness is not a virtue


I attend church religiously to get a woman to sleep with me!

I Leave Contraception To The Sinners..

Americans should be aware, their constitution is quiet on the separation of Church and Internet.

Sent August 7th

Dear Bsafe,

I am a parent who seeks to raise good, pious children.  I allow them access to all the technology He has placed in our hands, only if young minds may stay unpolluted of the immoral ways of non-believers.

I respect the American Family Assoication and what it's doing for us Christians. On their recommendation I consider use of your internet filter.   My only worry is whether you can prevent my young from viewing sites advertising for the missguided, and their fellacious 'religions'.  I talk of Judaism, Islamisticisim, Hinduism and Astrologism.

In real terms, how does your software guard my young from the Mohammedists?

Can they really 'Bsafe'?

May God ride with you,

Richard Suave,
NC


No reply.

I leave contraception to the sinners to get a woman to sleep with me!

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

I Pay Attention To A Frenchman..

The continuing sagas of Roger Caillois and his empty bed.

Someape commented that as a teacher Roger would have access to a multitude of young impressionable girls, and contrary to my conclusion probably did get some. Certainly, except he taught at a University, ergo he dealt overwhelmingly with young impressionable boys.

So his bed stands empty. (assuming certain conditions)

It's well known that games are won by the better players, or 'the winners'. Contrary to some belief systems, the winner is not the person who is best prepared, or has worked the hardest, or followed most piously in the footsteps of Christ, or has the most 'common sense'.

Common sense? Common sense my arse.

Common sense says "don't do anything you may regret at some point in the future". Uncommon sense says "don't get caught".

Common sense says "we don't *really* need cars, mobile phones, TVs, international banking, coronation street, or icecream".

Uncommon sense says "I'll have it, on the 849 month payment plan, with 14 inch spinners and those lights that make it look like you're driving a UFO".

Anyway, Roger was clever. He recognised the weight lies not with the 'rules of the game' but with the 'roles of the play'. For example, my Dad is a football referee. When someone's cheek gets studded off of their face, his job is not to refer the offending player to a clause in the FIFA regulations. No, his job is to wave a piece of red card and shout "Get off the ****ing field mate!!".

The roles do the work, while the rules are lazy cunts. Roger identified these roles of play, and I'm quite certain that to better understand these roles is to better understand how to get a woman to sleep with me.

The next post will examine the roles.

I pay attention to a Frenchman to get a woman to sleep with me!

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

I Drop Social Science..

Alive, Roger Caillois would be 82 years, 5 months and 13 days old today. In honour of this occassion, I intend a radical reinterpretation of the man's legacy.

Roger wrote the book "Man, Play and Games". In it he defines play, it's roles, and occurrences in everyday life. His catch-all definition reads, "an occassion of pure waste: waste of time, energy, ingenuity, skill, and often money."

Now consider these phrases; to woo, pay court to, chase after, seek the hand of, set one's cap at, cop a feel, tag a tug. They are all common descriptives for the pursuit of carnal relations. Now look a little closer at those verbs; pay/seek/chase/cop/tag. They are equally the language of the player and the Romeo, as the gambler and the hopscotcher.

Though his written work does not explicitly link male-female relations to play, the signs are there. Firstly, Roger was an academic, a species infamous for it's social incompetance. Secondly, Roger was openly French - to describe something as healthy as play to be a 'waste of time' is just typical of the tediously solemn and cheerless countenance adopted by his puckered-lip breed.

Thus, by assumption, we deduce Roger's rejection by women on a fairly regular basis.

Now, take another look at his definition of play; "an occassion of pure waste: waste of time, energy, ingenuity, skill, and often money." Oh the little soft cheese, are we frustrated? Are we feeling a lack of le ooh la la?? Are you all alone in your Chateaux, drinking Bordeaux, browsing Rousseau, quaffing Brie de Meaux???

Thus, by deduction, we assume Roger's rejection by women on a fairly regular basis.

The next post will interpret the four roles Roger identified in play; competition, chance, simulation and vertigo - in terms of trying to get a woman to sleep with me.

I drop social science to get a woman to sleep with me!

Sunday, August 14, 2005

I Am Well On The Way..

I realize the only truly consistant person is a corpse, yet self-contradictory people still manage to really get under my skin.

I know this guy who's attending a Japanese language school in Tokyo. We don't happen into conversation very regularly, but whenever we do he's complaining about members of the class. I though for a moment it could be to do with 90% of them being Korean, but it's probably more to do with 100% of them being students.

Anyway, there's one girl whose come to feature heavily in his diatribes. Last week for example when a teacher came in to start class, the girl raised her voice to finish a conversation in Korean with her mate who was sat just beside her. He calls this kind of thing 'bitchy criticism', and it's frequent displays are what really piss my friend off.

