I want you to imagine happiness. I'm not asking for the things that make you happy, materialistic or otherwise, I want you to imagine happiness in person. Give happiness a physical manifestation. What would happiness look like to you? In my mind, happiness is a woman. No, happiness is a babe. Happiness is 6"1, she has dark skin. She's a nice moderate C cup, a perfect 360 degree behind, the type only Anime cartoonists can sketch. Happiness has no ethnicity, no homeland, she's not tied down to any tribe or race. She is perfect to a fault. Everything I've ever dreamt about. Happiness has Tyra Bank's height, Kerry Washington's lips, Scarlett Johanssen's face, Eva Mendes's ass, Whitney Houston's voice, Helen Mirren's timelessness and Alicia Key's soul. She is the one I truly believe is for me.
Now, I know her, I want her, she should be mine. I should experience happiness in all her glory for the rest of my life... But the truth is I may never meet her. Rather, and this is the case of the majority of mankind, I will more likely end up with her sister, Acceptance.
Acceptance is the older sister of happiness. She is the one that men settle for. She's not as fine, nowhere as elegant, and though all our lives, we crave the being that is her younger sister, we more often than not end up wit her.
We do not know this at first. When we're young, we all believe happiness is our birthright. We were not brought to earth to be the companions of acceptance, why should we? After all, why settle for average? We swear on everything precious that we shall never succumb to acceptance. Acceptance is not an option in the beginning, its happiness or nothing. "She will be mine! I will love and cherish her and she will reciprocate this, letting me bask in all her splendour and magnificence!"
But then we start to age, or as those who have gone before us term it, 'mature'. We start to see life for what it really is and we slowly begin to realise that happiness is not meant for all of us. Yes, there are a select few who will tickle her fancy. Some of us will meet happiness head on and force her to bend to our will. She will submit to our advances and stay with us, sometimes temporarily, others as a life mate.
And there are some of us she will laugh off our proposals. She will haughtily turn her back on us and let us know that we're not in her league. At that time, when we think all is lost, acceptance shall embrace us. Yes, we can't have her sister, but she's still there for us. She cannot give us all the pleasures her younger sibling can grant us, but she will not leave us hanging high and dry.
Acceptance will not give me a mind blowing fellatio, only her sister will do that. Acceptance will refuse the threesome I propose, she does not indulge in that. She will let me bang tho, but not how I want it. And who am I to complain, its her or nothing.
People go through life with acceptance. She's not what they wanted, but what they got. The man with the extraordinary football skills who ended up as a banker, the girl with the magical voice who works as a secretary, the couple who married each other for convenience sakes, the talkative chap who would be perfect for radio, but works as a computer analyst, all these people were rejected by happiness and eloped with acceptance.
Acceptance will pay the bills. She will enable us have some semblance of a normal life. Acceptance will keep us safe, provide security and keep up necessary appearances. But she can never be her sister. She cannot be or give happiness.
I'm writing this because today, after all my fighting and struggling, I fear happiness has failed to hear me. For some reason, she's just not that into me, doesn't care for my propositions. Thus, I have relented to the call of her sibling. I and acceptance have come to a mutual agreement. It hurts like fucking hell, but I think I've given in to acceptance.
I am a man however. I must cheat, its genetically encoded into me. So, happiness, you bitch, we're not done yet. I may currently be involved with your sister, but don't for a second think that I've given up on you. Happiness shall be my girl, whether the bitch is into me or not. To everyone one who has settled, given up on happiness and yielded to acceptance, I pray you all find more strength and forge on. Tell acceptance that this, this is NOT why we are here.
Goodnight.
I, of course, remain Womilee.
Tuesday 9 November 2010
Monday 4 October 2010
04/10/2010
If I must be honest, this is a farce. I feel like such a charlatan. Its lies, all lies I tell you. I can't GIM today, there's no point behind it, why am I writing this? For you see gentlefolk, I am not at work today. I will not be at work tomorrow either, or the day after that. Infact good people, I will not be at work for the next 2-3 weeks. Calm down a notch, do not despair, I haven't been fired. Or suspended either. Womilee is on leave. Yes you beautiful bastards, I am on vacation.... Maybe I shouldn't call it 'vacation', that term conjours up thoughts of airplanes and exotic lands and such. Right, we'll leave it at 'leave' then, cos I aint going nowhere! I shall be sitting my fat ass at home all day, eating, sleeping and PHCN willing, playing video games and watching tv. This kind of activity is where my true talent lies. General fucking about and fuckery, what a skill.
Like I said earlier, I really shouldn't be writing this then. To be honest, I would rather not be writing at all, as PHCN is currently being quite benevolent with the electricity. But the board, the council, the gathering of black hearts and stained souls.... Those bastards have been putting massive amounts of pressure on me to write again. Personally, I had retired from GIM permanently, I mean let's be honest, how much can one really have to say about Monday? It was being forced, it was being strained, it was over. As the saying goes 'There's no use flogging a dead horse cause you can't force it to drink from water....' Or something of that sort. But the board are having none of it. They have resorted back to their usual strong arm tactics and even went as far as attempting to dislodge me from my position in the organisation. The issue has, as of yet, not been resolved, but the message they put across has been clear....'Get back to writing muthafucker or else.....' As secret organisations like to do, they got this sentiment across to me using all forms of codes and trickery. It required deciphering of puzzles, deep soul searching quests and many consultations with the all knowing elders who only appear to you after the 3rd bottle of Guinness. At a time, I was at a loss, 'Why is the board fucking with me?!'.... Then they sent their final message, which made everything clear.... A text, saying 'Get back to writing mutherfucker or else...'. Subtle aren't they?
I knew then that I had to do this again. But alas, I am not at work. I have no reason to cuss out monday, my boss, any colleagues or customers. With this in mind, I have decided to simply tell you. Yes, I will here on end tell you everything about absolutely nothing. Welcome to the Wonderful World of Womilee. May the Almighty have mercy on you all for what the board has unleashed upon you.
Of course, it starts with a work-related musing.....
Who knows what a 'Self Assessment Tax' is? I didn't find out about this until recently. Apparently, its a type of levy that is paid by people who work for themselves or are in a partnership. When paying this tax, you give account of all your income and expenditure and blah, blah, etc. Not very interesting, I know. As I said, I had no knowledge of this tax or what its about until recently....
A customer walked up to me recently and asked where he could pay his Self Assessment Tax. I, of course, as a hardworking member of staff gave him the answer to the best of my knowledge, telling him that I didn't work there and directing him to a someone who could answer his question.
As I was mentally congratulating myself for a situation well handled, it suddenly struck me....'Self Assessment Tax?! Doesn't assessment mean appraisal, aka evaluate, aka check out?! They're charging people to check themselves out now?!'.
I mean honestly, how would it work? Would there be government officials constantly on patrol, making sure you don't look in a mirror? You take one glance at a reflective surface and suddenly you're surrounded by uniformed officers, calculating the amount of time you spent looking at yourself and dividing it by the perceived amount of pleasure and satisfaction you got from assessing yourself.... 'I'm sorry madam, but you just spent 5mins looking in that mirror, and from the smile on your face, you owe the government 500 naira.... Here's your ticket, have a nice day.....'
I started to pity those poor husbands out there who already work like dogs to keep up with their wife's vanities. After putting down a fortune just to have her indulge in her clothes and bags and general pamperings, the poor bastards will now live in mortal fear of the day she comes back home with a bags and bags of clothing. Because he'll know that she tried on each and every one of those outfits and stared at herself for hour after hour.
This whole situation worried me so much, I almost called a certain darling baby cousin of mine to warn her...'Sweetie, I know it might kill you, but you gotta stop checking yourself out so much.... It just became an expensive fucking habit!....'
Really, shopping abroad would instantly become even more desirable. Apart from the larger selection of items, people would now shop just to get a glance at how good they look, instead of having to ask stranger after stranger....'Does my bum look big in this....?'
I refer mostly to the women folk because, honestly, I can't remember the last time I looked in a reflective surface....I could give a fuck, as I hope most of my brethren out there also believe. The only tax that would really affect me would be an Ass-Assessment Tax.... and may the Good Lord never allow such a thing into existence. Amen.
Thank Him for Google though, I now know what a Self Assessment Tax is.... and so do you.
I am Womilee.....
Like I said earlier, I really shouldn't be writing this then. To be honest, I would rather not be writing at all, as PHCN is currently being quite benevolent with the electricity. But the board, the council, the gathering of black hearts and stained souls.... Those bastards have been putting massive amounts of pressure on me to write again. Personally, I had retired from GIM permanently, I mean let's be honest, how much can one really have to say about Monday? It was being forced, it was being strained, it was over. As the saying goes 'There's no use flogging a dead horse cause you can't force it to drink from water....' Or something of that sort. But the board are having none of it. They have resorted back to their usual strong arm tactics and even went as far as attempting to dislodge me from my position in the organisation. The issue has, as of yet, not been resolved, but the message they put across has been clear....'Get back to writing muthafucker or else.....' As secret organisations like to do, they got this sentiment across to me using all forms of codes and trickery. It required deciphering of puzzles, deep soul searching quests and many consultations with the all knowing elders who only appear to you after the 3rd bottle of Guinness. At a time, I was at a loss, 'Why is the board fucking with me?!'.... Then they sent their final message, which made everything clear.... A text, saying 'Get back to writing mutherfucker or else...'. Subtle aren't they?
I knew then that I had to do this again. But alas, I am not at work. I have no reason to cuss out monday, my boss, any colleagues or customers. With this in mind, I have decided to simply tell you. Yes, I will here on end tell you everything about absolutely nothing. Welcome to the Wonderful World of Womilee. May the Almighty have mercy on you all for what the board has unleashed upon you.
Of course, it starts with a work-related musing.....
Who knows what a 'Self Assessment Tax' is? I didn't find out about this until recently. Apparently, its a type of levy that is paid by people who work for themselves or are in a partnership. When paying this tax, you give account of all your income and expenditure and blah, blah, etc. Not very interesting, I know. As I said, I had no knowledge of this tax or what its about until recently....
A customer walked up to me recently and asked where he could pay his Self Assessment Tax. I, of course, as a hardworking member of staff gave him the answer to the best of my knowledge, telling him that I didn't work there and directing him to a someone who could answer his question.
As I was mentally congratulating myself for a situation well handled, it suddenly struck me....'Self Assessment Tax?! Doesn't assessment mean appraisal, aka evaluate, aka check out?! They're charging people to check themselves out now?!'.
I mean honestly, how would it work? Would there be government officials constantly on patrol, making sure you don't look in a mirror? You take one glance at a reflective surface and suddenly you're surrounded by uniformed officers, calculating the amount of time you spent looking at yourself and dividing it by the perceived amount of pleasure and satisfaction you got from assessing yourself.... 'I'm sorry madam, but you just spent 5mins looking in that mirror, and from the smile on your face, you owe the government 500 naira.... Here's your ticket, have a nice day.....'
I started to pity those poor husbands out there who already work like dogs to keep up with their wife's vanities. After putting down a fortune just to have her indulge in her clothes and bags and general pamperings, the poor bastards will now live in mortal fear of the day she comes back home with a bags and bags of clothing. Because he'll know that she tried on each and every one of those outfits and stared at herself for hour after hour.
This whole situation worried me so much, I almost called a certain darling baby cousin of mine to warn her...'Sweetie, I know it might kill you, but you gotta stop checking yourself out so much.... It just became an expensive fucking habit!....'
Really, shopping abroad would instantly become even more desirable. Apart from the larger selection of items, people would now shop just to get a glance at how good they look, instead of having to ask stranger after stranger....'Does my bum look big in this....?'
I refer mostly to the women folk because, honestly, I can't remember the last time I looked in a reflective surface....I could give a fuck, as I hope most of my brethren out there also believe. The only tax that would really affect me would be an Ass-Assessment Tax.... and may the Good Lord never allow such a thing into existence. Amen.
Thank Him for Google though, I now know what a Self Assessment Tax is.... and so do you.
I am Womilee.....
Monday 20 September 2010
20/09/2010
Its finally evening, about 6.45pm and the bank is almost empty. In fact, apart from me, the only other people here are Adolf, (my idiot boss), Mr Anally Retentive himself (the auditor boss), that skinny bitch with the anorexic attitude and two other shit head colleagues. This strikes me as odd, because on a scale of 1 - 10, these are the five people whom I hate the very most in this place. Man fuck them, I'm out. I'm going home, these bastards can kiss it. I rarely make an effort to be polite, and so when I do make said effort, I think its only proper that politeness be shown back to me. As I walked out the door, I was polite enough to say 'good night everybody, have a good weekend'. Nobody replied. They all just sat there, staring at their fucking computer screens. This upset me. Sons of bitches could've at least said goodbye, even if they didn't wish me a nice weekend! They couldn't say goodbye?! This continued to play over and over in my mind, as I got further away from the office door. I can't really pinpoint the exact moment I lost it, but it suddenly got a bit much for me. There's only so much a man can take.
I turned around and started walking back to the office door, not quite sure what I was going to do when I got there. As I was contemplating the stinging tirade of words to deliver to them, I sighted one of the security guards metal detector baton thingys, propped up just infront of me, on a wall. Don't ask why, I just picked it up. I've never held one before, its quite heavy. With enough force, one could inflict serious damage with this thing..... Where was I? Right, stinging words.... Fuck that....
I re-enter the office and notice that Adolf and Mr A.R aren't at their desks. Probably on conference call to Lucifer in the board room. Anorexia Alexia isn't here either. Maybe she finally got too thin and just withered away. No matter, the two dumbfucks are still at their desk. I think they're gay though. They spend way too much time together to be just colleagues.
I walk up behind them and ask, as politely as possible of course, why they didn't reply my goodwill message. They scoff at me, telling me to leave them alone, feigning some important assignment they're currently engrossed in on their monitors. These bastards are probably checking out gay porn, and they have the balls to dismiss me?!
My left hand, the one holding the baton, suddenly makes an appearance. This thing has a mind of its own sometimes, I have no idea when I swing the baton at Kci and Homo. It hits one of them squarely in the back of the head. His head pitches forward and smashes into his pc screen. The other one doesn't know what the fuck to think. Before he can move however, Lefty the Terrible moves again and swings the baton at his throat. Damn Lefty, why you gotta be so mean? I think you shattered his larynx. How the hell is he gonna deep-throat his man-friend now? Speaking of his man-friend and head, that big piece of computer screen glass in the side of his head is really unsightly.... He should get that checked out.
