Archive for September, 2009


Is Chivalry Required Anymore?

So what with all the changes in society we’ve been seeing, and women finally going from being the fairer sex(aka person-lite) to well, normal people, you start wondering whether chivalry is worth anything.

On the one hand it’s cool to appear all gentlemanly and be polite to women. They tell their friends about this ‘nice guy’ and word spreads like wildfire. The corners of the earth are buzzing with news of your niceness and bam! you show up on bike with a leather jacket. You get the tagged with the “Cool/nice/awesome/bad boy” tag, and Sirisena’s your uncle.

On the other hand, besides the fact that I would look smashing in a leather jacket, it’s also preferential treatment to women. Each time I hold a door open or pause before being seated the same thought process goes through my head; “what would Jesus do?”. Probably turn the water into wine and impress the hell out of a woman, most probably, but I digress. Some women defend it saying that it makes the male look good in the eyes of a woman, and the woman gets pampered. Apparently that’s what they call a “win-win” situation. Besides the fact that being pampered is far more desirable than being seen as a nice guy, it also serves no real purpose.

Why should I hold open a door to the lady who walked next to me when I would just shove my best friend aside to get into a place first?

….yes, it’s a slow day at work.


On Flirting and Females

You’ve probably heard of, experienced or been at the receiving end of many, many women who have apparently been hit on while not realizing it. Apparently when men hit on women, women don’t know.

This is a lie.

Their pants will be on fire.

What happens in real life, and not in the fabrications of females who wish to spread stories of self flattery, is that men just make conversation. Women think it’s flirting. Then they go tell their friends that they “had like, no idea that guy was flirting with meh, lolol”. Yes, you read right, they notify others of their ignorance to the fact that the male was engaging them in linguistic pre-sexual congress(Or, you know, flirting). Maybe women have strange telepathic abilities that let them know a man’s intentions after a conversation, maybe they’re just female.

I’ve been accused of ‘flirting’ with someone about three times in the last few months. Which is highly disturbing.

Maybe god was right when he said “Beware of the female of the species, for it is she who will think you’re flirting when you’re not”. It’s in the bible. Look it up. If it’s not in there, it means you  have the post 17th-century bible which has those pages burned. By women.

Whatever it is, it’s just plain annoying.

And now for the sexist bit.

This is what happens when you let feeble minded females out to mingle with men.

The usual(unspoken) disclaimers apply. Horribly slanted stereotypes used etc. If you’re offended, you must be female. Go cook your man some food to calm your frail nerves.


Aaaaand to balance the blatant misogynistic tendencies in this post, next post up is something on women. Again. No, they won’t be told to stand closer to the sink.


On Emotions

I have not gone emo. Merely pondering. Pondering. Science. Science is eventually going to become advanced enough to do the impossible. Stuff like cell regeneration, gecko style. I shudder to think of an erstwhile sheep molester scuttling rapidly away from an animal as his member wriggles around on the ground after being kicked. Yes, try and get THAT picture out of your mind.

Among other things, it’ll probably let us control our emotions. If they’re just chemicals in our brains, they’re likely to be found out sooner or later. Some geek in a science lab will hunt down and put a harpoon through the wild beast that is anger. Lust will be tazered and tied up with nylon rope. Will love too be shot and tied to the roof of an SUV?

I saw this comic a while ago. Sad.


I don’t think it’s by the original author of the strip, but it’s still pretty damn effective. This is the kind of strip that makes grown men cry. This makes the Holocaust look like that incident in kindergarten when the big kid stole your lollipop.

What would be the point of having any of those emotions if we were able to control them? Why go through the heartache of love when you can pop a pill and instantly make the next person you see your soul mate? Hell, imagine if you got roofie’d a love pill or accidentally took an anger capsule. Besides all the good things that could happen, there are just too many WTF implications stemming from it. What the hell do we do now?

Try not to imagine an icy phallic symbol.

The ice in my bottle :/


Down with the sickness

I’m sick. My head hurts, my eyes burn and I feel like a leper, sans all the limbs falling off and being stoned on the streets. So I thought, “wonder if Megatron could take out Iron Man”.

Then I thought “what better way to exploit my illness than to write a post about it and garner sympathy?”. Megatron would win, I thought. My mind was wracked with confusion. Would Iron Man’s superior maneuverability save the day? Can I spell maneuverability properly on the post? Baffled, I was.

So here I sit, head hurting like I’d just heard one of fallen’s poems, eyes burning like I just looked at papareboy’s photography. No offense to anyone, of course. Useful sentence, that.

Apparently I’m a Core Group Member in BB now. I assume that gives me executive powers over at least 30 minions and the authority to rename myself the “Core Group Overlord”. Or something similar. My title should be able to kick your title’s butt.

I’m too lazy to write anymore and there’s a huge chunk of ice in my water bottle and Iasddafgjagfjsagksadf;karghewp….

19 days till I’m 20. Start scouting suitable tribute. I saw this neat Sony prosumer cam at MC last week. Go see. *hint* *hint*

Later folks.


This is going to be a disjointed post.

