Keiko, The Pale and Warty Truth

Ah, the cold, dreary, oh-so-long and miserable days of February.

I want a vacation, I need a vacation, but none on the horizon. So, instead of leaving a 'gone fishin' sign here as i hasten to the sunny horizon, a rant.

Well a mini-rant. See above. Why nature rolled the dice and wound me up in the frozen north rather than some sun-blessed beach on warmer shores, nestled between the sweet, ample bosom of a honey-kissed lovely is beyond me. I must have been some serial rapist in a past life to deserve this Siberian Gulag of an existance. If buddha is to be trusted, as much as a balding fat guy with a penchant for yoga and loose-fitting robes could be, what I reap in this life is directly related to my performance last time 'round. Next life, I'm sure my fitting will be for a banana slug pullover.

Did you see this? Sad. Keiko's website, wherein white dudes can traipse down to Tokyo, violate her, and get free room and board... all for english lessons! But, it's a hoax... pics stolen from here, Jenny Cheung's site. she even blogs about it... phew!

However, this prank is rooted in a horrible reality. Japanese women have this thing for whitey that goes beyond ridiculous. If you are white, you could look like gilbert gottfried, have four teeth and lice the size of kittens... and you'd still be able to land a hottie. Proof... sad proof. Whiteys all look like Brad Pitt to them. Might be the fact that they ABSOLUTELY EAT UP all of the western advertising and propoganda, creating an inferiority complex in the face of the white west. To be with a white, no matter how gangly or uncouth, is to be white. Here's an insight.

I want to start a campaign in Japan to create awareness that their pasty white english-teaching pud-suckers are all in town BECAUSE NOBODY WILL TOUCH THEIR WARTY ASSES WHERE THEY COME FROM!

User Group? I heardly knew 'er!

I just do not bloody get it anymore.

We have an internal mail system here at my company, and it is utilized by the entire staff, most of which I assume have had some sort of sympathetic rearing and at least a cursory tryst within a hall of greater learning.

However, on a daily basis I am stunned and horrified at the moronic sniping, puerile commentary and incessant back-and-forth detail-shagging and finger pointing. At the use of administration mail groups to expose idiocy within another department in amanner most infantile. People sending 7 meg image attachments of Bill in accounting’s head photoshopped poorly over a snapshot of a flatulent donkey. Spelling that looks as if one simply mashed the keyboard with one’s forehead in a fit if rage. Bloody hell, I’ve a mind to replace the cola vending machine with a diaper dispenser, and initiating time-outs and nappy time.

Slagging.
Sniping.
Posturing.
Off-color humor.
Pictures of bloody cats, kids, cuteness.
Excuses.
Bitching.

Bloody hell. i’d rather mediate a schoolyard, or herd cats. It’s gotta be easier.

Seems that the info age, the facelessness of technology, gives every basement-dweller the opportunity to be Captain Nutsack of the Hairy Beanbag Battalion. Tough guys, hm? Demi-gods? In person, they wouldn’t budge if I let fly and pissed in their lap, all the while massaging melted butter into their scalp.

Beh.

Of Sonnets and Solitude.

interesting, sometimes, this:
Valentine's day coming up? Right? Yes? Okay.

I'm getting a little weary of the whole set-up thing. At first, a bit of a rush as you feel you are doing your cherubic best at cupid's bidding, but that wears on fast, and then you see what the situation is truly meant to do, decimate your hope for humanity.

I brunged two peeps together many moons ago, and recently I enquired as to how it was going. So, naturally, I asked the little miss, protocol in situations such as these. But, I was met with a situation I find almost consistent in situations such as these.

She clams up if she likes someone, like she's trying to hide a coke habit. Short, terse responses, and immediate deflections.

As in:

"hey, ...you get so-and-so's message?"

"um, yea- hey, are you still a drunk?"

Alas, broken be my heart. An honest and heart-felt query, met with the bedside manner of a KGB spook.
And, why do Valentine sonnets read aloud like Pirate banter? See for your damn self, I'm busy sulking. Alone.

Blog Monkey back in "da house"

well, bloody hell.

Back after a layoff. Looks like only the ad bastards are interested these days, but I'll show those dangling dew-sacs. No retorts or trips to their penile-enhancing climes. I'm staying put for now, and kindly piss off, you and the horse on which you came.

Now, do I stick about? Perhaps I'll whine about my chosen profession a wee bit... I'm sure that these forums have never been utilized as such. Razing new paths, I am, and looking quite dashing for measure, hm?