I should leave before anyone comes back. I am leaving. Lefty, we're leaving and that's final! But then, wouldn't you know it, right on time, Mr Anally Retentive makes an appearance. He goes to sit at his desk and asks me why Kci and Homo have their heads on their desk. I shrug and tell him I have no idea, maybe they're both tired. I walk up to him and ask if he remembers what he told me earlier in the day, when he gave me a memo for a little mistake I made in the processing of a transaction. He said he couldn't recall telling me anything and I remind him that he told me I can't get anything past him, his eyes see everything. They are perfect, according to him. He smiles as he remembers this, and I smile back as I reach for the stapler on his table. "Sir," I tell him, "nothing should be perfect. We need to correct that...." My trusted Left-tenant takes this as a cue, and I hit Mr A.R on the side of the head with the stapler. That had to hurt, but not as much as this..... While he's still semi-conscious from the blow, I reach over his table and force his head down. As I staple his eyelids shut, I tell him his eyes are no longer perfect, just the way I like them.
This entire activity has engrossed me so much, I didn't notice Anorexic in Wonderland looking at me in horror and confusion. Bitch, you're still alive?! I thought you spontaneously combusted or something, from all the friction that must occur when you walk. Come here.... I don't usually hit women, but today I'll make an exception. Lefty (good old Lefty) backhands her across the face and she hits the floor like a sack of bones (I made a funny! Get it?). I stand over her and begin to unbuckle my belt. She looks me dead in the eye and says, 'no, please, don't rape me!'.... I'm astonished! "Rape you?! Bitch have you seen yourself?! I'd rather fuck him!" I say this pointing to Mr 'all seeing eyes'. "I've always just wanted to take my belt off and whip the shit out of you! Now shut the fuck up, you're ruining it for me". I proceed to give her 20 lashes of my belt, or 50.... Maybe it was 250, I wasn't counting. The only reason I stop is because I suddenly realise I haven't seen Adolf yet. Where the fuck is that sadist?
I walk round to the back, and of course, he's in the vault, doing his end of day check. What to do, what to do? How do I make this bastard pay? Don't you love lightbulbs? They always flash at the right time. And the vault's lightbulb flashed just then, reminding me that the vault has no windows or ventilation of any sort. Well, this is all too easy.... As I lock my boss inside the vault, I once again wish him a nice weekend. I also inform him that I'm no doctor, but I hear asphyxiation can be murder.
I exit the office, passing by the carnage that has occurred and I think to myself, 'well that was liberating...' I should do this more often, its a great form of stress release.
I approach my space ship, humming Method Man & Redman's 'Cereal Killer'. Dammit, its going to be a long drive home, better get a move on. Someone taps me on my shoulder and I damn near have a heart attack. I turn around and see its one of my boss's (may he rest in peace) favourite customers, and one of my most loathed. He asks me if my boss is still inside, stating he'd like to discuss an urgent transaction. I smile and say yes, he's very much still inside. Infact, I just came outside to get something for him from the trunk of my car.
I pop the trunk and as always, as ever, Lefty grabs hold of my tyre iron.....
I am Womilee, and then I woke up....
I turned around and started walking back to the office door, not quite sure what I was going to do when I got there. As I was contemplating the stinging tirade of words to deliver to them, I sighted one of the security guards metal detector baton thingys, propped up just infront of me, on a wall. Don't ask why, I just picked it up. I've never held one before, its quite heavy. With enough force, one could inflict serious damage with this thing..... Where was I? Right, stinging words.... Fuck that....
I re-enter the office and notice that Adolf and Mr A.R aren't at their desks. Probably on conference call to Lucifer in the board room. Anorexia Alexia isn't here either. Maybe she finally got too thin and just withered away. No matter, the two dumbfucks are still at their desk. I think they're gay though. They spend way too much time together to be just colleagues.
I walk up behind them and ask, as politely as possible of course, why they didn't reply my goodwill message. They scoff at me, telling me to leave them alone, feigning some important assignment they're currently engrossed in on their monitors. These bastards are probably checking out gay porn, and they have the balls to dismiss me?!
My left hand, the one holding the baton, suddenly makes an appearance. This thing has a mind of its own sometimes, I have no idea when I swing the baton at Kci and Homo. It hits one of them squarely in the back of the head. His head pitches forward and smashes into his pc screen. The other one doesn't know what the fuck to think. Before he can move however, Lefty the Terrible moves again and swings the baton at his throat. Damn Lefty, why you gotta be so mean? I think you shattered his larynx. How the hell is he gonna deep-throat his man-friend now? Speaking of his man-friend and head, that big piece of computer screen glass in the side of his head is really unsightly.... He should get that checked out.
I should leave before anyone comes back. I am leaving. Lefty, we're leaving and that's final! But then, wouldn't you know it, right on time, Mr Anally Retentive makes an appearance. He goes to sit at his desk and asks me why Kci and Homo have their heads on their desk. I shrug and tell him I have no idea, maybe they're both tired. I walk up to him and ask if he remembers what he told me earlier in the day, when he gave me a memo for a little mistake I made in the processing of a transaction. He said he couldn't recall telling me anything and I remind him that he told me I can't get anything past him, his eyes see everything. They are perfect, according to him. He smiles as he remembers this, and I smile back as I reach for the stapler on his table. "Sir," I tell him, "nothing should be perfect. We need to correct that...." My trusted Left-tenant takes this as a cue, and I hit Mr A.R on the side of the head with the stapler. That had to hurt, but not as much as this..... While he's still semi-conscious from the blow, I reach over his table and force his head down. As I staple his eyelids shut, I tell him his eyes are no longer perfect, just the way I like them.
This entire activity has engrossed me so much, I didn't notice Anorexic in Wonderland looking at me in horror and confusion. Bitch, you're still alive?! I thought you spontaneously combusted or something, from all the friction that must occur when you walk. Come here.... I don't usually hit women, but today I'll make an exception. Lefty (good old Lefty) backhands her across the face and she hits the floor like a sack of bones (I made a funny! Get it?). I stand over her and begin to unbuckle my belt. She looks me dead in the eye and says, 'no, please, don't rape me!'.... I'm astonished! "Rape you?! Bitch have you seen yourself?! I'd rather fuck him!" I say this pointing to Mr 'all seeing eyes'. "I've always just wanted to take my belt off and whip the shit out of you! Now shut the fuck up, you're ruining it for me". I proceed to give her 20 lashes of my belt, or 50.... Maybe it was 250, I wasn't counting. The only reason I stop is because I suddenly realise I haven't seen Adolf yet. Where the fuck is that sadist?
I walk round to the back, and of course, he's in the vault, doing his end of day check. What to do, what to do? How do I make this bastard pay? Don't you love lightbulbs? They always flash at the right time. And the vault's lightbulb flashed just then, reminding me that the vault has no windows or ventilation of any sort. Well, this is all too easy.... As I lock my boss inside the vault, I once again wish him a nice weekend. I also inform him that I'm no doctor, but I hear asphyxiation can be murder.
I exit the office, passing by the carnage that has occurred and I think to myself, 'well that was liberating...' I should do this more often, its a great form of stress release.
I approach my space ship, humming Method Man & Redman's 'Cereal Killer'. Dammit, its going to be a long drive home, better get a move on. Someone taps me on my shoulder and I damn near have a heart attack. I turn around and see its one of my boss's (may he rest in peace) favourite customers, and one of my most loathed. He asks me if my boss is still inside, stating he'd like to discuss an urgent transaction. I smile and say yes, he's very much still inside. Infact, I just came outside to get something for him from the trunk of my car.
I pop the trunk and as always, as ever, Lefty grabs hold of my tyre iron.....
I am Womilee, and then I woke up....
Monday 13 September 2010
13/09/2010
Testing, one, two, three,.... is this thing on? Hi. My name is Womilee. Do you remember me? We used to hang out a lot. You've forgotten already? I'm hurt....
Ladies and gentle beings, I have a question.... Where's the love? Where's the muthafucking love?! Where did it all go? What happened? Did I really stop trending so quickly? Where are all the ladies that promised sexual encounters? What happened to the gentlemen that promised free booze, all on account of GIM? I would just like to note that I prefer gifts of these forms specifically from these genders. Though free booze from the ladies would be a welcome treat, sexual favours from dudes is a strict no-no. Getting back to the point, again, where's the love? I'm gone a couple of months and I'm history already? My 15 minutes of fame are up, Womilee is not fashionable no more? Is it really that easy to lose interest? A month and a half ago, I had promises of love and conjugal bliss from so many women, I'd began to delude myself when I looked in a mirror. And this present day, I could go out in public wearing a giant pink t-shirt with 'I am Womilee' emblazoned on the front in fluorescent green, a marching band, midgets doing acrobatics and that Derenle homo just being himself and even my most avid reader would scoff at my futile attempt for attention.
Even on twitter, which admittedly I'm not a very big fan of. In my usual stealth mode, I discovered I lost some followers. Okay, truth be told, one of my advisors discovered that, I could give a fuck honestly. What I'm saying here gentlefolk, is my feelings have been hurt. I thought we were forming a nation, a movement, a revolution, with me as the leader, screaming "death to the muthafucking scumbag capitalist sumbitches! And they mama's!" But I disappear for a few, and the movement is over. Again gentlefolk, I'm hurt.
However, it pleases me to announce, I'm back. I will not let this revolution fail! I am the Che Guvera of slackers! The Adams Oshiomole of faffers! The MLK of lazy muthafuckers who don't wanna do shit for a living! So to those who doubted, to those who deserted, to those who absconded, I say to you all.... Blow me bitch, again, I could give a fuck....
What's good, good people? Miss me? I missed you. Come 'ere, give us a kiss.... You homo muthafuckas stay back tho. I would like to say that so much has happened in my hiatus.... but I'd be lying. My life continues to get more and more boring by the day. If my life was a reality show, itd be called 'Watch Something Else, Really'. I do have some news,.... Guess who isn't a virgin anymore? That's right you beautiful muthafuckers, I got me some nookie. Infact, I got me a whole lot of nookie. I have sinned and sinned and then I sinned some more. And it was gooooooood! Chances are, I'm probably going to sin again soon. May the Good Lord forgive me and the sexy young thing I'm planning on violating, for the evil we're going to commit, over and over and over again....
There is however, some un-good news. We've all realised I can't do this daily. Even thrice weekly is a daunting task. So, it is with a heavy heart, but much lighter balls, that I announce that GIM is from here on end, a once weekly affair. Bear with me gentlefolk, its for the good of all.
Now I know you want to hear a story, don't you? Story, story.....
Despite my nobel prize and guinness world record for biggest asshole ever, I am a rather charitable person. Unfortunately, I am not wealthy enough to form my own special charity, or donate billions to my favourite worthy cause. But when I see someone who needs something more than I, I am prompted to give. Its true, Womilee is slightly human. All manner of ailments or needs fall under this category. I will lend a hand to anything from financial woes to health issues. But one thing I will NEVER be charitable to, is unattractive women. I don't give a fuck how bad you need it, you aint getting it from me!
The fates (bitches that they are) know this. And they have twisted it for their own pleasure, as usual. Gentlefolk, cast your minds back to a post about a female banker with an exceptionally impressive beard. Do you remember? Well guess who's been hitting on me for about 3 weeks now?
It would be sad if it wasn't so scary. I don't know what the fuck she thinking! She's older, and I have nothing against that. Lord knows, there're a couple of MILFs in that office that can get it, anytime. But Chick Ross?! Mrs T?! Hell fucking no! I'm no pretty boy people, but the air-conditioning doesn't shut down when I enter a room, thus I'm allowed to be picky. And I do not fuck ugly women. Or physically displeasing females. Or aesthetically unsavoury members of the fairer sex. Its not a pride thing, or arrogance, its simply a lifestyle choice. I do not and will not help any un-nice broad in need of nookie.
I want to tell her to stop. Stop popping into my cubicle and asking me how I am. Stop asking me if I need a lift. Stop offering to take me to lunch. And for fuck's sake, stop commenting on my beard! I know bankers shouldn't keep beards dammit, you know that too. What's your muthafucking excuse?! Unfortunately, she's also a bit of a boss in the place, so I can't tell her these things. I can't tell her that I'd rather stick my dick in the office shredder. I can't tell her that I wouldn't cum in her mouth if her teeth were on fire. I can't tell her that I'd prefer to have sex with myself, stripped naked, standing in front of a mirror and whacking off to the sight of my ugly ass. All I can do is smile, shake or nod my head and say 'Yes Ma'.... Like I said, it'd be sad, if it wasn't so scary....
Gentlefolk, I leave you now. We shall dance again next week, I guarantee it. Till then....
I am Womilee, do u remember me?
Ladies and gentle beings, I have a question.... Where's the love? Where's the muthafucking love?! Where did it all go? What happened? Did I really stop trending so quickly? Where are all the ladies that promised sexual encounters? What happened to the gentlemen that promised free booze, all on account of GIM? I would just like to note that I prefer gifts of these forms specifically from these genders. Though free booze from the ladies would be a welcome treat, sexual favours from dudes is a strict no-no. Getting back to the point, again, where's the love? I'm gone a couple of months and I'm history already? My 15 minutes of fame are up, Womilee is not fashionable no more? Is it really that easy to lose interest? A month and a half ago, I had promises of love and conjugal bliss from so many women, I'd began to delude myself when I looked in a mirror. And this present day, I could go out in public wearing a giant pink t-shirt with 'I am Womilee' emblazoned on the front in fluorescent green, a marching band, midgets doing acrobatics and that Derenle homo just being himself and even my most avid reader would scoff at my futile attempt for attention.
Even on twitter, which admittedly I'm not a very big fan of. In my usual stealth mode, I discovered I lost some followers. Okay, truth be told, one of my advisors discovered that, I could give a fuck honestly. What I'm saying here gentlefolk, is my feelings have been hurt. I thought we were forming a nation, a movement, a revolution, with me as the leader, screaming "death to the muthafucking scumbag capitalist sumbitches! And they mama's!" But I disappear for a few, and the movement is over. Again gentlefolk, I'm hurt.
However, it pleases me to announce, I'm back. I will not let this revolution fail! I am the Che Guvera of slackers! The Adams Oshiomole of faffers! The MLK of lazy muthafuckers who don't wanna do shit for a living! So to those who doubted, to those who deserted, to those who absconded, I say to you all.... Blow me bitch, again, I could give a fuck....
What's good, good people? Miss me? I missed you. Come 'ere, give us a kiss.... You homo muthafuckas stay back tho. I would like to say that so much has happened in my hiatus.... but I'd be lying. My life continues to get more and more boring by the day. If my life was a reality show, itd be called 'Watch Something Else, Really'. I do have some news,.... Guess who isn't a virgin anymore? That's right you beautiful muthafuckers, I got me some nookie. Infact, I got me a whole lot of nookie. I have sinned and sinned and then I sinned some more. And it was gooooooood! Chances are, I'm probably going to sin again soon. May the Good Lord forgive me and the sexy young thing I'm planning on violating, for the evil we're going to commit, over and over and over again....
