Drama With A Megaphone

Chapter 9.

The Subconscious Pressures

I was reading through my previous posts. My apologies for some of the crap I've written. I realised I had mentioned missing a girlfriend too forceably over the past 4 or 5 entries. I don't do that, really. In fact some of the people I've most despised in my life have been couples who are always loud and obvious about their stupid relationships.

I was in Lecole once. Long ago. Don't think I went to a very many number of classes. There was a couple there, much like the AFOREMENTIONED! Can't remember their names, but that's partly because I'm bad with names, and partly because I didn't really care, and just perhaps partly again because when either one wasn't with the other, nobody knew who they were.

The sad thing is that I think they WANTED it that way.

I remember looking behind me in the cafeteria once, because, as usual, they were being obnoxious and their level of volume was spilling onto the table I was sitting on with my friends. Problem here is that these were the two loudest people in the Lecole cafe, and they were the ONLY ones who knew what the hell they were talking about. It was'nt even like, "So, 9-11 huh? How about THAT fucker?", no. She'd go on about why he didn't call or some trivial shit...an ANT tackles harder issues in a day. He'd reply with anything as long as it included some sort of compliment because neither of them were too smart to hold a decent arguement. Of course I looked at them calmly and said,"Guys? No one cares. I mean REALLY dude, they don't." The AUDACITY of the couple when they told me to mind my own business, asking why people have to interfere with their incredibly loud and in your face relationship. In that moment, I was the most confused I have been in a while. I imagined the guy standing with a dick coming out of his forehead, going "What? Why are you all looking at me? Mind your own business!" I mean hey buddy, YOU'RE the one with a dick coming out of his forehead. If you don't want people to look at you, stay indoors.

If you don't want people to talk back, speak a little softly, you attention loving, hopeful would be movie stars.

Ahh I don't hate 'em. I don't care if people lie those around em'. Most of the time I'm such an asshole that it's probably not going to affect my life in any significant way if they do, so, I kinda roll with it. I just hate it when they lie to themselves is all. It bothers me to see people struggling and taking so much pressure from these idiotic social beliefs revolving around relationships.
But, sad as it is, I succumbed to it for a while. I broke to the subconscious pressures of young adulthood and reacted in a way that immature and uneducated people do. I really should start reading some more. I AM of course making it a point to educate myself, even if it is a little slowly. But I feel really dumb sometimes. Honestly, I was on this last line for the last twenty minutes. And yet nothing to follow with. They say THIS is when you break out into an impression of any sort, to direct the panic away from your mind...

Leprechaun: We beatcha we dud sur! We shorely did beatcha in thaht lettil craycket gamm didn't we?

We lost to Ireland. Bob Woolmer died. If I can arrange for us to lose against Japan, can Inzamam -ul - Haq atleast retire? Is it that we HAVE no more PEOPLE? Is THIS what is happening? Is no one PLAYING the fucking thing on a professional level in this country? Where is the new blood? Where is the new soul, free of the advertising corruption that stole our players passion and pride, their love for the game, the temptation that bathed and shaved Yunis Khan and put him in a suit? The one that made Kamran Akmal give his teammates a very homosexual look while drinking a bottle of Pepsi. The kind that has become Shoiab Akhtar's primary source of income since he's blown all his DESERVED earnings on booze and whores. Sometimes I feel only ONE man walked out of all this with a win.

Recorded call: Woolmer, it's the agency. The funds from your contract with Pakistan have been deposited in that shady little bank in midtown Prague. Your body double is ready, and your plane leaves at exactly 0400 hours. The mission is a success, Pakistan has actually become so bad, even the clover chewin Irish beat them. Pardon the language. Your family will be informed of your condition a week after the funeral, just for laughs. They will, at this time, be allowed to speak with you over a secure line, before we move them to your new decided home. We will contact you at the agreed time later this month. And before you ask about your girlfriend, relax, it's taken care of. We AAAALLLLLLL know you're a couple alright? No need to be a drama with a megaphone like those kids in Lecole, who's his name and what's her tits. Good luck, and enjoy Prague, Bob. ------------End Transript----------

Children.

And it's the WORST when it's strangers too! You ever gone to a beach gathering...some 3 people you've decided to call friends, and the rest a nut bunch of loons that hate each others guts but smile and do each other favours as long as it doesn't involve having to TALK to one another? I met two people like that once. Clearly the dude had this girl's love when he kicked back into his chair, held his arms open and demanded, "Come here." to his woman.

Alas, the chick didn't even hear him as she walked out the door silently. A girl who, ironically, referred to her boyfriend not by his first name, but as 'HER BOYFRIEND', in those cute little stories where they both think their match was made in heaven since ALL THE SIGNS were pointing to their true love. And they'll always give you all sorts of open ended GENERALISED fucking examples of UNCANNILY coincidental signs from karma.

X: It's wierd guys, but one day, I broke my leg...and a chair in her room broke it's leg as well.

Y: HE'S RIGHT! AHAAA HA HA! AHA! AHA HA HA! I'M CUTE AND TAKEN!

It's like they find anything they can, really.

Lodhi: So, how about that other coincidence where you have a brain small enough to flush down a toilet and he's a shithead? Like, WEIRD huh?

Nobody remembers the good lines. But that's a kind of people I guess. People who are unaware of the real purpose of love or loving. The little things perhaps they say COUNT. People who are insecure about who and what they are, and so they find, or TRY to find the answer in the arms of someone else. And when they do, before you realise it, you're sitting in a friends room trying to roll a joint while he keeps throwing empty birth control and condom packets at you going, "A picture speaks a THOUSAND WORDS...COME ON!!"

I find things like that strange, the way I see people act sometimes. I'm guessing everyone does it. I'm not very crafty in all the wrong places though.

And that's convenient too, yea? A picture speaks a 1000 words. According to this theory, all I have to do is get a packet of condoms and some surgical gloves, and throw them around the floor after dipping them in some sort of foul smelling liquid, and I've had sex minutes before my friends come over. The surgical gloves would of course be for added effect. My friends know that sometimes, I just like it FREAKAAY.

"What's that?...What?...Where IS she? Oh, she JUST left dude...No really BUS ABHI ABHI! Didn't you see her on your way up? I'm NOT LYING MAN!!! I JUST HAD SEX WITH JENNY MCCARTHY! I HAVE PROOF!!"

This is when you reveal the oil stained printout of a Jenny McCarthy nude, with some terribly drunk handwriting saying, "Thanks for last night...it was amazing". Also on the photograph, a bright red lipstick mark which looks embarrassingly like a man's.

Good night.

You crazy people.