First, I’d like to point you to this brillo post that I found lying around the internet somewhere –

Good Morning. I’ve got a strangely large amount of spam comments after that last post. Very few people had seen the post but many had commented, saying that it was a great post, that they want to be me, that they wish they could get my autograph and a few others had sent me suggestions for cheap pharmaceuticals. I think they were subtly mocking me by suggesting I use drugs to keep my mental instability in check. The fiends.

In other news, I have only two weeks or so of being a teenager. I feel I should put as much angst into my posts as possible before I turn 20 and have to start acting all grown up and keeping my arms off the table when dining. I would also like to point out to you lechers that I will have quit my job by then, and hence will not have any money to buy you anything. You are free to buy me presents though. Wishes are not welcome as I already have an abundance left over from last year and they aren’t much use other than to scratch the name and send off to other people.

Due to this lack of income, I’ve been avoiding most events taking place around me. Selecting which ones to participate is arduous. Of course I’d just pretend everything I attended was amazing anyway. Like the beach. Which was awesome. I was at the beach yesterday. We went kite surfing and water skiing and surfing-surfing. By the time we were on our ways home, and were propositioned about going to some ‘fusion’ concert, we were too bushed. Everyone said the thing was gayer than a gaggle of rainbows anyway. They might as well have called it St. Thomas’ College.

So after a spectacular weekend so full of resourceful entertainment, what with book fairs and beaches, I’m back at work.



Showering Together

In the Shower.
The water, it drips
My skin, it glistens
Soap, it slips
Foam, it thickens

You let me play
I try not to be a child
You squeak at my sleight
I yearn to go wild

Your body is slick.
My fingers they linger
Around your neck to grip
The soap it does hinder

But I am not quick, and the soap it’s too thick
I try in vain not to twitch, but you end up in the sink.

You are my buddy, my eternal companion.
You are my distraction, my little rubber ducky.


Age and Consequences

Hey everyone. I have a feeling I’ve been through this sometime in the distant past, back when people were just beginning to appreciate what genius lay in this blog and cavemen frolicked in caves around Kandy. What am I saying, they still frolic in caves. Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.  My age. My chronological length. My… uh… you get what I mean.

This issue of my age has been cropping up quite frequently in the last few weeks. First was the girl who wouldn’t believe I was younger than her till I showed some ID at an event for work. Then came another dude who kept saying I look older than him. He was 23. And just a few days ago I posted my age on this blog and whacko acts all incredulous. In spite of the fact that we already discussed my age about a month ago.

Now, besides the fact that I am indeed far superior to your average nineteen year old, the manner of the people involved changes ever so slightly. That girl started acting kind of like she wanted to set a good example or something. Then the other dude also started being a little more reserved. Whacko threw a slew of words at me saying he had to take care of two kids now, but I doubt he has the mental age for it anyway.

Apparently I was never pinned as being a teen. I’m slightly offended and at the same time bursting with mature pride at appearing to be more advanced in years. I should be able to go ‘cruisin for female dogs and listening to Michael Bolton’. Though I think the former is preferable to Bolton. Even if the former seems somewhat mystifying.

One wonders how I came to be so brilliant, especially with elders like papareboy and thewhackster around for examples. One minute they’ll be checking out each others shoes, the next they’ll be waving a George Michael flag at the gay pride rally.

Michael appears to be a common name for gay dudes.

Anyway, I’m due to hand over the ‘teen’ bit in my name come October, and I’m not very happy about it. Being a teen and being seen as older suits me quite well. I like it that way. Turning 20 is not something I look forward to, since now I’ll be expected to act all mature.

Expect to hear more protestations on this subject.


Offended, I am!

Last Thursday found me, whacko and fallen at the American Center attending a talk on harnessing the power of new media. Or how to get more comments. Something like that.

It was after this gathering that it was rudely brought to me attention that I offend people. The nerve! The capillary! The vein of people! First it was Indi with “You managed to go an evening without offending people”. After testing “what? Why?” on my tongue in a different tone each time for about two dozen times, fallen confirms to me that I “pick a person to offend and then get everyone else laughing at them”.


Such vile accusations I have never in my nineteen long years experienced. Nineteen! I mean, like, you know everything by like, eighteen don’t you? Like.

So after being verbally assaulted in this manner for a good couple hours, I sulkily went to sleep. Devastated, I was. Emotionally flayed. Such hurtful words, slicing through my mind like a polar bear in a giant bowl of jello. Wreaking havoc in my dreams.

Yesterday I decided to put this to the test. But then when I got to the Rahumania restaurant to meet the others, I forgot. So I just assumed everyone was a treacherous dog and just ignored the false rumour that I offend all and sundry. You fools. Damn you all to hell. May your hides burn and smell the place up for eternity. Bastards.


Just another day in paradise

We all have things we dislike, but are necessary. For example taking out the garbage or embezzling funds from work. All of it seemingly unavoidable.

My pet peeve for the day is buses.

And what a peeve it turned out to be yesterday.

Make that Peeve.