There is however, some un-good news. We've all realised I can't do this daily. Even thrice weekly is a daunting task. So, it is with a heavy heart, but much lighter balls, that I announce that GIM is from here on end, a once weekly affair. Bear with me gentlefolk, its for the good of all.
Now I know you want to hear a story, don't you? Story, story.....
Despite my nobel prize and guinness world record for biggest asshole ever, I am a rather charitable person. Unfortunately, I am not wealthy enough to form my own special charity, or donate billions to my favourite worthy cause. But when I see someone who needs something more than I, I am prompted to give. Its true, Womilee is slightly human. All manner of ailments or needs fall under this category. I will lend a hand to anything from financial woes to health issues. But one thing I will NEVER be charitable to, is unattractive women. I don't give a fuck how bad you need it, you aint getting it from me!
The fates (bitches that they are) know this. And they have twisted it for their own pleasure, as usual. Gentlefolk, cast your minds back to a post about a female banker with an exceptionally impressive beard. Do you remember? Well guess who's been hitting on me for about 3 weeks now?
It would be sad if it wasn't so scary. I don't know what the fuck she thinking! She's older, and I have nothing against that. Lord knows, there're a couple of MILFs in that office that can get it, anytime. But Chick Ross?! Mrs T?! Hell fucking no! I'm no pretty boy people, but the air-conditioning doesn't shut down when I enter a room, thus I'm allowed to be picky. And I do not fuck ugly women. Or physically displeasing females. Or aesthetically unsavoury members of the fairer sex. Its not a pride thing, or arrogance, its simply a lifestyle choice. I do not and will not help any un-nice broad in need of nookie.
I want to tell her to stop. Stop popping into my cubicle and asking me how I am. Stop asking me if I need a lift. Stop offering to take me to lunch. And for fuck's sake, stop commenting on my beard! I know bankers shouldn't keep beards dammit, you know that too. What's your muthafucking excuse?! Unfortunately, she's also a bit of a boss in the place, so I can't tell her these things. I can't tell her that I'd rather stick my dick in the office shredder. I can't tell her that I wouldn't cum in her mouth if her teeth were on fire. I can't tell her that I'd prefer to have sex with myself, stripped naked, standing in front of a mirror and whacking off to the sight of my ugly ass. All I can do is smile, shake or nod my head and say 'Yes Ma'.... Like I said, it'd be sad, if it wasn't so scary....
Gentlefolk, I leave you now. We shall dance again next week, I guarantee it. Till then....
I am Womilee, do u remember me?
Tuesday 17 August 2010
17/08/2010
Hi. How you all doing? Its been a minute, I know. How's the family and the weather and work and your health and every other factor it is mandatory I inquire about so as to come across that I give a fuck? I hope all is well.
I know what you're all thinking... 'Is he back? He's back!' Well you're wrong! I'm not back, I'm just stretching the fingers. Doing a bit of mental flexing. Seeing if the mind is still unhealthy. So, for the record, this one doesn't count.
I said I was going to find inspiration, and in all fairness, a couple of new things have happened. My identity has been compromised so many times now, I'm considering just putting up my real name and details. I've met at least 3 of my readers, and wouldn't you know it, they're all pretty girls. One was kind enough to give me a large piece of marijuana soaked cake, one was generous enough to let me into her private area (you sick sick bastards, I meant her room), and one is just a big sweetheart. I'm blowing a big kiss to the 3 of you, my dopeman, my reverse cow girl and the sweetest thing I know. Thank you darlings.
These ladies, though sexier than Beyonce looking at Alicia and thinking 'look at that ass', have absolutely refused to play squirrel and nuts with me, thus they are not the inspiration for this post. No, the reason I'm writing this is far from it. I need some clarification on a matter which upset me on saturday night.
I do not like going out. That is probably as obvious a statement as they come. Yes I love getting drinks with my peoples. I love going to see a movie or two. Fuck it, I'll even hit a club if the stars are aligned properly and the balls are hanging extra loose. But randomly going out is not my thing. However, on saturday, Teeto Cmos had a performance at a birthday party and I was kidnapped from my house, stripped of my pyjamas, dressed up in the most presentable clothing I possess, sprayed with perfume, handcuffed to a car and forced to accompany my celebrity friend to said birthday party. My pleas, bribes and even offers of homosexual acts fell on deaf ears and I was advised to shut the fuck up or else.
Now, none of this is important. Its just a build-up. This is the drink, movie and pretence of interest in conversation before she finally gives up the goods.
Granted, I'm a grump. Grouchy and anti-social are descriptions that come to mind. However, I've seen on many a phone and computer a wallpaper which states 'Vodka. Connecting People' and my good friends must have understood this intricately. They pulled a literal 'carrot on a stick', showed me the booze and coaxed me out of the car and into the venue.
It was all bearable too. I was slowly and surely getting drunk enough to slip out of the conscious and into my sub-conscious. I might have made it through the night and not gotten upset at anyone or anything. But then I saw him. Or her. Or it. I don't know what the fuck to call the reject. I'm all for freedom of expression and what not, but for fucks sakes!
How is it that society has become so 'modern', it allows a full grown man to come out in public wearing women's clothing?! And not ordinary women's clothing either. I mean I might have preferred it if he/she/it was wearing a pretty frock and pumps. That way I'd have just been like 'fuck it. He's/She's/It's a fag, but at least he/she/it has good taste in clothing'. But no, this muthafucka strutting around wearing tight red trousers and biker boots and an elephant's pubic hair as a wig?! It/She/He looked like a fucking designer toilet brush. Some sort of feather duster for the criminally homosexual.
I'm a 'live and let live' sort of guy. Do you, I do me, everybody stays the fuck out of everybody else's way. But I can't help this. I must protest. Am I not cultured enough? Are my beliefs of my open-mindedness merely figments of my imagination? Am I not the modern, renaissance man I so value myself to be? Cos apparently, dressing up like one of Queen Elizabeth's make-up brushes is completely acceptable nowadays. Or maybe its because of where I grew up. This party was in Victoria Island, I grew up and still currently reside far away from there. And where I'm from, you dress up like a toilet brush, muthafuckas will use you to clean toilets. Literally.
At a point, I got so upset, I grabbed the vodka and went to hide behind a television. Frankly, I blame each and everyone who shook that bastard's hand that night. Giving daps and hugs and shit. Bumping fists with him/her/it. Fuck knuckle-tapping and use your knuckles in a manner that'll set him/her/it straight. Knock the sonofabich out cold. How can you, in all your right senses and facilities not bitch smack him/her/it?! Do you really think you're doing him/her/it any favours by accepting him/her/it for what he/she/it is or wants to be?! That might be someone's father/mother/pet parrot someday. Tell him/her/it the truth.... 'Dude/Babe/Whatever the fuck you are, stop it. Its not funny, its not sexy and its not cool. Its downright insulting to all human beings/aliens everywhere and I individually swear on my right and left testicles, if I ever have enough money to put a price on your head, I will.
Its not monday, wednesday or friday. I have no idea right now when I'll release this post as I type it, but I had to vent.
Please don't misunderstand gentlefolk, I do miss you all.
I am Womilee.
I know what you're all thinking... 'Is he back? He's back!' Well you're wrong! I'm not back, I'm just stretching the fingers. Doing a bit of mental flexing. Seeing if the mind is still unhealthy. So, for the record, this one doesn't count.
I said I was going to find inspiration, and in all fairness, a couple of new things have happened. My identity has been compromised so many times now, I'm considering just putting up my real name and details. I've met at least 3 of my readers, and wouldn't you know it, they're all pretty girls. One was kind enough to give me a large piece of marijuana soaked cake, one was generous enough to let me into her private area (you sick sick bastards, I meant her room), and one is just a big sweetheart. I'm blowing a big kiss to the 3 of you, my dopeman, my reverse cow girl and the sweetest thing I know. Thank you darlings.
These ladies, though sexier than Beyonce looking at Alicia and thinking 'look at that ass', have absolutely refused to play squirrel and nuts with me, thus they are not the inspiration for this post. No, the reason I'm writing this is far from it. I need some clarification on a matter which upset me on saturday night.
I do not like going out. That is probably as obvious a statement as they come. Yes I love getting drinks with my peoples. I love going to see a movie or two. Fuck it, I'll even hit a club if the stars are aligned properly and the balls are hanging extra loose. But randomly going out is not my thing. However, on saturday, Teeto Cmos had a performance at a birthday party and I was kidnapped from my house, stripped of my pyjamas, dressed up in the most presentable clothing I possess, sprayed with perfume, handcuffed to a car and forced to accompany my celebrity friend to said birthday party. My pleas, bribes and even offers of homosexual acts fell on deaf ears and I was advised to shut the fuck up or else.
Now, none of this is important. Its just a build-up. This is the drink, movie and pretence of interest in conversation before she finally gives up the goods.
Granted, I'm a grump. Grouchy and anti-social are descriptions that come to mind. However, I've seen on many a phone and computer a wallpaper which states 'Vodka. Connecting People' and my good friends must have understood this intricately. They pulled a literal 'carrot on a stick', showed me the booze and coaxed me out of the car and into the venue.
It was all bearable too. I was slowly and surely getting drunk enough to slip out of the conscious and into my sub-conscious. I might have made it through the night and not gotten upset at anyone or anything. But then I saw him. Or her. Or it. I don't know what the fuck to call the reject. I'm all for freedom of expression and what not, but for fucks sakes!
How is it that society has become so 'modern', it allows a full grown man to come out in public wearing women's clothing?! And not ordinary women's clothing either. I mean I might have preferred it if he/she/it was wearing a pretty frock and pumps. That way I'd have just been like 'fuck it. He's/She's/It's a fag, but at least he/she/it has good taste in clothing'. But no, this muthafucka strutting around wearing tight red trousers and biker boots and an elephant's pubic hair as a wig?! It/She/He looked like a fucking designer toilet brush. Some sort of feather duster for the criminally homosexual.
I'm a 'live and let live' sort of guy. Do you, I do me, everybody stays the fuck out of everybody else's way. But I can't help this. I must protest. Am I not cultured enough? Are my beliefs of my open-mindedness merely figments of my imagination? Am I not the modern, renaissance man I so value myself to be? Cos apparently, dressing up like one of Queen Elizabeth's make-up brushes is completely acceptable nowadays. Or maybe its because of where I grew up. This party was in Victoria Island, I grew up and still currently reside far away from there. And where I'm from, you dress up like a toilet brush, muthafuckas will use you to clean toilets. Literally.
At a point, I got so upset, I grabbed the vodka and went to hide behind a television. Frankly, I blame each and everyone who shook that bastard's hand that night. Giving daps and hugs and shit. Bumping fists with him/her/it. Fuck knuckle-tapping and use your knuckles in a manner that'll set him/her/it straight. Knock the sonofabich out cold. How can you, in all your right senses and facilities not bitch smack him/her/it?! Do you really think you're doing him/her/it any favours by accepting him/her/it for what he/she/it is or wants to be?! That might be someone's father/mother/pet parrot someday. Tell him/her/it the truth.... 'Dude/Babe/Whatever the fuck you are, stop it. Its not funny, its not sexy and its not cool. Its downright insulting to all human beings/aliens everywhere and I individually swear on my right and left testicles, if I ever have enough money to put a price on your head, I will.
Its not monday, wednesday or friday. I have no idea right now when I'll release this post as I type it, but I had to vent.
Please don't misunderstand gentlefolk, I do miss you all.
I am Womilee.
Saturday 7 August 2010
07/08/2010
Good people, I will be short and sweet. A number of you already know I'm about to go into semi-retirement. I enjoy writing this blog. I enjoy reading the comments it gets. Lord knows I enjoy all the female attention that has come my way from the beginning. It has all been wonderful. But there is a problem. I am un-interested.
I now understand why it takes some artists years to release a new album. Why it takes writers years to publish a new book. To be honest with you gentlefolk, the past 2 weeks have been a herculean effort for me. I simply do not have anything to write about. I have been scraping the bottom of the depraved barrel that is my mind for a while now, just to give you all something to enjoy. But I fear I have not succeeded. The truth is simple, but bitter. I have been boring my readers. Yet, this is not the worst part. What upsets me the most, is that I have been boring myself. I used to enjoy writing this thing. Now it seems like a burden. At first, I couldn't wait to tell you good people the thoughts floating around in my head. Now its like 'oh fuck, I gotta write today....'
So my people, my comrades, my gentlefolk, my Womileeans, I regret to announce I am leaving again. And this time, it will be for a longer time than the last. I am going to find inspiration. I'm going to absorb everything around me, going to explore new opportunities. And I'm going to get laid too.
But I require your assistance gentlefolk. I need your help. I cannot do it alone. I am asking for suggestions good people. Tell me what you would like to read about. Tell me what you'd like to hear. Baby, tell me what you want me to do to you. Send me an email, hit me up on twitter, comment on this very post. Let me know what it is you would like me to turn into madness.
On the upside, I hear I've sprouted all sorts of mini-me's. Everyone and they mama now has a blog. I've read (or tried to read) some. And I reserve my comments. I'm no expert, but.... Again, no comment.
My final hurrah will not be complete without our weekly dance.....
Music: I used to be such an Eminem fan. I do not like his new shit though, so for my hard heads, The Marshal Mathers LP is a fucking classic. My gentler gentlefolk, Norah Jones's Come Away With Me is beautiful. Look for a song called Turn Me On in particular. Its so fucking sexy. And for you in-betweens, Elephant Man's Good 2Go. Seriously. The album was awesome.
Movies: I am a child. I admit it. Equilibrium was fucking cool. Yes it had un-realistic stunts, and a more than ridiculous story line. But gun martial arts?! Come on, how could I not love it? Again, I am a child.
Books: go get an Archie, a Peanuts. Get a comic dammit! Just cos its a cartoon, doesn't mean its not mature. I think. And if anyone out there still has TinTin's, I will do anything you want.
Sex: not to worry good people, I guarantee the next time we meet, I would have gotten someone pregnant.
Goodbye my people, I hope to see you soon.
I am Womilee, ill miss you.
I now understand why it takes some artists years to release a new album. Why it takes writers years to publish a new book. To be honest with you gentlefolk, the past 2 weeks have been a herculean effort for me. I simply do not have anything to write about. I have been scraping the bottom of the depraved barrel that is my mind for a while now, just to give you all something to enjoy. But I fear I have not succeeded. The truth is simple, but bitter. I have been boring my readers. Yet, this is not the worst part. What upsets me the most, is that I have been boring myself. I used to enjoy writing this thing. Now it seems like a burden. At first, I couldn't wait to tell you good people the thoughts floating around in my head. Now its like 'oh fuck, I gotta write today....'
