Bossy Hell

Well, our story begins with the "humble" person who got a job as a top manager in a chic, ball busting company. In the beginning all was hunky dory. Before long, she mutated into a serpentine creature complete with flat head, flat face and flat breasts! Her tongue forked and she gnashes her pearly whites with relish. Oh yes, she grew an extra limb in the guise of a snivelling yoakle tightly attached by his nose to her bumhole.

How power corrupts...

Case no. 2: Take the head waitress that became the manager. She reigned hell in her department. Her hair piled up into a bun that towered above the clouds and a spare tyre around her waist the same size as her boobs. Yes everybody, Queen Hell resembles the Michelin Man. Complete with breasts. Her ability? To automatically lower the morale of her staff just by being present.

And what about the "simple" man that became the Director? His ego grew as his hair did and soon no cap, hat or building could contain it. The ego I mean. Could it be the witch behind him prodding his prostate forward or just the lure of more cash and power. He screams for attention and lashes out where he wants while sitting on his leather throne.

Power corrupts and turn some people into creatures that should be thrown deep into some dungeon and have the key destroyed... Become the Boss and you can make anybody's life hell. But don't forget: the path is narrow and the slightest wrong step will plunge you down into some abyss lined with sharp spikes and shards of broken curses...

The Case Of Missing

As I pulled on my new sexy t-shirt, I suddenly got thinking...

Really strange how humans are. Give them something and it's never enough. Take for example shopping. How many times have people lusted for the new It bag even though their budget allows only potato crisps and sand for breakfast, lunch and dinner in the next three weeks. No matter that we are dying of starvation, just give us the new handbag. Perhaps the starvation was intentional.

Anyway, enough digression. What the topic is about is missing what we don't have. The ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, ex-wife, ex-lover, ex-cat... The list goes on and on...

Have it, we take it for granted. Not have it and we whinge and howl like a banshee on speed. The reason is we are never thankful or happy with what we have. Those extension freaks, the emasculated men, the freakazoids... Us, me... All have the same thing in common. Just can't appreciate what we have.

Just the other day, I was panting after minor exertion - the reason was an onset of a cold. Yes, health. You have it and you don't think about it like peeing without excruciating pain and blood spurting as a kidney stone tries to find its way out. Or like not missing water until the champagne you were guzzling suddenly made projectile vomitting a sport and your body a desert of dehydration...

Have it, appreciate it; admire it and love it. You might just miss that earlobe you think was too big when it drops off one day.

Now that I rant and rave, I think I shall go online and get some new tops...

Friday Night Blues

Once upon a time, there was a little boy called J. He would travel the world and the seven seas looking for fun. Some would use him, while others abuse him. He would wallow in misery and sorrow but always thought to himself that sweet dreams are made from these experiences. One day his prince will come and sweep him off his feet and they would ride off into the sunset in the prince's Ferrari.

That was twenty years ago and now the little boy is not so little. Yet he still behaves like his shoe size and cycle through use and abuse, Touch n Go etc etc. You know how it goes...

Alienating friends one by one became his professional job. Soon his castle crumbled and he moved from a cardboard box to another. Both physically and mentally... Yet he presevered to look for that elusive thing called love...

If Mother Goose had his way - yes, Mother Goose has to be gay - then J would live happily ever after. But the world is a cruel place and you turn into a bitch. Or else you become the victim of some sad mascara streaked soap opera which in the end devours your soul as well as your wallet.

So J prowled the bars and the clubs on a weekend marathon which starts on a Friday night. Many have observed and noted how sad life is when you are in those shoes that J wears. Well, expired Bata shoes the wrong side of chic IS bad...

Well, so what of J? He still prowls the streets along with the sad desperados looking for L-O-V-E. For now he still have his youthful looks. But how will he compete with those younger, tighter 20-somethings or those ladened-walleted-Botox enhanced hotties? Not much. Especially when all he wants are Ebony Gods with a million and one requirements to fulfil.

The only thing that will happen tonight: sex, sex and maybe no sex. It is a cruel motherf*&%ing world after all. And there are more Js out there than we really know about...