The scene : Yesterday around 7:15pm at Boralle, A bottle of apple soda and I had just merged. The shadows have long since stopped growing longer, they’ve more or less stretched themselves across everything. The light from shops and street lamps crawls across the floor and stays stationary, like a dead rat, waiting for the sun to come release it from the trap of night and-


There I was in front of an eating establishment of dubious hygiene standards(like any self respecting young male), walking towards the bus stop. I wonder about the dark shapes of the buses behind their bright headlights. I wonder about why my prose is so shitty. I wonder about why there’s a dude walking towards me with a deranged look in his eyes.

The man wobbled, straightened his course and kept coming towards me. Why me? There were at least a dozen people there and the fool comes at me. Cursing Sri Lankans’ ability to get stoned drunk at the crack of dusk, I deploy evasive maneuvers.

I pretend to use my phone and walk more or less in the same direction.

When I nearly bump into him I am already cursing and wondering why my brilliant tactics did not work. Maybe next time I should try Snake III.

He asks me, in that meticulously careful manner of speaking that comes out sounding as if you have mothballs in your mouth, “bash enawane malli?”(Is there a bus coming?). I reply with a curt nod and a mouth movement that looked affirmative. He looks at me like I was carrying a mule over my shoulders and asks again “mokaaa? sure da? Raa wela nadda thaama?”(You sure? It isn’t too late yet?). My mind goes into overdrive. How to best cut this conversation short and just move off? Do I explain all to him? Should I just ignore him? These weighty matters wrestled each other in the depths of my mind as the man continued to further make the surrounding air smell of cheap liquor. The matters were still only in the third round and the referee refused to give me a winner immediately so I just decided on a simple “ow ow” and walked off. Well, walked ten meters away, since I wanted to stay in the bus stop. He wandered off somewhere and I went back to The Flying Carpet(music -_-  ).

There are many things in life that are regarded tragic, horrendous or Gehanlike. War, people dying, nuclear winters, living in Kandy, and sitting next to a drunk on the bus. You know, the usual.

I stand there for about two minutes, contemplating mace when the bus comes. I get in, pick the third seat forward from the back door on the left, and sit. Pull out “Look to windward” by Iain Banks. Start reading.

Something smells.

Mr. aalocohol-ish-my-frand was sitting in the seat behind me. And by Mr. Aalocohol I don’t mean the gutterflower. So he sits behind me and starts discussing the mysteries of bus travel with… himself. He’d almost reached agreement with himself that buses do in fact travel on wheels full of air when suddenly the conductor burst into the scene wielding a minigun and an AA membership form, yelling “Kauda yako beela inne?!”(Who’s drunk in here yo?!). Well not really, but it’s much more exciting that way. Apparently some passenger had complained about the dude and the conductor was trying to convince the drunk that he was due to get off at the next stop.

The conductor threw the usual “Issaraha halt eken baha ganne”(You’re due to get off at the next stop.. The drunk replies with “ko meee… thaama hari thana nemei ne”(I don’t think so, biatch!). To which the conductor articulates “hari halt eka thamai oi baha ganin ko”(Oh no you di’nt!!!).

After a few seconds of such intense debate, the dude finally got off the bus, leaving only the rank smell of alcohol breathed out through a windpipe coated with the illicit liquors of a society that indulges in-



The Art of Meeting People

Rule Number One – Only invite as many people as you can manage.

Last Sunday a whole bunch of us managed to be a colossal waste of time. At least 15 people turned up at Majestic City and did nothing in particular. Such a waste of time and resources has not been seen since the development of the ejector seat for the helicopter, or since stfallen quit blogging.

We managed to just wander around for about half the day and just bicker. Of course I managed to keep myself occupied by slowly breaking down people’s self respect by repeatedly calling them fat. I am not insecure about my slowly-becoming-unfit physique.

Besides the fact that my metabolism is wonky and that stfallen will be forgotten soon,(I mean, come on. Do any of you remember that blogger who was on kottu called scandinaviandodo1999? See what I mean?) meetups need to be tailored to the audience.

If you’re going to get a handful people together to spend a lazy Sunday, you don’t need plans. Actually, you can’t have a single person in a hand full. Maybe a small car full. Yes. Anyway, if you have only a few people you can just decide what to do after you meet up.

Not so when you have enough bloggers to stage a riot for freedom of speech, get fire-hosed and even tear gassed. Then you have a problem. Hell, then you have an Open Mic on your hands.

Moral : Never invite more than five people to a gathering unless certain that there will be something to do. If you already invited them all, then just stay home. Trust me, it’s not worth it

In other news, I’m finally quitting my job and going off to study. Well, going to study. Here.

In the future I will not be weighed down by work and hence will be even more hardcore. So hardcore I’ll buy cereal that says “Keep away from children” and soap that says “If swallowed, die”. That’s some hardcore shiz man. This ‘work’ thing is just a big letdown.

I’ve created a list of things to do after I quit -

  • Finish GTA 4
  • Do more things, go places
  • Blog about said things till people start wailing at me to stop
  • Look for another job

Also. Beyond Borders is apparently looking to recruit impressionable young minds to use in their secret army of drones to take over the ice cream stand over by the street corner in Pettah.


Anybody who wants to help out/has any interest in society can join.

I’ll probably be joining too so come along, it’ll be fun.

Other than a few design hiccups they seem great :D



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