So my people, my comrades, my gentlefolk, my Womileeans, I regret to announce I am leaving again. And this time, it will be for a longer time than the last. I am going to find inspiration. I'm going to absorb everything around me, going to explore new opportunities. And I'm going to get laid too.
But I require your assistance gentlefolk. I need your help. I cannot do it alone. I am asking for suggestions good people. Tell me what you would like to read about. Tell me what you'd like to hear. Baby, tell me what you want me to do to you. Send me an email, hit me up on twitter, comment on this very post. Let me know what it is you would like me to turn into madness.
On the upside, I hear I've sprouted all sorts of mini-me's. Everyone and they mama now has a blog. I've read (or tried to read) some. And I reserve my comments. I'm no expert, but.... Again, no comment.
My final hurrah will not be complete without our weekly dance.....
Music: I used to be such an Eminem fan. I do not like his new shit though, so for my hard heads, The Marshal Mathers LP is a fucking classic. My gentler gentlefolk, Norah Jones's Come Away With Me is beautiful. Look for a song called Turn Me On in particular. Its so fucking sexy. And for you in-betweens, Elephant Man's Good 2Go. Seriously. The album was awesome.
Movies: I am a child. I admit it. Equilibrium was fucking cool. Yes it had un-realistic stunts, and a more than ridiculous story line. But gun martial arts?! Come on, how could I not love it? Again, I am a child.
Books: go get an Archie, a Peanuts. Get a comic dammit! Just cos its a cartoon, doesn't mean its not mature. I think. And if anyone out there still has TinTin's, I will do anything you want.
Sex: not to worry good people, I guarantee the next time we meet, I would have gotten someone pregnant.
Goodbye my people, I hope to see you soon.
I am Womilee, ill miss you.
Monday 2 August 2010
P.M. ... 02/08/2010
When I go on and on about the evils of Monday and how she's after me in particular, you good people have a laugh about it. You all say, 'Womilee is crazy' and 'he's lost his mind' and what not. Some of you consider me to be a form of entertainment, others think I should seek professional help and counselling. I'm sure some of you even consider me a tad paranoid.... How can a day of the week hate just one guy? Well let me tell you all, its so true. Monday fucking hates my guts. If you're already thinking the above, consider this...
Laziness is generally frowned upon. People have always endorsed hard-work and disapproved of laziness. Despite this, I have always embraced my laziness as a part of my genetic make-up. Yes I am lazy and quite happy about it. My laziness has gotten me into trouble far more times than gotten me out of it. But today, if I had just accepted myself for who and what I am, I may not have had such a frustrating morning. All you people out there who consider laziness a thing of negativity, I finally have proof. I can prove that yes, Monday is out to get me, and that laziness can be a good thing.
You good people who follow this blog know I am an avid fan of the Lagos state governor. The man has done many a great thing, but the best of all is the BRT bus service. Again, my loyal readers, you know that this is my preferred mode of transport when getting to and coming from the office. Its fast, convenient, comfortable and most importantly, allows me to snooze while enroute to wherever I'm going. I love the bus, and thus, my car sits at home, lonely, all week. Noone to drive her or take care of her. As I left the house this morning, I looked at my motor vehicle and thought to myself 'give her a spin. Cars get damaged when they're parked for so long'. I did not know that Monday, like some evil, calculating chess grandmaster had already forseen these musings of mine and laid out a vicious trap for me to fall ass first into.
Putting my laziness aside, which again was a huge mistake, I hopped in my space ship and fucked off to work. All the while driving, I kept saying to myself 'this isn't so bad'. There was minimal traffic, I was going along just fine. And then Monday, that bitch, did what she does best.
Gentlefolk, there were at least 100 cars that had to have passed the exact same spot I passed that morning. How in fuck's name is it possible that the nail found its way right into my tyre?! 100 cars equals 400 tyres! You want to tell me that out of 400 previous tyres, it was sheer coincidence that the nail ripped up my tyre? The 401st?! Really?! I think not. Fucking Monday put it there! The bitch put that nail there on purpose, just as I was passing. Monday tried to fucking kill me! Now, does everybody believe me yet?
I know what you all are thinking... Just whip out the spare... Do you really think Monday didn't think about that already?! My spare was flatter than an 11 year old girl! Again, coincidence?! Really?! Fuck no! I was set up! And by guess who?
This was not enough however. Oh no, Monday had to go the extra mile to piss me off good and proper. She sent over her minions. Her henchmen. In the form of 2 Lastma officials.
Good people, tell me, the power of observation, is it not a wonderful thing? Is it not good enough that the Almighty gave us the sense of sight? After this generous gift, is it not right that we use it to the fullest capacity? If you agree with the above statements, then you too might find it strange why 2 supposedly government officials, supposedly trained in the intricacies of road and traffic procedures, would walk over to a man, standing outside an obviously disabled car, with a tyre iron in his hands and a look of total confusion on his face, by 6.-fucking-30 in the morning and ask 'Is there a problem?'.
This question upset me so much, I actually had to use my left hand to hold back my right hand. Cos the right hand was holding the tyre iron and it suddenly developed a mind of its own. Is there a fucking problem?! 'No officer, everything is just fucking fine. I belong to a religious sect who believe that deflating one's own tyres by 6 in the morning is the path to true enlightenment! I do this every fucking month! In fact, this is just level one. To reach the next level, I must use my dick to jack the damn car up and use my testicles as wedges for the wheels!'
What kind of fucking question did those bastards ask me?! 'Is there a problem'?! Bad enough this shit has happened, I now had these two university professors asking me questions....
In a nutshell gentlefolk, my original tyre tore so badly, I had to buy a new one, I got to the office late and I had to give the two geniuses some money for helping me out. Does anyone now understand why I loathe Monday so much? She did this and enjoyed it! BITCH!
It is time for me to leave now good people, I need to get away from today.
See you soon.
I am Womilee.
Laziness is generally frowned upon. People have always endorsed hard-work and disapproved of laziness. Despite this, I have always embraced my laziness as a part of my genetic make-up. Yes I am lazy and quite happy about it. My laziness has gotten me into trouble far more times than gotten me out of it. But today, if I had just accepted myself for who and what I am, I may not have had such a frustrating morning. All you people out there who consider laziness a thing of negativity, I finally have proof. I can prove that yes, Monday is out to get me, and that laziness can be a good thing.
You good people who follow this blog know I am an avid fan of the Lagos state governor. The man has done many a great thing, but the best of all is the BRT bus service. Again, my loyal readers, you know that this is my preferred mode of transport when getting to and coming from the office. Its fast, convenient, comfortable and most importantly, allows me to snooze while enroute to wherever I'm going. I love the bus, and thus, my car sits at home, lonely, all week. Noone to drive her or take care of her. As I left the house this morning, I looked at my motor vehicle and thought to myself 'give her a spin. Cars get damaged when they're parked for so long'. I did not know that Monday, like some evil, calculating chess grandmaster had already forseen these musings of mine and laid out a vicious trap for me to fall ass first into.
Putting my laziness aside, which again was a huge mistake, I hopped in my space ship and fucked off to work. All the while driving, I kept saying to myself 'this isn't so bad'. There was minimal traffic, I was going along just fine. And then Monday, that bitch, did what she does best.
Gentlefolk, there were at least 100 cars that had to have passed the exact same spot I passed that morning. How in fuck's name is it possible that the nail found its way right into my tyre?! 100 cars equals 400 tyres! You want to tell me that out of 400 previous tyres, it was sheer coincidence that the nail ripped up my tyre? The 401st?! Really?! I think not. Fucking Monday put it there! The bitch put that nail there on purpose, just as I was passing. Monday tried to fucking kill me! Now, does everybody believe me yet?
I know what you all are thinking... Just whip out the spare... Do you really think Monday didn't think about that already?! My spare was flatter than an 11 year old girl! Again, coincidence?! Really?! Fuck no! I was set up! And by guess who?
This was not enough however. Oh no, Monday had to go the extra mile to piss me off good and proper. She sent over her minions. Her henchmen. In the form of 2 Lastma officials.
Good people, tell me, the power of observation, is it not a wonderful thing? Is it not good enough that the Almighty gave us the sense of sight? After this generous gift, is it not right that we use it to the fullest capacity? If you agree with the above statements, then you too might find it strange why 2 supposedly government officials, supposedly trained in the intricacies of road and traffic procedures, would walk over to a man, standing outside an obviously disabled car, with a tyre iron in his hands and a look of total confusion on his face, by 6.-fucking-30 in the morning and ask 'Is there a problem?'.
This question upset me so much, I actually had to use my left hand to hold back my right hand. Cos the right hand was holding the tyre iron and it suddenly developed a mind of its own. Is there a fucking problem?! 'No officer, everything is just fucking fine. I belong to a religious sect who believe that deflating one's own tyres by 6 in the morning is the path to true enlightenment! I do this every fucking month! In fact, this is just level one. To reach the next level, I must use my dick to jack the damn car up and use my testicles as wedges for the wheels!'
What kind of fucking question did those bastards ask me?! 'Is there a problem'?! Bad enough this shit has happened, I now had these two university professors asking me questions....
In a nutshell gentlefolk, my original tyre tore so badly, I had to buy a new one, I got to the office late and I had to give the two geniuses some money for helping me out. Does anyone now understand why I loathe Monday so much? She did this and enjoyed it! BITCH!
It is time for me to leave now good people, I need to get away from today.
See you soon.
I am Womilee.
A.M. ... 02/07/2010
What to say, what to say? Can I possibly have anything else to vent about? I have used every metaphor, every euphemism I can think of. I have meditated, prayed, fasted, visited a couple of native doctors, consulted various oracles and joined all sorts of dark sects.
I have tried reason, force, sweet-talking, trickery and deceit.
I have employed science, alchemy, voodoo, New Ageism and religion.
I have done everything I could possibly try, and yet, despite my valiant (albeit shady) efforts, monday is back.
GIM gentle folk. I am upset. As usual. Lest I forget, please don't pay any attention to that homo Mr Green. Apparently, he was here on saturday, spewing his happiness and good will and shit. Fucking bastard makes me mad. Then again, there is very little that doesn't annoy me. Unfortunately, I have to share a body with the guy, so I guess from time to time, he might so his annoyingly happy face. One day though, ill find a way to switch places with him. 2 days in my shoes, see if the bastard is still so cheerful.
I feel like crying. Its not fair. I shouldn't have to work for a living, I'm too awesome for it. Really. I should be engaged in the business of simply being awesome. Awesomeness should be a vocation which brings dividends. Infact, I should be an awesomeness consultant. Of course, my methods of teaching awesomeness would be quite unorthodox. I would simply sit my my un-awesome patient down, and tell him exactly why I am more awesome than he is. After which I'd tell him to emulate everything he has heard, take his money and tell him to fuck off. Awesome right?
This monday in particular feels personal. It feels as though everbody else is still stuck in the weekend, or has passed their own mondays. So monday has her full concentration on me. I don't want her full attentions, you people should come get her off me. She's ugly. Her head game sucks, and no, not in the good way. Fuck this. Fuck it all. I don't think I can rightly explain how upset I am this morning. But Monday, I swear down, if its the last thing I do, ill get mine back. Of course this is somewhat an empty threat. How exactly does one enact revenge on a day of the week? I cannot cause physical harm, I cannot steal money, damage property, fuck spouse, kidnap children, deflate tires, piss in battery water, disconnect cable tv or poison. I cannot harm monday in any way or manner. But one day, when she least expects it, Womilee will strike.
Again good people, GIM. My word, that phrase is catching on. I was on twitter last night (in my usual stealth mode) and I saw various people use it. It was a bit of an ego trip, I must admit.
I must away now, duty calls.
I am Womilee.
Saturday 31 July 2010
31/07/2010
This is the last time, I promise. Really. I know I said I'd come to grips with my laziness last weekend, but unfortunately, my grip isn't that strong, so my laziness got away from me. But honestly, I promise this is the last time. I think. I hope. I don't believe a word I just wrote and neither should you.
Dammit, I was tired last night and I just wanted to snooze. And snooze I did. In my usual manner, I'm just waking up this morning. I'm still quite a bit tired though, so I'll probably stay here for the next hour or so. But as a show of commitment to you good people out there, I have not scratched my balls yet. I have actually put writing this blog ahead of my usual morning exercise. If that isn't love, I don't know what is. I love scratching my balls, but I'm putting you gentlefolk's needs first. If any of you out there love me as much, someone really should offer to come scratch them for me. As per usual, this invitation is extended strictly to the beautiful girls all over the world/ I could be chasing/ but my time would be wasted/ cos they got nothing on you baby...... Nothing on you baby.
Yes gentle folk, I am in my usual exquisitely good saturday morning mood, and from the looks of things, nothing can ruin it. Not the fact that I haven't had sex for so long, I'm considering putting my family jewels up for sale on Ebay. Not the fact that my account balance can be compared to a flat-line on a heart monitor. Not the fact that Alicia Keys is pregnant for another man. None of these can put me off my mood. I believe this is what a 'happy child' feels like.
I makes me wonder, am I slightly schizophrenic? Most people wonder if they have a darker side to themselves, I wonder if there is a friendlier side to me. The personality differences I display during the week and on weekends are well past just upset and happy.
There may be a Dr Jekyll to my Mr Hyde. I shall call him Mr Green. I'm currently in Jekyll mode, which proves my theory. Of course, we share similarities, we both are and always will be assholes, but Mr Green's assholism (new word) is more of a witty, funny sort of personality. Womilee is plain mean and violent.
Mr Green is the sort of chap who will see a road side accident and simply continue on his way, Womilee will stop, park and enjoy the carnage. Probably make some sick comment about whether blood and ketchup look and taste alike.
Mr Green prefers a cold Guinness, nice and relaxing. Womilee likes whiskey shots, the harsher, the better.
Right now, if I was offered sex, I'd like to lie back and enjoy the ride. Get naked, give her a cowboy hat and tell her to go on with her bad self. Ride 'em cowgirl. Womilee wouldn't even take the suit off. Just bend the poor child over a desk, lift up her skirt and light a joint, just to show how gangsta he is. Asking Mr Green to a social event is just as big a waste of time as asking Womilee. They'll both decline, but in Green's case, you're sure of walking away with your genitals intact. I cannot vouch for Womilee in this situation.
As is said, I'm in Mr Green mode and hopefully, Womilee won't show his face anytime soon.
What's going on for the weeknd you beautiful people you? The usual? I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm considering a covert operation to wipe-out my mechanic's blood line from the face of the earth, but that would wake Womilee, and we don't want to do that.
And now gentlefolk, its that time again...