And yet, he spends the entirety of our conversation bitching on everybody in his class.

Sometimes I feel he's one of the 'people to avoid'. Yet in sitting through his prattle I'm probably learning something very important.

Don't look no fool.

I am well on the way to get a woman to sleep with me!

Saturday, August 13, 2005

I Will Admit To Crying At A Cartoon..

When you think of cartoon movies you think of bright colours, big eyes, anthropomorphic objects that speak with amusing accents, franchising, and maybe a little singing and dancing.

What you don't expect is film's first spoken line to be, "In 1946, on the 20th of October, I died."

That line was delivered dead-pan by the ghost of a 14 year old boy. He'd just died of malnutrition whilst slumped against a pillar in a train station. The ghost of the boy then exited the station to join the ghost of his four year old sister waiting outside, also once dead of malnutrition. The film then continues on to recount their story. That is, the story of two children as they starve to death.

There are a few minutes of light relief at the beginning while the children are with their mother. The sun shines, the children laugh, the weather is fair and the washing is out to dry. This idyllic imagery is soon disturbed though, due to total destruction of the city by fire bombing.

While the city and the city's people burn, the children are separated from the mother. Soon after the city turns to blackened ashe, the boy returns to his local school turned medical shelter. He finds his mother's body, wrapped in blood-stained bandages, maggots infesting her dead flesh, piercing screams of pain echoing through the corridors.

This is not all to say images of happiness were entirely absent from the film. Before succumbing to malnutrition, the little girl is a delightfully energetic, fun-filled character. Pulling faces at her older bother, playing games, experiencing the world around her with an innocent, bright-eyed wonder.

Indeed her playful frolicking is only marginally off-set by one's knowledge of her imminent death.

The film was recommended to me by a female friend. Said it's one of her favorites the depressing cow.

I will admit to crying at a cartoon to get a woman to sleep with me!

Friday, August 12, 2005

I Would Fly 4000 Miles..

This friday night I was reminded of a wonderful girl, a truly amazing human being, who I once managed to get to sleep with me. I was different back then. No sunglasses on me head, no obsessing over getting a women to sleep with me, and my name wasn't Richard Suave.

We spent a week together, now live 4000 miles apart.

We still keep in touch, though not enough to prevent 'the drift'. I've met other friends after long absences and, let's face it, with age comes a certain kind of uniquely adult stubbornness. As you learn to value yourself over others, conditions for admittance to the V.I.P. register - those allowed access to your time and company - narrow considerably.

I recently lost an old friend in just such a situation. When I say lost, I mean cut all communication. In two years absence they'd turned from a sympathetic ear to a control freak. What's more, they'd say "I'm a complete control freak", whilst being a complete control freak - an action which in itself must be the height of control freakery.

Anyway, I'm always hoping something similar doesn't happen to me, that the reason the woman slept with me, that part of my person she particularly liked hasn't changed, sublimated over the years.

I would fly 4000 miles to get a woman to sleep with me!

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

I Shall Continue Autistically On..

I am no psychologist but are all men born autistic? Or is it merely a survival instinct responsed by woman's obvious social superiority?

It probably explains why emotionally sensitive men turn gay, they understand at least a little of what woman are really capable of.

The sure sign of autism in a man, is his high esteem for the ability to consume large volumes of alcohol. In many societies today acceptance to the peer group is less about class, than Bass. Less your income bracket, than the number of shots held before hospitalisation.

Men are mistaken, for in the modern world real prowess come with social competency.

Social competency can be sperated into;
Gossip skills (locating, and being critical of a person's distinguishing features)
Colour coordinate skills (a good dresser and stylist)
Eye of the tiger skills (learning to spot the kill opportunity)
Rhetorical skills (not necessarily in vocabulary, but in the sheer breath of emotions at one's disposal)
Shopping skills (capitalist societies exist for the consumer)
Social control skills (gained through the continuous honing of rhetorical skills, measured on a sliding scale of property gathered; Hermes > Gucchi > Vuitton)
Memory recall skills (in coordination with eye of the tiger skills, clarity in recalling a person's speech and actions for profitable use against them in future)

Feminism claimed women should cast away all the above skills in favour of drinking games, butchery and general unsightliness.

Now, in proportion to their snub of feminism, Japanese and continental European woman are generally considered the most stylish, and socially affective women on the planet.

I shall continue autistically on to get a woman to sleep with me!

Monday, August 08, 2005

I Know Knights In Shining Armour Won't Help..

I was listening to the Japanese version of Open University. Apparently before we can start to look at History we must "Take off our coloured glasses".