Land Of The Emasculated Men

Somehow, somewhere along the way, men have lost their way. And in the process of losing their way, they lost their gonads as well. Well, it’s so rampant how they do things and not able to deal with the consequences. Oh, yes, what about the way they suddenly pretend that nothing has happened or thinking five million years about buying the new vacuum cleaner or not. Jeeez..!

Take Marlina for example. Stupid girl that she is, started going out with another woman’s man. And what blissful life they had until he suddenly can’t cope any longer and cut her off her oxygen so she slowly dies of suffocation not knowing what is happening. Ok, so he suddenly came to his senses and want to do the right thing. Is the right thing means stringing her along like a puppy stuck to a leash?

No, people! It’s because he had no balls to come outright to the girl and dump her. Yes it may be painful but give her more credit than that! She’ll cope. She’s young, pretty and rich. So go back to your pimply other half and let Marlina get over you and get a better man. If they exist, of course…

And the gay men are the same too.

Look at the case of Paul. Professional philanderer and liar. When he was spurned, to cover his skinny non-existent arse and pass the shame, he bitched and back-stabbed his naïve lover. And what about Jamal – or James as he likes to be known. Acts like a nice guy; says he’s a nice guy; acts all responsible when his gonads had gone out the window with his brains – despite being in the medical profession. “There’s nothing wrong with us”, he said to his about to be dumped lover about his “steady relationship”. Yeah right! That’s why you spent those nights in another person’s home and have your dick in their mouth half of the time?

The exploits these people are of epic proportions. Maybe one day their physical balls will drop off just as their metaphorical ones have…

Vision O' Death

As many of you are aware, there had been an amazingly drastic number of people having delusional episodes. These so called A-listers have probably lost something like 1 kilo and multiplied it by ten at each conversation they have. Why, some even claim that they are on a 500-calorie-a-day diet. What are you? A famine stricken sicko in desperation for attention???

Okay, let's look at scientific proof: at a certain level of caloric intake, the body actually switches to famine mode: low metabolic rate, fat storage etc. Our temples want to keep fat for future use. It will start to devour muscles to sustain survival. And in these people's cases, their brain matter as well.

Back to our story: this so called slim socialite decides to don a backless dress. Someone should arrest her! The mental scars she left some people with are astounding! Her “svelte” figure proudly exhibited Swiss rolls on each side of her waist. Yes darling, you are SO slim, you make Roseanne Barr look anorexic. Try harder. Maybe next time you'll succeed.

Oh yes, the same socialite was seen prancing around in a fantabulous dress in a glam avenue of a mall the other day! Again I implore someone in authority! Arrest her! She’s got crimes against those designers! Not to mention GBH to those poor clothes. Hey! It's clothes abuse and in some countries it is punishable by death!!!!

Thought of the day: Modern medicine is great! But I think some stupid doctor has altered the Prozac dosage for the deluded socialite and made them feel too good about themselves.

Friendly Complaint

So the phone rings. Oops! It was on silent and the call was missed. Well, it's not a perfect world and so sorry that your shallow excuse for a phone call cannot be entertained. The rest of the world has a life to get on with.

Just because you forgot what size of g-string that would not chafe your cellulite challenged butt, then you drop us mere mortals a line? Or to find if that chicken-neck exposing plunging dress is available in any other colour than the puke vomit green print of some leprechaun nightmare? Hello, who picked up your sorry ass when your husband decided to have a woo-woo-ha-ha orgy with the umpteenth teenage jailbait slut that caught his fancy?

HELLO!!! We are not interested!

So when you receive a call from some "friend" that somehow remembered you because their spouse has flown back to some god-forsaken sorry arsed town in somewhere not remotely interesting or that "pal" who suddenly dialed your number because husband #561 has gone back to the lap of his dragon wife; let the call go unanswered.

Don't answer their text either. It's not being bitter or bitchy: it's you standing up for yourself to that poor excuse of a pathetic human being who had ingratiated themselves to your life and subsequently relegated you to some distant galaxy when they have something else to occupy their mouth, tongue and hands.