Music: my hard heads, you are not a true rap fan if you've never listened to Jay-Z's Hard Knock Life, Vol 2. It is probably one of the top 10 greatest rap albums of all time. Please, indulge. My softies, TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool album will make it hot for you. My in-betweens, at the risk of upsetting a board member, I suggest Nelly's Country Grammar. I liked it....
Movies: I want something a bit scary today. Stephen King's IT scared the shit out of me as a kid. I watched it again as an adult, and it pretty much had the same effect. However, gentlemen, do NOT watch this movie while making out/getting a hand job from a girl that scares easily. This was a personal and rather painful experience.
Books: Catch 22 by Joseph Heller is one heller (bad pun) read. Funny, but starts to get vividly profound as you go on.
Sex: please go to Ebay for a fairly used set of genitals. They're still almost unused and are going at a giveaway rate for the previous owners inability to put them to proper use.
I'm going back to sleep now gentlefolk, have a good weekend.
I am Mr Green, standing in for Womilee.
Dammit, I was tired last night and I just wanted to snooze. And snooze I did. In my usual manner, I'm just waking up this morning. I'm still quite a bit tired though, so I'll probably stay here for the next hour or so. But as a show of commitment to you good people out there, I have not scratched my balls yet. I have actually put writing this blog ahead of my usual morning exercise. If that isn't love, I don't know what is. I love scratching my balls, but I'm putting you gentlefolk's needs first. If any of you out there love me as much, someone really should offer to come scratch them for me. As per usual, this invitation is extended strictly to the beautiful girls all over the world/ I could be chasing/ but my time would be wasted/ cos they got nothing on you baby...... Nothing on you baby.
Yes gentle folk, I am in my usual exquisitely good saturday morning mood, and from the looks of things, nothing can ruin it. Not the fact that I haven't had sex for so long, I'm considering putting my family jewels up for sale on Ebay. Not the fact that my account balance can be compared to a flat-line on a heart monitor. Not the fact that Alicia Keys is pregnant for another man. None of these can put me off my mood. I believe this is what a 'happy child' feels like.
I makes me wonder, am I slightly schizophrenic? Most people wonder if they have a darker side to themselves, I wonder if there is a friendlier side to me. The personality differences I display during the week and on weekends are well past just upset and happy.
There may be a Dr Jekyll to my Mr Hyde. I shall call him Mr Green. I'm currently in Jekyll mode, which proves my theory. Of course, we share similarities, we both are and always will be assholes, but Mr Green's assholism (new word) is more of a witty, funny sort of personality. Womilee is plain mean and violent.
Mr Green is the sort of chap who will see a road side accident and simply continue on his way, Womilee will stop, park and enjoy the carnage. Probably make some sick comment about whether blood and ketchup look and taste alike.
Mr Green prefers a cold Guinness, nice and relaxing. Womilee likes whiskey shots, the harsher, the better.
Right now, if I was offered sex, I'd like to lie back and enjoy the ride. Get naked, give her a cowboy hat and tell her to go on with her bad self. Ride 'em cowgirl. Womilee wouldn't even take the suit off. Just bend the poor child over a desk, lift up her skirt and light a joint, just to show how gangsta he is. Asking Mr Green to a social event is just as big a waste of time as asking Womilee. They'll both decline, but in Green's case, you're sure of walking away with your genitals intact. I cannot vouch for Womilee in this situation.
As is said, I'm in Mr Green mode and hopefully, Womilee won't show his face anytime soon.
What's going on for the weeknd you beautiful people you? The usual? I have no idea what to do with myself. I'm considering a covert operation to wipe-out my mechanic's blood line from the face of the earth, but that would wake Womilee, and we don't want to do that.
And now gentlefolk, its that time again...
Music: my hard heads, you are not a true rap fan if you've never listened to Jay-Z's Hard Knock Life, Vol 2. It is probably one of the top 10 greatest rap albums of all time. Please, indulge. My softies, TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool album will make it hot for you. My in-betweens, at the risk of upsetting a board member, I suggest Nelly's Country Grammar. I liked it....
Movies: I want something a bit scary today. Stephen King's IT scared the shit out of me as a kid. I watched it again as an adult, and it pretty much had the same effect. However, gentlemen, do NOT watch this movie while making out/getting a hand job from a girl that scares easily. This was a personal and rather painful experience.
Books: Catch 22 by Joseph Heller is one heller (bad pun) read. Funny, but starts to get vividly profound as you go on.
Sex: please go to Ebay for a fairly used set of genitals. They're still almost unused and are going at a giveaway rate for the previous owners inability to put them to proper use.
I'm going back to sleep now gentlefolk, have a good weekend.
I am Mr Green, standing in for Womilee.
Friday 30 July 2010
A.M. ... 30/07/2010
Baby, I missed you. 5 days without you always feels like forever. Yeah, saturday did his best to fill in for you, and sunday wasn't so bad either. But there's just nothing quite like you boo. Monday did her usual thing again. I don't know how you two are even related, sure you weren't adopted? Cos the amount of bullshit she pulls on me regularly is getting out of hand. I've come to expect her crap though, but you really should have said something about wednesday. I had no idea that she (or is it he) could be such an asshole. I wish I could explain what happened to me that day, but I don't feel like repeating myself.
I've got to go to work now baby, I'll be back in the evening. When I get home, we'll do that thing that I like so much. I love you baby.
Sorry about that good people, just saying hey to my girl. TGIF everybody, at last this shit can be put on hold for now. I swear down, the way I anticipate this day, you'd think it was my birthday.
In fact, I have officially declared every friday as National Womilee Day. In the land of Womilee, NWL is the most revered day of all, after Christmas of course (I'm not that much of a heathen).
I have never told you about the land of Womilee have I? It is a wonderful place. People say that it is a land overflowing with milk and honey, but alas, this is untrue. It is a land overflowing with booze and honies! Yeah there's milk and honey, but we're here to talk about important things, not cereal.
The Republic of WML shares many similarities with this world in which we live. The inhabitants breath oxygen, live off food and water, etc. But it is the differences that matter. In Womilee's World, virginity is considered a sacrilege. Virgins are viewed as cast-outs of the society and are usually exiled from the land, until they can prove that their previous situation has been altered. To do this, the virgins (or ex-virgins) must show whatever new skills they have acquired during their exile to the leader of the land.
Also, in WML territory, public drunkeness is not only acceptable, it is very much encouraged. However, there are limits. Drunken violence, rape and shitting on ones self are highly frowned upon. The first two offences are punishable by anal violation by a group of homo-sexual maniacs known as The Realists. The last offence will result in the offender having his name legally changed. From then on, he/she shall bear the term 'pussy' as a middle name.
In addition to these, within the Democratic Republic of Womilee, oral sex is not only a sexual act, its a proof and display of national pride. Refusal to perform oral sex results in immediate incarceration and intense psychiatric evaluation. This law applies to both the males and females of the land, as every citizen of The Sovereign State of Womilee takes the term 'eloquent tongue' to a whole new height.
Homo-sexuality is a serious crime in The United States of Womilee, but only in the case of men. Women are however not encouraged to be lesbians either, but are given all the necessary promptings to lean towards bi-sexuality.
Please good people, feel free to apply for citizenship. Our immigration requirements are simple. For the men, you must indulge in the one, more or preferably all of the following vices: alcohol, marijuana (no other form of drug is allowed), sports of some kind (no fucking cricket or polo or shit), and a more than adequate love for the fairer sex.
Ladies have one requirement only: be hot. Very fucking hot.
Gentlefolk, there are two more very unique elements to this nation. The first is that every single day is a friday, there are no other days of the week.
And the second is the leader. A man of great mind, body and penis. He strives to correct all the wrongs of society and strives harder to fuck up all the rights. A nobel prize winner in the category of Peace and Awesomeness. Let me introduce your new president....
I am Womilee
Wednesday 28 July 2010
P.M. ... 28/07/2010
I'm getting worried people. I've always claimed insanity, but I fear I'm taking things too far. I have developed a shocking habit of constantly cursing at customers under my breath. This is not new, as I often curse people out, especially customers. But I used to reserve it for those who deliberately upset me, and even then, I would do it in my mind. It would be a quick, vulgar thought, and then it would vanish. Today, I took it way further than I should. Yes, I'm generally an angry, grumpy person. Yes I mostly loathe all who speak to me. But when someone says a polite 'good morning' to you and your instant reply is 'suck your mother too', its clear something is wrong somewhere. The poor chap wished me a good day and I had to call his momma out. I pray even if this habit continues, I keep it to muttering under my breath. Lord knows what might happen if I say something audibly.
I must find a way to come to terms with my anger issues. I cannot continue resenting everything and anyone I chance upon. Even those who have perfectly good or innocent intentions. For instance, today I was having lunch with one of the Aphrodites in the office. She noticed that I have a rather strong taste for red meat, as my plate closely resembled a slaughter house buffet. She began to voice her concerns about my meat intake and how too much of it is very dangerous...blah, blah, blah, etc.
As I contemplated stabbing her in the eye with my fork, I realised that my anger should not be directed at her, but at the sumbitches who have made it their business to denounce everything I love as bad and approve everything I dislike as good.
For fucks sake, excessive smoking - bad. It can cause either lung damage or brain damage (depending on what you're smoking).
Excessive drinking - bad. It causes liver and kidney damage. Excessive sex - bad. HIV, pregnancy, bad breath, you name it, they'll blame it on too much fucking.
And now, too much red meat?! I don't even want to know what that causes. I might fuck around, wake up some morning and develop horns and a sudden craving for grass. And not my preferred kind of grass either.
Dammit, when are they going to invent something that feels/tastes good AND is good for you?! Example, drugs. The ones that make you feel good are bad for you and the ones taste like frog ass are good for you. What kind of fucked up world is this anyway?!
I must intervene. And in my own way, I believe I must fight for a cause. We want beer flavoured paracetamols, skin moisturing cigarettes and red meat which enhances the size of your dick.
My anger issues are on the increase daily gentle folk, may I not lose that which makes me me. My cool.
I am Womilee gentlefolk, see you all Friday.
I must find a way to come to terms with my anger issues. I cannot continue resenting everything and anyone I chance upon. Even those who have perfectly good or innocent intentions. For instance, today I was having lunch with one of the Aphrodites in the office. She noticed that I have a rather strong taste for red meat, as my plate closely resembled a slaughter house buffet. She began to voice her concerns about my meat intake and how too much of it is very dangerous...blah, blah, blah, etc.
As I contemplated stabbing her in the eye with my fork, I realised that my anger should not be directed at her, but at the sumbitches who have made it their business to denounce everything I love as bad and approve everything I dislike as good.
For fucks sake, excessive smoking - bad. It can cause either lung damage or brain damage (depending on what you're smoking).
Excessive drinking - bad. It causes liver and kidney damage. Excessive sex - bad. HIV, pregnancy, bad breath, you name it, they'll blame it on too much fucking.
And now, too much red meat?! I don't even want to know what that causes. I might fuck around, wake up some morning and develop horns and a sudden craving for grass. And not my preferred kind of grass either.
Dammit, when are they going to invent something that feels/tastes good AND is good for you?! Example, drugs. The ones that make you feel good are bad for you and the ones taste like frog ass are good for you. What kind of fucked up world is this anyway?!
I must intervene. And in my own way, I believe I must fight for a cause. We want beer flavoured paracetamols, skin moisturing cigarettes and red meat which enhances the size of your dick.
My anger issues are on the increase daily gentle folk, may I not lose that which makes me me. My cool.
I am Womilee gentlefolk, see you all Friday.
A.M. ... 28/07/2010
Gentlefolk, I think I'll name today What The Fuck Wednesday. Not every wednesday though, just this one. Because the amount and variety of fuckery that has already happened this morning is astounding. I don't mean the regular shit like waking up late or forgetting to use deodorant. I'm talking about some really hardcore fuck-ups. Don't misunderstand, I did wake up late and I swear on all that is fucked, I wish I forgot to use deodorant.
Who has ever woken up in a severely dis-oriented state? No, I don't meaning the 'morning after awesomeness' state, I mean absolutely confused. Well, if you have, trust me, I just shattered whatever record you or anyone else may have set for daftest mistakes made in a space of 30 minutes.
Gentlefolk, I have had 3 baths already today. I am not overly concerned with my hygiene nor do I have OCD. I am simply a fucking moron. After the first shower, I reached for the deodorant spray on my bedside table...which some fucking genius, some goddamn nuclear physicist (guilty) put right beside my can of spray starch. Do I need to go on? Or have you figured out where I am going with this? The really sad part is that I did not realise what I was doing until I noticed I wasn't smelling the way I normally do.
After congratulating myself on a job well done, I had to go shower again.
Now shower number 2 wouldn't have been so bad had I remembered that my shower gel and my sister's hair shampoo were the same color, but had different scents. Again another nobel prize winner (again, guilty) decided to put them right beside each other. I just grabbed whatever and started scrubbing. I guess the only upside to this is that I am now certain my pubic hair is dandruff free. Of course the combination of scents I must currently smell like may be quite lethal. Not to mention the remote possiblity of suddenly developing skin cancer.
They say 3rd time's the charm and I certainly hope they aren't fucking around. I may as well have written detailed instructions to myself on how to clean up in the morning. But I've replayed the whole scenario in my head and I'm now confident that the 3rd time, I did have a bath with my shower gel, I did use deodorant, not spray starch or insecticide or some shit. Infact, I can go as far as to brag that I know I brushed my teeth. The only fear I have now is what I used to wipe my ass, cos I cannot remember seeing toilet paper this morning.
Dear Wednesday, I already have beef with your evil bitch sister Monday and I'm currently entangled in a passsionate love affair with your sweet sibling Friday. I want nothing to do with you or any other member of your family. Clearly, you're the funny one, pulling all sorts of shitty pranks on unsuspecting people. Please, please, please don't make this personal. Fucking asshole.
Gentlefolk I must go now. My brother is not going to be pleased.... I think I'm wearing his underwear....
Have a good day people.
I am Womilee.
Who has ever woken up in a severely dis-oriented state? No, I don't meaning the 'morning after awesomeness' state, I mean absolutely confused. Well, if you have, trust me, I just shattered whatever record you or anyone else may have set for daftest mistakes made in a space of 30 minutes.
Gentlefolk, I have had 3 baths already today. I am not overly concerned with my hygiene nor do I have OCD. I am simply a fucking moron. After the first shower, I reached for the deodorant spray on my bedside table...which some fucking genius, some goddamn nuclear physicist (guilty) put right beside my can of spray starch. Do I need to go on? Or have you figured out where I am going with this? The really sad part is that I did not realise what I was doing until I noticed I wasn't smelling the way I normally do.
After congratulating myself on a job well done, I had to go shower again.