But seeing without "the coloured glasses" is plainly ridiculous. In taking them off, you loose one of the most important weapons in your social arsenal; the ability to identify stupid people and avoid them, plus the connected ability to not become one of the stupid.

A Historian with 'clear sight' studies the middle ages. He becomes more and more interested in the movements and everyday lives of Gaul fighting men. He gathers some likeminded Historian friends together and founds a Historical Re-Creational Combat group. They then spend afternoons parading solemnly through muddy fields, replicating some of the most wearisome and unimaginative events to have occured in the history of men.

It's like fancy dress, but without the humour or irony.

Now, someone with their "coloured glasses" firmly on, would no doubt have spent those afternoons shopping for clothes that were less antiquarian, less embarrassing, more fashionable.

I say to the man on the radio, "Put down the sword, and bear thy tinted spectacles".

I know knights in shining armour won't help to get a woman to sleep with me!

Saturday, August 06, 2005

I Would Not Ask A Political Scientist..

Apparently "Political Science" is a highly regarded University degree.

Years ago I held the belief that 'those who say one thing and think the opposite' were probably lying, or committing some kind of sin.

Whenever someone committed this sin adolescent frustration would well up inside me. On occasion I would call them out, or label them a hypocrite.

How I became such a zealot can be found in my choice of A-Levels.

Scientists are trained to notice only the absolutely obvious. Looking 'below the surface' is not in their vocabulary. If the surface is constructed of an opaque material, it's underside is unobservable and can be assumed as nonexistant. This is the principle of science, and such was my understanding of people and their actions.

I never considered the actions were the result of unseen impulses. Why complement someone when they look like a dog? Because they are a fabulously wealthy dog. This idea, the basis for understanding social interactions, can be summed up by the word 'politics'.

Political Scientists must be very confused and oxymoronic people. I admit to have never knowlingly come across a specimen, but shall be on the lookout from now on.

I would not ask a Political Scientist to get a woman to sleep with me!

Friday, August 05, 2005

I Am Yet To Pay Money..

In a local rag I read of a crackdown on the red light district of Skinjuku. The police were forced into action after complaints made by influencial residents of the notorious entertainment district. It was claimed the women crowding Skinjuku's streets and alleys were an eyesore, and firm steps needed to be taken so as to prevent the recent downturn in business.

The police moved in large numbers, taking upwards of 200 illegal workers into detention. Each arrestee faces almost certain deportation. Passing through Skinjuku yesterday just one month after the event, I could see the how successful the Police had been in their operation.

In my opinion, not one of the girls who propositioned me for 'anaru' looked a day over twenty-five.

I am yet to pay money to get a woman to sleep with me!

Thursday, August 04, 2005

I Am A Meg Ryan Of Romantic Comedy..

Self-promotion is the twentieth century's answer to pheremones.

It's usually best to describe yourself before someone else does it for you. A naturalized Japanese friend has the name 'Bunka Chou'. Since a few weeks ago her colleagues at work started calling her 'Chewbaka'.

Being a quiet girl, Bunka's got few defences against the agressive branding strategies of her work mates. To prevent similar situations, here are a few name-brands I'm offering as self-mediators. Use at your own discretion.

A Hugh Heffner of naughtiness
A Bikini Atoll of explosive action
A Sub Sahara of tragic endings
An Aussie Drama of memorable episodes
A Mick Jagger of casual affairs
A George Micheal of toilet humour
A 1960s of great hairdos
A 1980s of great hair don'ts
A Lebanese Nightclub of smoke and mirrors
A Balinese Nightclub of smoke and mirrors
A Centre Court of cut and runs

I am a Meg Ryan of romantic comedy to get a woman to sleep with me!

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

I Am On A Flight Of Fancy..

According to the lessons learnt by history, all my great great grandchildren will own one or more Gulfstream Jets.

For hundreds of years only the Kings and merchant men of relatively advanced civilisations could afford private means for ground travel. Since the middle of the last century, this priviledge is now in the hands of virtually everybody on earth*.

With such great leaps in technology and scales of economy occuring in the last century, private means of air travel have become commonplace among Democratic leaders, their Generals, and rich merchant men.

I fully expect the children of my children's children to live in an age where single-seat pilot jets are, like the car, 'proletarianized'.

Neighbourhoods will be pockmarked with aircraft hangers and landing strips, town mayors will introduce 'land and ride' schemes to cut down on air congestion in urban centres, and the price of kerosene will replace the price of petrol as the common man's economic indicator of an era.

*Not including citizens of bread baskets or highly efficiently failed communist states.

I am on a flight of fancy to get a woman to sleep with me!