Unless you have suddenly found yourself marooned on some desert island and being repeatedly raped by a 600-pound native while simultaneously being force fed faeces enriched marijuana broth and making shadow animals with your hands, WE ARE NOT INTERESTED!

Tell them to get themselves a shrink. This shop is closed for refurbishment. No one by the title of "friend-in-need" is welcomed when we reopen. So when they quote that to you, tell them: "Some friends in need are full of shit". And if they try to pawn off some freebie vacuum cleaner, you know where to tell them to stick it up to. Or just don't bother and save some sms money...

Attack Of The Hair 50 Ft Extensions Pt 3

Remember when I said they gained the new ability of altering their walk as soon as they don their crown of glory? Heh heh heh. Apparently, they gained multiple abilities. They truly mutate into some X-Men like character complete with gory scenes!

And how does this come to pass? Why from the Source!

While sipping some calorie-enriched cocktail disguised as some healthy concoction, my partner in crime at that time was prepping up her hair in that tic I told you about. Then she laid the whole portal open. Bared the story open wide!

“Darling! The hair makes you sexy babe. You feel sexy, you look sexy, and you are SEXY! I mean men like it! My husband can’t live without me having them in. When we went to Spain last year, I fell into the sea on one of our champagne trips on his yacht. And the bloody salt in the sea damaged the glue. And tangled my hair. I cried when I had to take them off. I thought I’d rest my scalp and all – like Victoria Beckham. But our sex life suffered!!! Tremendously!

“My hubby likes to run his hands through my hair and he likes me to whip him with it. So I got Fanny to put it back on for me. Within hours I was having the best sex of my life! Hahaha! And to think what these women are missing! I mean, what is more sexy than a woman with sexy hair.”

I rest my case!

Probably the word brains or IQ never entered their minds, right? All those hair extensions tugging at your head probably leeches all the brain power they have. Not that there’s much to begin with. One can only come to this conclusion: Too much hair = too little brain = bored life = let’s bitch about other people; backstab them; listen to some cranky old fag; turn into a makeshift daybed of social cesspit = thinking you have such a sense of style = emotional train wreck masquerading as some high flying socialite.

Antidote: There’s none. These people are beyond help. Cyanide can’t help. They are too well preserved with chemicals, they make Chernobyl look like your neighbourhood playground! All they can do is wait to wither and die. And when they do, they can donate all that hair to the next hapless victim. Jeez!

Zone Of The Freakazoids

Working in such a fab company is so rewarding. But any perfect sculpture or situation would have a flaw: the black sheep of the family; the bad apple in the crate; the sandwich with the least filling; the choc chip cookie with no chip; the Manolo Blahnik stiletto with no heel… The department staff with no soul…

Especially when the skipper of the yacht is as barmy as the one sitting idly in the office grinning like a Cheshire Cat about to suck on a litre of cream straight from the cow's udder. Urggh! Lord help us unfortunate ones whom you have blessed. Maybe we Lesser Gods should not frown in disdain at the lesser insects but we just can’t help it. I mean, is it too much to ask for some semblance of personality???

Working with some va-va-voom people is great. You get to hang with the cool Baileys Cream de la crème. But when you have to deal with some automatons with no obvious design of humanity (we are not aiming high here, okay?), you suddenly come crashing down to earth. Crashing and burning!

What does P&C mean to you? Well, to our Cheshire Cat it probably means Poppy n Cock. That would explain why creatures that have divorced themselves from our company somehow has knowledge of who ate the last piece of cookie in the jar and who was the final person that changed their tampon in the unisex loo. Jeez, thank heavens above the Cheshire Cat was vetted, neutered and sent to the pound for gassing. Good riddance!

Still, it does not explain why there are more than one crawling critter in the department who could stand naked on a pole while being branded and still not attract any passer-by's attention! Is it why they are placed at the far reaches of the office? Well, let's just be thankful that we are spared visions of über-horrendous red shirts and flashes of not so pearly whites in desperate need of a good Chlorox session.

Some of us may be bitchy but we get the work done! And still have time to cartwheel and schmooze in the evenings and break a few hearts in the process. So what is these freakazoids’ excuse???