Now shower number 2 wouldn't have been so bad had I remembered that my shower gel and my sister's hair shampoo were the same color, but had different scents. Again another nobel prize winner (again, guilty) decided to put them right beside each other. I just grabbed whatever and started scrubbing. I guess the only upside to this is that I am now certain my pubic hair is dandruff free. Of course the combination of scents I must currently smell like may be quite lethal. Not to mention the remote possiblity of suddenly developing skin cancer.
They say 3rd time's the charm and I certainly hope they aren't fucking around. I may as well have written detailed instructions to myself on how to clean up in the morning. But I've replayed the whole scenario in my head and I'm now confident that the 3rd time, I did have a bath with my shower gel, I did use deodorant, not spray starch or insecticide or some shit. Infact, I can go as far as to brag that I know I brushed my teeth. The only fear I have now is what I used to wipe my ass, cos I cannot remember seeing toilet paper this morning.
Dear Wednesday, I already have beef with your evil bitch sister Monday and I'm currently entangled in a passsionate love affair with your sweet sibling Friday. I want nothing to do with you or any other member of your family. Clearly, you're the funny one, pulling all sorts of shitty pranks on unsuspecting people. Please, please, please don't make this personal. Fucking asshole.
Gentlefolk I must go now. My brother is not going to be pleased.... I think I'm wearing his underwear....
Have a good day people.
I am Womilee.
Monday 26 July 2010
P.M. ... 26/07/2010
And at last, the board is re-united. A prominent member of my cartel has been unavailable for about 3 weeks. This affected the board most negatively, for his function is most important to our plans for world domination. Welcome back your Lordship, it is good you are with us once more.
How did today go good people? We TGIF, FYIF and GIM all the time, but shouldn't we also thank God monday is over? Don't worry, I'm not planning to invent an acronym for this or come up with a new theory, I'm just pleased today is over and done with. If we can get through monday, we can survive its minions.
Gentlefolk, I have come to the decision that I am not white collar material. I need a job that suits my personality, as well as my particular skills and talents. The brilliance behind this thinking is quite admirable, for I have developed a new personality trait outside the regular, standard four. From what I have heard, everyone falls into four categories of personality, Melancholy, Phlegmatic, Sanguine and Choleric. Most people are a mixture of 2 of these traits, example, Melancholy Choleric, Phlegmatic Sanguine etc. I tried to place myself into one of these categories to no avail, when it struck me, I may be an entirely new personality trait! And so, it is with great pleasure I would like to unveil the newest and by far coolest personality trait. Gentlefolk, I am Assholic Narcissistic!
After this great discovery, I proceeded to search deep within me for what talents I may possess. At first, I was distraught, because I know for a fact that I have no talents whatsoever. I cannot cook, sing, rap, dance, design, act, paint or motivate. This caused me some concern as you can imagine, until I realised the obvious.... My talent lies in the fact that I have no talent! Of course!
With this new information, I decided to go online and find my dream job. I googled the sentence 'no talent asshole seeking job' and wouldn't you know it, Google delivered. I now have a list of jobs which I agree are perfectly suited to my disposition:
1. Beer taster: yes good people, it is a real job and one I would excel at. I have in depth experience in this field and can be considered a foremost authority in it.
2. Dead body or corpse in movies: another actual job I would be great at. My acute laziness already allows me to lie around totally motionless for long periods of time, thus it would not be acting to me, it would be second nature. Infact I may go on to be the first person in history to win an Oscar for playing a dead body in a feature film.
3: Mattress tester: I am not making these up, this is an actual occupation. I would be the best mattress tester ever and in my retirement, would go on to mentor many young, potential mattress testers at my School For Slacking Aroung Excellence.
4: Medicinal Marijuana tester: I cannot imagine another person better suited to this role than myself. Or maybe I can. I forget. I hear weed can result in memory loss. What was I saying again?
5: Blogger: well what can I say here? Who else but me?
Gentlefolk, now all I need to do is find a way to apply for one or all these jobs and make a name for myself in life. A name that would stand out amongst all names and aliases. A name such that when heard, it immediately arouses the interest all all around me. When I think of this however, only one name comes to mind...
I am Womilee.
How did today go good people? We TGIF, FYIF and GIM all the time, but shouldn't we also thank God monday is over? Don't worry, I'm not planning to invent an acronym for this or come up with a new theory, I'm just pleased today is over and done with. If we can get through monday, we can survive its minions.
Gentlefolk, I have come to the decision that I am not white collar material. I need a job that suits my personality, as well as my particular skills and talents. The brilliance behind this thinking is quite admirable, for I have developed a new personality trait outside the regular, standard four. From what I have heard, everyone falls into four categories of personality, Melancholy, Phlegmatic, Sanguine and Choleric. Most people are a mixture of 2 of these traits, example, Melancholy Choleric, Phlegmatic Sanguine etc. I tried to place myself into one of these categories to no avail, when it struck me, I may be an entirely new personality trait! And so, it is with great pleasure I would like to unveil the newest and by far coolest personality trait. Gentlefolk, I am Assholic Narcissistic!
After this great discovery, I proceeded to search deep within me for what talents I may possess. At first, I was distraught, because I know for a fact that I have no talents whatsoever. I cannot cook, sing, rap, dance, design, act, paint or motivate. This caused me some concern as you can imagine, until I realised the obvious.... My talent lies in the fact that I have no talent! Of course!
With this new information, I decided to go online and find my dream job. I googled the sentence 'no talent asshole seeking job' and wouldn't you know it, Google delivered. I now have a list of jobs which I agree are perfectly suited to my disposition:
1. Beer taster: yes good people, it is a real job and one I would excel at. I have in depth experience in this field and can be considered a foremost authority in it.
2. Dead body or corpse in movies: another actual job I would be great at. My acute laziness already allows me to lie around totally motionless for long periods of time, thus it would not be acting to me, it would be second nature. Infact I may go on to be the first person in history to win an Oscar for playing a dead body in a feature film.
3: Mattress tester: I am not making these up, this is an actual occupation. I would be the best mattress tester ever and in my retirement, would go on to mentor many young, potential mattress testers at my School For Slacking Aroung Excellence.
4: Medicinal Marijuana tester: I cannot imagine another person better suited to this role than myself. Or maybe I can. I forget. I hear weed can result in memory loss. What was I saying again?
5: Blogger: well what can I say here? Who else but me?
Gentlefolk, now all I need to do is find a way to apply for one or all these jobs and make a name for myself in life. A name that would stand out amongst all names and aliases. A name such that when heard, it immediately arouses the interest all all around me. When I think of this however, only one name comes to mind...
I am Womilee.
A.M. ...26/07/2010
There's a movie called Groundhog Day. It stars Bill Murray, so you can imagine, its rather quirky. That is not the important bit. The important bit is what the movie is about. The story is about this man who is stuck in the same day over and over again. He wakes up every morning, and the same day starts, never progressing into the next day. All this is attributed to some groundhog, which is supposed to pop out of the ground, signalling the beginning of potato season or some shit. As is expected, he loathes this at first, then meets and falls for his dream girl, and they live happily ever after. While I'm suggesting that you should see this movie, that isn't the bottom line.
The bottom line is that I want that fucking groundhog. I want it for a pet. I love my dog, but that's just for sentimental reasons. This groundhog might be a practical solution to this constant problem I'm having. The way I see it, if I get the groundhog, then I can find a way to manipulate its gifts for my own evil use. Bill Murray was helpless to withstand its powers and thus could not control the way it repeated a particular day. But then again, Bill Murray was busy chasing the girl and learning to play the piano and all sorts of un-important shit. I will be solely focused on understanding this animal's powers and harnessing them for one reason only. Stop fucking Monday from coming! Imagine on a sunday evening, everything nice and relaxed, you're in extreme chill mode and then you remember what day it is tomorrow. But not to panic, just go outside, dig a hole in the ground, and out pops this furry little creature who can solve the impending problem. Chat with him a bit, offer him a beer or two and go back inside, knowing that when you wake up tomorrow morning, it'll be today again.
I would do anything and everything needed to see this through. I would reason with the groundhog, try and make it understand the importance of what I (nay, we) are trying to achieve. I would be humble, eloquent and pleasant in this endeavour. If this fails, I would resort to bribery. I would offer every and anything it could possibly want, from a life time supply of groundnuts (I assume that's what groundhogs eat), to assistance in complete annihilation of its long time enemy, the mole. I would offer money, jewels, luxury yachts, slaves.... I would offer the fucking world for this power. And if he was still being unreasonable, I would go underground, kidnap his wife and send him a picture of her being violated by my friend's roitweiler!
Dammit, GIM. I'm wearing this fucking tie again, on the way to that fucking office. My weekend went pretty much the same...fast. Infact, I have only one reason not to be my usual irate self. That mini-moustachioed, single cell brained, shit-for-personality reject called my boss starts his leave today. Hopefully he will be replaced by someone whose CV has the words 'I actually know what the fuck I'm doing', written boldly on it, with a stamp of approval from the 'He really does know what the fuck he's doing' board. Like I said, I'm not my usual irate self, today I'm merely livid.
Again GIM gentlefolkn how did the weekend go? Did we all have any fun? Did anyone get drunk, high, arrested or pregnant? I certainly hope so, if just wouldn't be an awesome weekend without a story to tell.
I spent the majority of this weekend trying to kiss one girl in particular. And she spent her weekend making sure I didn't succeed. I gave her kudos for her resilience, she gave me props for my persistence. Which I thoroughly deserve, for it isn't easy getting rejected 7 times in a row, in addition to the complimentary slaps and scratches, courtesy of said sexy young thing. After a particularly bruising session, she asked if I didn't realise she was going to hit me. I was supposed to reply 'no risk, no proceeds'.... I replied 'no risk, no pussy'.... She hasn't answered my messages since yesterday....
I'm almost there good people, and I can feel it laughing at me. The office, this soul sucking demon that feeds on my discontent. I will survive though, I have to.
I am Womilee. Goddamit, Its Monday.
Saturday 24 July 2010
24/07/2010
I know, I know. I need to get a grip on my laziness and deliver when I say I will. But there are several factors which act as constraints to this. One is I couldn't get a grip on my laziness if it physically appeared infront of me. And two is I was very very tired last night. As much as I love Friday, she can be a cruel mistress sometimes. I was barely alive yesterday evening, calling on my reserve tank just to get myself home. So once again, I'm going to do this on a saturday morning. It can't be that bad, can it?
Good morning good people, its R&R time. I myself just got up from bed, and if not for the roaring hunger which awoke me, I'd still be asleep. Have you ever considered that Saturday mornings allow you indulge in your basest desires? It turns us all into the cavemen we've fought so hard for centuries to overcome.
On Saturday mornings, you wake up at goodness knows what time and its the basic needs in life that come to mind. 'Caveman want food', 'caveman going back to bed' and for you lucky people who woke up with something soft and sexy besides you 'caveman want nookie!' For those of us who didn't however, we just keep doing the K'naan and Wave the Flag.
What are your plans for this brief respite we have worked so hard for? I imagine there are several weddings going on today, as is customary with saturdays. I myself have never really been a wedding person. I once read somewhere that the whole concept of the modern wedding is a big hoax. The groom is there, pretending that this is the happiest day of his life, the bride is there pretending to be a virgin. But that's someone else's opinion though.
I shall be going through my usual saturday routine gentlefolk. I wander aimlessly around my house on during the day, I like to call it haunting. Its more Phantom of the Opera than Casper the Friendly Ghost. Casper was a tad gay in my opinion anyways.
Come evening however, I shall cease the tom foolery, hop in a car and begin the search for all things awesome. And by night fall, I shall drunkenly stumble back into the house, and continue haunting it till the morning.
As you can imagine, I'm not exactly a social animal, but several women in the past have called me an animal, so I guess I'm halfway there.
Gentlefolk, shall we dance?
Sex: guess who's getting laid today? Go on guess? Well fuck it, I don't know either, but it sure as hell isn't me! Dammit!
Books: there is this Dean Koontz novel I have been trying to finish for months now. I can't. It scares the hell out of me. And I don't scare easy. Please someone read it and tell me how it ends. Its called False Memory.
Movies: I'm feeling like a bit of a softie today, so go see High Fidelity. Not my usual type of movie, but it was sort of special. Plus John Cusack and Jack Black were in it, and they're awesome.
Music: my hard heads, I said I'm feeling a bit soft, so bear with me. Will Smith's Big Willy Style may not be hardcore, but its still a classic. My fellow softies, TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool was exactly as the title suggests. And my fence-sitters go with Diddy's We Invented The Remix.
Have a proper nice weekend gentlefolk. I'm out.
I am Womilee.
Good morning good people, its R&R time. I myself just got up from bed, and if not for the roaring hunger which awoke me, I'd still be asleep. Have you ever considered that Saturday mornings allow you indulge in your basest desires? It turns us all into the cavemen we've fought so hard for centuries to overcome.
On Saturday mornings, you wake up at goodness knows what time and its the basic needs in life that come to mind. 'Caveman want food', 'caveman going back to bed' and for you lucky people who woke up with something soft and sexy besides you 'caveman want nookie!' For those of us who didn't however, we just keep doing the K'naan and Wave the Flag.
What are your plans for this brief respite we have worked so hard for? I imagine there are several weddings going on today, as is customary with saturdays. I myself have never really been a wedding person. I once read somewhere that the whole concept of the modern wedding is a big hoax. The groom is there, pretending that this is the happiest day of his life, the bride is there pretending to be a virgin. But that's someone else's opinion though.
I shall be going through my usual saturday routine gentlefolk. I wander aimlessly around my house on during the day, I like to call it haunting. Its more Phantom of the Opera than Casper the Friendly Ghost. Casper was a tad gay in my opinion anyways.
Come evening however, I shall cease the tom foolery, hop in a car and begin the search for all things awesome. And by night fall, I shall drunkenly stumble back into the house, and continue haunting it till the morning.
As you can imagine, I'm not exactly a social animal, but several women in the past have called me an animal, so I guess I'm halfway there.
Gentlefolk, shall we dance?
Sex: guess who's getting laid today? Go on guess? Well fuck it, I don't know either, but it sure as hell isn't me! Dammit!
Books: there is this Dean Koontz novel I have been trying to finish for months now. I can't. It scares the hell out of me. And I don't scare easy. Please someone read it and tell me how it ends. Its called False Memory.
Movies: I'm feeling like a bit of a softie today, so go see High Fidelity. Not my usual type of movie, but it was sort of special. Plus John Cusack and Jack Black were in it, and they're awesome.
Music: my hard heads, I said I'm feeling a bit soft, so bear with me. Will Smith's Big Willy Style may not be hardcore, but its still a classic. My fellow softies, TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool was exactly as the title suggests. And my fence-sitters go with Diddy's We Invented The Remix.
Have a proper nice weekend gentlefolk. I'm out.
I am Womilee.
Friday 23 July 2010
A.M. ... 23/07/2010
If Womilee was somehow cosmically converted from a human being, to a day of the week, I'd be Friday. I feel such a connection to Fridays good people. Infact I wish Friday could be converted to a human being. I want to buy him a drink. Or fuck her. Depends on what gender Friday is. And its no concidence I was born on a Friday night either. Ok, technically, it was a Saturday morning. On some day, in some month, back in 1983, at about 1.36am on a Friday night (okay, Saturday morning), a great man was born.... then about 2 seconds later in another room, I popped out.
TGIF gentlefolk, what it look like? We all deserve some form of congratulations at the end of every week. An award should be handed out, The GIM's. The categories would be awesome. 'Tardiest Male',
'Lead Female in Non-Giving A Fuck Role',
'Least Amount Of Work Done In A Totally Un-Supportive Capacity', 'Best Collaborative Quickie At The Office'.
Of course I'd be the host of this illustrious event every week. But that might seem like cheating, cos I'm dead sure I'd be the winner of the most prestigious award, 'Lifetime Lack of Achievement At Work Award'.
Until I get off my lazy ass to create, organise and host this event however, we all deserve at least a pat on the back. Gentlemen, present your backs, ladies, your backsides please. Lest I forget, FYIF the haters.
As per usual, I'm in a more amicable mood than I usually am. My baby Friday has that effect on me. Not quite harder, better, faster, stronger yet, but its still early. Unfortunately, there's a unit meeting at the office this morning, which might temporarily suppress my super powers.
These meetings have never made any sense to me. I'm usually equivalent to furniture when they come up. My boss knows this, my colleagues know this, yet they constantly expect me to attend. They discuss issues that I don't care about, toss about ideas that make no impact upon me, come up with policies I never adhere to. To be honest, while they are drawing up new policies and procedures, I'm designing my own blueprints of how to break whatever new rule has been put in place without getting caught. Really, its a giant waste of my precious time. Infact, the only thing that really interests me during these gatherings is my bosses voice.
He has one of those very high pitched voices gentlefolk, which can be viewed as a gift or a curse. Of course, its a curse to him, a man sounding like a 5 year old girl cannot be a good thing. However, it is a gift to me, as hearing him talk constantly provides me with a source of entertainment and amusement. And since he anchors every meeting, I sit there wondering how he came by his voice. As you can imagine, this activity takes me away completely from whatever the fuck he's talking about at the time. I have come up with a new list of reasons why he sounds like a female porn star:
1. Obvious, helium inhalation at a young age.
2. Practising for when he finally comes out of the closet and declares his homosexuality/sex change plans.
3. He's just a pussy
4. Walks around with an actual stick up his ass, that way, its not an insult anymore.
5. The chip implanted in his head by the company has malfunctioned
6. See 2 and 3 above.
I'm almost at work good people. Friday has started and Lord willing, friday will end. Til the evening then...
I am Womilee.
TGIF gentlefolk, what it look like? We all deserve some form of congratulations at the end of every week. An award should be handed out, The GIM's. The categories would be awesome. 'Tardiest Male',
'Lead Female in Non-Giving A Fuck Role',
'Least Amount Of Work Done In A Totally Un-Supportive Capacity', 'Best Collaborative Quickie At The Office'.
Of course I'd be the host of this illustrious event every week. But that might seem like cheating, cos I'm dead sure I'd be the winner of the most prestigious award, 'Lifetime Lack of Achievement At Work Award'.
Until I get off my lazy ass to create, organise and host this event however, we all deserve at least a pat on the back. Gentlemen, present your backs, ladies, your backsides please. Lest I forget, FYIF the haters.
As per usual, I'm in a more amicable mood than I usually am. My baby Friday has that effect on me. Not quite harder, better, faster, stronger yet, but its still early. Unfortunately, there's a unit meeting at the office this morning, which might temporarily suppress my super powers.
These meetings have never made any sense to me. I'm usually equivalent to furniture when they come up. My boss knows this, my colleagues know this, yet they constantly expect me to attend. They discuss issues that I don't care about, toss about ideas that make no impact upon me, come up with policies I never adhere to. To be honest, while they are drawing up new policies and procedures, I'm designing my own blueprints of how to break whatever new rule has been put in place without getting caught. Really, its a giant waste of my precious time. Infact, the only thing that really interests me during these gatherings is my bosses voice.
He has one of those very high pitched voices gentlefolk, which can be viewed as a gift or a curse. Of course, its a curse to him, a man sounding like a 5 year old girl cannot be a good thing. However, it is a gift to me, as hearing him talk constantly provides me with a source of entertainment and amusement. And since he anchors every meeting, I sit there wondering how he came by his voice. As you can imagine, this activity takes me away completely from whatever the fuck he's talking about at the time. I have come up with a new list of reasons why he sounds like a female porn star:
1. Obvious, helium inhalation at a young age.
2. Practising for when he finally comes out of the closet and declares his homosexuality/sex change plans.
3. He's just a pussy
4. Walks around with an actual stick up his ass, that way, its not an insult anymore.
5. The chip implanted in his head by the company has malfunctioned
6. See 2 and 3 above.
I'm almost at work good people. Friday has started and Lord willing, friday will end. Til the evening then...
I am Womilee.
Wednesday 21 July 2010
A.M. ... 21/07/2010
Gentlefolk, I am being forced to work out of my preferred element. As you all know, I usually write my posts on the way to or from work, but today I am once again coming to you live from the office. I would like to send a special curse the way of the good people at MTN, who are responsible for my not having any service what so ever on my phone. May you all suddenly and painfully develop a fatal diarrhea-like disease.
Its halftime gentle folk. Wednesday, the pains of Monday are gone, yet the anticipation of Friday is still premature. I originally had no intention to write this morning, I had nothing in mind to talk to you about. But then, as I entered the office, I saw the most fascinating thing. Now this occurrence is neither new nor abnormal, I'm sure it happens in every office, in every area of the world. But nonetheless, I gave it particular thought today.
I got into the office the same as every other day, said hello to the same people, and bumped into one of the many Aphrodites who have made this place their workplace. I almost didn't recognize her! In her hands, she carried several packages. One of those huge handbags which women carry, her work shoes in another bag, yet another bag containing lord knows what.... she looked almost homeless, with all the baggage she had with her. All that remained honestly, was a shopping cart, a bottle of whiskey and a scraggly little dog.
I have often wondered, ladies, what exactly do you carry in those bags? I have seen miraculous things come out of some girl's bags though. A certain sweetheart cousin of mine once pulled out an entire bathroom convenience/appliance store from hers. She had soap, tissue, toothpicks, perfume, a bottle opener... I was almost afraid to ask if she simply had entire bathroom in it, she just might have pulled it out. In fact today, this colleague of mine actually had her hair in one of her bags! Her fricking hair. I'm thinking ,'what, the one on your head planning to retire soon? Maybe elope with a carpet?'. But I hear you should always be prepared for any and all events. It doesn't get more prepared than having 2 sets of hair with you at all times.
I decided to inquire as to the contents of her baggage... and if she wanted some change for food, or booze or crack etc, but she rushed straight into the ladies bathroom. Being the asshole I am, i was determined to tease her about her general look today, so I hung around. I shouldn't have done that good people. It wasn't a bag lady who came out of the bathroom. It was this sexy secretary lady straight out of my favorite porn flick. The transformation was incredible. In went homeless, out came horny. And this time, she took her time to say hello, complete with tight hug, beard stroke and wink. Obviously I totally forgot to tease her.
To those of you who follow me on twitter, the office stiffy is back. I don't need this, its too goddamn early.
Ill see you all later.
I am Womilee.
Its halftime gentle folk. Wednesday, the pains of Monday are gone, yet the anticipation of Friday is still premature. I originally had no intention to write this morning, I had nothing in mind to talk to you about. But then, as I entered the office, I saw the most fascinating thing. Now this occurrence is neither new nor abnormal, I'm sure it happens in every office, in every area of the world. But nonetheless, I gave it particular thought today.
I got into the office the same as every other day, said hello to the same people, and bumped into one of the many Aphrodites who have made this place their workplace. I almost didn't recognize her! In her hands, she carried several packages. One of those huge handbags which women carry, her work shoes in another bag, yet another bag containing lord knows what.... she looked almost homeless, with all the baggage she had with her. All that remained honestly, was a shopping cart, a bottle of whiskey and a scraggly little dog.
I have often wondered, ladies, what exactly do you carry in those bags? I have seen miraculous things come out of some girl's bags though. A certain sweetheart cousin of mine once pulled out an entire bathroom convenience/appliance store from hers. She had soap, tissue, toothpicks, perfume, a bottle opener... I was almost afraid to ask if she simply had entire bathroom in it, she just might have pulled it out. In fact today, this colleague of mine actually had her hair in one of her bags! Her fricking hair. I'm thinking ,'what, the one on your head planning to retire soon? Maybe elope with a carpet?'. But I hear you should always be prepared for any and all events. It doesn't get more prepared than having 2 sets of hair with you at all times.
I decided to inquire as to the contents of her baggage... and if she wanted some change for food, or booze or crack etc, but she rushed straight into the ladies bathroom. Being the asshole I am, i was determined to tease her about her general look today, so I hung around. I shouldn't have done that good people. It wasn't a bag lady who came out of the bathroom. It was this sexy secretary lady straight out of my favorite porn flick. The transformation was incredible. In went homeless, out came horny. And this time, she took her time to say hello, complete with tight hug, beard stroke and wink. Obviously I totally forgot to tease her.
To those of you who follow me on twitter, the office stiffy is back. I don't need this, its too goddamn early.
Ill see you all later.
I am Womilee.
Monday 19 July 2010
P.M. ... 19/07/2010
I need help. That's not an invitation for anyone to make snide remarks. I mean I need suggestions. What else can I do for a living? I don't think I can continue here much longer. I know people at the office who have been bankers for years, nay, decades. They all have the same blank look in their eyes now. And they want the same from me.
Has anyone seen The Invasion? Aliens came to earth and inhabited people's bodies. Then they went about spreading their virus, making sure everybody was exactly like them. Mindless and happy about it. Luckily, as with every good movie, where there's a villain, there's a hero. And though I usually prefer the role of the villain, in this case, I'll put aside my wants and put on the cape, the mask, jump in the Batmobile, fuck Catwoman and make the pussy purr. I mean pussy cat good, but very dirty minded people. Catwoman is the pussycat I'm going to make purr. That's the only pussy I'm talking about.
Where was I? Dammit, all that talk made me forget the point I was trying to make.
Gentlefolk, I will never allow these evil mind-numbing entities infect us. As long as there is still blood in my veins, breath in my lungs and sperm in my balls, I shall fight for our freedom. I think I need some sort of signal too. Batman has his bat signal. Whenever there is trouble, someone flashes it in the sky and he comes to save the day.
I want one. Instead of a bat sign, mine shall be a giant middle finger. I too will have a utility belt, but no flash bangs, or grappling hooks or mini bombs. My utility belt will contain the tools needed to fight the evil capitalism which envelopes our lives.
Whenever there is a crisis of the occupational kind, I shall be there to save the day, with a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, enough marijuana to make Columbia jealous, more porn than the Playboy channel and a large assortment of condoms (gotta stay strapped people). And all the while I do this, there shall be one thing at the forefront of my mind... Man, I hope I don't get stopped by the police..
All I need now is a fitting super hero name gentlefolk... I would like to throw this task to you good people. Please find me a name that will strike fear into the hearts of industries and put warmth in the panties of women everywhere. I shall be awaiting your suggestions. Until you all come up with the genius I know you're capable of, feel free to refer to me as always...
I am Womilee.
A.M. ... 19/07/2010
Good people, it is good to be alive. And healthy. It is good to have all my limbs, appendages and body organs intact. It is good that my family and friends are alive, hale and hearty as well. It is good that my dog still loves me, despite me yanking on her tail yesterday.
It is good that the weather is comfortable, not raining nor burning this morning. It is good that MTN hasn't fucked with my phone's reception in a while. It is good that the phone itself still functions, for I doubt I can still find the guy that sold it to me. It is good that today is some people's birthday, while some people will or have lost their lives today. There must be a balance.
It is good that the week has started, because it means the weekend is coming again. It is good that I rested properly this past weekend, for if I didn't, I would not be here saying the phrase 'it is good' umpteen times.
Gentlefolk, its all good, its alright. And now that I've shown a little bit of optimism and acknowledged all the good there is, I shall revert to the truth and leave La-La land.
I fucking hate Mondays. And the feeling is mutual. I nearly cried yesterday evening good people. The weight of the coming week suddenly fell on my shoulders. It was like being on death row, the day before you're to die. You know tomorrow is coming, you can do nothing to avoid it. You just sit there, anticipating the worst, hoping that it is over as quickly as possible.
Any of you who went to boarding school should know the feeling I'm talking about. Remember how it felt after a long and most awesome holiday. Then its time to go back. Everything is cool, you pack, hop in the car, and you still don't give a shit. You're all gangsta then. Then you catch sight of your school as you approach and all the hell confined within its walls suddenly hits you. All that gangsta abruptly vanishes. You are no longer 50cent. You're now a pussy. Scared, worried and just wanna go home.
Gentlefolk, back then, this feeling only happened 3, maybe 4 times in a year, depending on how many times your pussy ass ran away from school. Back then, 3 or 4 times a year wasn't so bad. It was manageable. This feeling happens to me every morning I go to work. Everyday of the week, it feels like I'm on deathrow.
My word, that's a bit much though. I'm starting to take this dislike of mondays too far. Deathrow?! This is past depressed, I'm leaning towards suicidal. But really, please, if anyone out there is on good terms with monday, tell her to stop it. I'm not playing anymore. She cannot continue setting booby-traps outside my house. Its just not cool. I'm tired of being bullied.
Good people, I wish you all a good day and week.
I am Womilee.
It is good that the weather is comfortable, not raining nor burning this morning. It is good that MTN hasn't fucked with my phone's reception in a while. It is good that the phone itself still functions, for I doubt I can still find the guy that sold it to me. It is good that today is some people's birthday, while some people will or have lost their lives today. There must be a balance.
It is good that the week has started, because it means the weekend is coming again. It is good that I rested properly this past weekend, for if I didn't, I would not be here saying the phrase 'it is good' umpteen times.
Gentlefolk, its all good, its alright. And now that I've shown a little bit of optimism and acknowledged all the good there is, I shall revert to the truth and leave La-La land.
I fucking hate Mondays. And the feeling is mutual. I nearly cried yesterday evening good people. The weight of the coming week suddenly fell on my shoulders. It was like being on death row, the day before you're to die. You know tomorrow is coming, you can do nothing to avoid it. You just sit there, anticipating the worst, hoping that it is over as quickly as possible.
Any of you who went to boarding school should know the feeling I'm talking about. Remember how it felt after a long and most awesome holiday. Then its time to go back. Everything is cool, you pack, hop in the car, and you still don't give a shit. You're all gangsta then. Then you catch sight of your school as you approach and all the hell confined within its walls suddenly hits you. All that gangsta abruptly vanishes. You are no longer 50cent. You're now a pussy. Scared, worried and just wanna go home.
Gentlefolk, back then, this feeling only happened 3, maybe 4 times in a year, depending on how many times your pussy ass ran away from school. Back then, 3 or 4 times a year wasn't so bad. It was manageable. This feeling happens to me every morning I go to work. Everyday of the week, it feels like I'm on deathrow.
My word, that's a bit much though. I'm starting to take this dislike of mondays too far. Deathrow?! This is past depressed, I'm leaning towards suicidal. But really, please, if anyone out there is on good terms with monday, tell her to stop it. I'm not playing anymore. She cannot continue setting booby-traps outside my house. Its just not cool. I'm tired of being bullied.
Good people, I wish you all a good day and week.
I am Womilee.
Saturday 17 July 2010
17/07/2010...
FMIS! Fuck me, its saturday? I'm taking shit too far now, I know. Apologies. Gentlefolk, I'm in a good mood. The obvious reason being I'm still in bed. Don't have to rush into the bathroom, don't have to remind myself to brush my teeth, morning hard-on happy and healthy, doesn't have to be forced down or convinced to go away. Saturday morning lethargy people, and I'm loving it, as I'm sure you are.
This is a sneak peek into my world on saturday gentlefolk, I'm trying to make amends for not writing anything last night. I would like to send my condolences to those poor sonofabiches who work weekends though. Its like being offered a blow job by a man... Its still a blow job, but no, hell no. Its still a saturday, but goddamn, your at work. That cannot feel right.
My itinerary for saturday mornings always follows the same pattern. Wake up, flip open a laptop and watch a movie. And the choice of movie always varies. Action, Horror, Comedy or porn. Now don't lie to yourselves my brethren, we all have porn somewhere. On our laptops, our phones, hidden somewhere inside the roof of the dog's cage (best hiding place ever!) And ladies, don't lie to yourselves either, you know we have it. You've probably found where we hid it too. Hands up any of you who watched it? Shaking your heads and tut-tutting..."I don't know why he has this rubbish..." But you still watching though.
This morning, no porn. I promise. I'm gonna see Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels instead. You should too, its an awesome movie. Fuck, that should have been my suggestion for the weekend... No matter, there's still more.
I have a date today gentlefolk. Yes, someone (a girl too) has actually decided that her good deed for the year is to hang out with yours truly. Obviously, I'm sure she has horrendous taste in everything else, not just men. I have no idea where we're going to go or what we are going to do. Infact, please, all the beautiful women who follow me on twitter, help a brother out. I'm totally confused. I need advice and suggestions.
If I must dampen the mood slightly, ill say something about work yesterday. Work yesterday was shit. As usual. There, that just about covers it. Although there was a peculiar highlight to yesterday.
Have any of you good people come across a series called Californication? Its about this writer with severe issues (no comparison). I would go on, but ill digress if I do. In an episode of it I saw, the writer got upset because someone said the term LOL at him. Now, I don't mean he was chatting or texting, I mean he was having a personal, face-to-face talk with someone. He said something funny and she replied 'lol'. As most real writers (again, present company excluded) go, he takes the english language quite seriously, thus this annoyed him greatly. I laughed when I watched this, thinking who ever penned the script was a funny muthafucker. Who the fuck says 'lol' instead of just laughing right? Until it happened to me...
Yesterday at work, I was speaking to one of the many girls at the office whom I'm planning on impregnating. As things usually go, I was teasing her, making jokes...y'all know how I do. At a point in time, she bent over (hold on!) to pick something off the floor, and I made a quip about her ass being her best trait (aren't the best things in life supposed to be free?). She found this funny, and said 'lol'. I was dumbfounded! 'L-o-fucking-l! I haven't been that turned off since the day I accidentally watched fat girl porn (it is revolting!). What the fuck?! Is it really so difficult to laugh out loud nowadays? I mean, my physiotherapy degree isn't exactly genuine, but I think its safe to assume it takes more muscles to say the term 'lol' than it does to just laugh. Its utterly ridiculous to be honest. I quickly made some excuse about suddenly being rendered impotent and left her. Apparently she thought this was really funny, cos this time she laughed. Lord help the bitch she shouldve used the term 'Lmao'....
I've never been one to keep up with the latest trends and fashions, but is it now in vogue to abbreviate everything, including spoken word? The amount of things that will suffer from this trend are huge. Think if your favourite artist started abbreviating his music, your favourite writer, his books, your favourite movie cut short... Although in my opinion, some films could do with a bit of it. Titanic should have ended when Kate Winslet showed boob in my opinion. Think of if while you're fucking, she starts abbreviating her moans ans sounds... Oh my God becomes 'OMG', 'I'm coming' turns into 'brb'..., 'yes, yes, yes', becomes a thumbs up... Not very sexy if you ask me...
I'm off to watch my movie now good people, which by the way is my suggestion for the weekend.
For music, Puffy's No Way Out for the hard ones, TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool for the soft ones and Craig David's best (and only in my opinion) album, Born To Do it.
Books, anything Sidney Sheldon wrote is awesome, trust me.
Sex, oh you bet your sweet asses....
Happy a good weekend good people....
I am Womilee.
This is a sneak peek into my world on saturday gentlefolk, I'm trying to make amends for not writing anything last night. I would like to send my condolences to those poor sonofabiches who work weekends though. Its like being offered a blow job by a man... Its still a blow job, but no, hell no. Its still a saturday, but goddamn, your at work. That cannot feel right.
My itinerary for saturday mornings always follows the same pattern. Wake up, flip open a laptop and watch a movie. And the choice of movie always varies. Action, Horror, Comedy or porn. Now don't lie to yourselves my brethren, we all have porn somewhere. On our laptops, our phones, hidden somewhere inside the roof of the dog's cage (best hiding place ever!) And ladies, don't lie to yourselves either, you know we have it. You've probably found where we hid it too. Hands up any of you who watched it? Shaking your heads and tut-tutting..."I don't know why he has this rubbish..." But you still watching though.
This morning, no porn. I promise. I'm gonna see Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels instead. You should too, its an awesome movie. Fuck, that should have been my suggestion for the weekend... No matter, there's still more.
I have a date today gentlefolk. Yes, someone (a girl too) has actually decided that her good deed for the year is to hang out with yours truly. Obviously, I'm sure she has horrendous taste in everything else, not just men. I have no idea where we're going to go or what we are going to do. Infact, please, all the beautiful women who follow me on twitter, help a brother out. I'm totally confused. I need advice and suggestions.
If I must dampen the mood slightly, ill say something about work yesterday. Work yesterday was shit. As usual. There, that just about covers it. Although there was a peculiar highlight to yesterday.
Have any of you good people come across a series called Californication? Its about this writer with severe issues (no comparison). I would go on, but ill digress if I do. In an episode of it I saw, the writer got upset because someone said the term LOL at him. Now, I don't mean he was chatting or texting, I mean he was having a personal, face-to-face talk with someone. He said something funny and she replied 'lol'. As most real writers (again, present company excluded) go, he takes the english language quite seriously, thus this annoyed him greatly. I laughed when I watched this, thinking who ever penned the script was a funny muthafucker. Who the fuck says 'lol' instead of just laughing right? Until it happened to me...
Yesterday at work, I was speaking to one of the many girls at the office whom I'm planning on impregnating. As things usually go, I was teasing her, making jokes...y'all know how I do. At a point in time, she bent over (hold on!) to pick something off the floor, and I made a quip about her ass being her best trait (aren't the best things in life supposed to be free?). She found this funny, and said 'lol'. I was dumbfounded! 'L-o-fucking-l! I haven't been that turned off since the day I accidentally watched fat girl porn (it is revolting!). What the fuck?! Is it really so difficult to laugh out loud nowadays? I mean, my physiotherapy degree isn't exactly genuine, but I think its safe to assume it takes more muscles to say the term 'lol' than it does to just laugh. Its utterly ridiculous to be honest. I quickly made some excuse about suddenly being rendered impotent and left her. Apparently she thought this was really funny, cos this time she laughed. Lord help the bitch she shouldve used the term 'Lmao'....
I've never been one to keep up with the latest trends and fashions, but is it now in vogue to abbreviate everything, including spoken word? The amount of things that will suffer from this trend are huge. Think if your favourite artist started abbreviating his music, your favourite writer, his books, your favourite movie cut short... Although in my opinion, some films could do with a bit of it. Titanic should have ended when Kate Winslet showed boob in my opinion. Think of if while you're fucking, she starts abbreviating her moans ans sounds... Oh my God becomes 'OMG', 'I'm coming' turns into 'brb'..., 'yes, yes, yes', becomes a thumbs up... Not very sexy if you ask me...
I'm off to watch my movie now good people, which by the way is my suggestion for the weekend.
For music, Puffy's No Way Out for the hard ones, TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool for the soft ones and Craig David's best (and only in my opinion) album, Born To Do it.
Books, anything Sidney Sheldon wrote is awesome, trust me.
Sex, oh you bet your sweet asses....
Happy a good weekend good people....
I am Womilee.
Friday 16 July 2010
A.M. ...16/07/2010
Good morning good people. TGIF. It finally came. The opposite of monday. Friday is Cinderella, the beautiful, but long suffering step sister of Monday and the rest of the week. Those ugly bitches. Despite the incredible amount of fatigue I feel, I can still do a lil dance. My one-two, fuck you its friday dance.
That just came out of nowhere! Did you see it too? We have a new emotion for today! Cmon, celebrate with me. From here on end, we shall have 2 manners to express our friday happiness. For those who share our happiness, those who are like us, happy people, we shall wish them TGIF. And for those who have upset us during the week, our bosses, colleagues, random hating muthafuckers or anyone who you just don't like cos he/she is just too goddamn ugly, we shall say to them FYIF! Fuck You, its Friday!
You have no idea how good this feels to me gentlefolk. I've come up with a new one... and I didn't even have to get high, drunk, horny or angry. This is a breakthrough in personality trait for me. The board must be consulted!
I cannot wait for today to end. As I said on wednesday, the week had flown by. It was a wonderful blur. For the first time, I can't remember most of what I did during it. I vaguely recall getting upset over something or someone... Then there was a memo I had to reply to... That's it! Everything else has been completely wiped out of my memory. Blessings from above. Or maybe I was abducted by memory eradicating aliens... Fuck it, I guess that's better than anal probing aliens any day.
Something I wrote up there has just struck me. I realise now that my psychological states actually do comprise of or vary between high, drunk, horny or angry. Sometimes, a combination of all 4 of them. The first two only happen on weekends of course, even I am not irresponsible enough to get wasted during the week. But yet again, I digress. There has to be another side to Womilee. It scares me that all that I am can basically be summed up in to inebriated and emotionally unstable. You all must help me here. We must strive together to discover a new dimension to Womilee. I suggest we embark upon this journey starting this weekend, over drinks and weed. This invitation is only open to beautiful women by the way....
Good people, I do not have much to say for now. Its been an uneventful week, thank God for that. Let's see what happens at the end of business today.
Don't forget thought, its either TGIF or FYIF.
We'll be speaking.
I am Womilee.
Wednesday 14 July 2010
P.M. ... 14/07/2010
Dear Sir,
You are a prick. I know this is neither official language nor is it the proper way to reply an official memo, but I believe those 4 words encompass everything I could possibly have to say to you.
As clearly stated, I received your memo, inquiring as to why I did not attend to the customer swiftly, politely or at all. My answer to this sir, is that in my opinion, he is a prick too. Infact, so as to save on words and maximise efficiency, (as you always ask us to), I will say that in my opinion, you are both pricks. I hope that this statement is both efficient and effective, as per your set standards.
If I must expatiate, I refused to attend to the customer for several reasons. Firstly, he was today and often is late. He came at a time when it would have been impossible for me to attend to his transaction, round up for the day and still make my way home. In other words sir, I did not bring a mattress, pillow and duvet to the office with me this morning, thus sleeping here because of this reject and your good self was not an option I was going to entertain.
Another reason I opted not to attend to him sir, is because he is ugly. And so is his wife. This leads me to believe that they have birthed equally ugly offspring. I feel our organisation should not indulge and encourage the multiplication of his blood line. Thus killing his transaction, which in turn will lead to him making less money and consequently starving him and his circus freak family to death seemed to be the right thing to do. I fear however that my efforts may be in vain, as I am confident that this company pays you a salary. This being said, Ive seen your wife's photo, and it is safe to say your family home must function as a petting zoo on weekends.
Do not view this as an insult good sir, I am merely replying your memo in the very best of my capacities. My next and final reason for refusing the customers request sir, is that I consider him, to be without the shadow of a doubt, the most illiterate of illiterates. I feel that insulting him may have been a waste of my time, and thus I chose to ignore him. This man strikes me as so stupid, he could not tell the time if he was the second hand on a clock. He could easily measure his IQ by counting all the fingers on one hand. Infact sir, I suspect that's the only reason you have taken up this case so adamantly is that you are delighted to have finally found something other than single cell organisms which is dumber than you.
I have considered your suggestion of apology, and have decided against it. I feel that apologising to this bottomless pit of a man might somehow make him feel more intelligent and important than he and his entire clan actually are, which I cannot live with on my conscience.
I hope I have sufficiently explained my stance on this issue, and I wish to assure you sir, that for as long as you and your customers continue to think with the mental capacity of dead wood, I shall always be here to fuck up whatever plans you may have laid out.
To re-iterate sir, I think you're a prick.
Thank you for your time.
Yours Sincerely
I am Womilee.
You are a prick. I know this is neither official language nor is it the proper way to reply an official memo, but I believe those 4 words encompass everything I could possibly have to say to you.
As clearly stated, I received your memo, inquiring as to why I did not attend to the customer swiftly, politely or at all. My answer to this sir, is that in my opinion, he is a prick too. Infact, so as to save on words and maximise efficiency, (as you always ask us to), I will say that in my opinion, you are both pricks. I hope that this statement is both efficient and effective, as per your set standards.
If I must expatiate, I refused to attend to the customer for several reasons. Firstly, he was today and often is late. He came at a time when it would have been impossible for me to attend to his transaction, round up for the day and still make my way home. In other words sir, I did not bring a mattress, pillow and duvet to the office with me this morning, thus sleeping here because of this reject and your good self was not an option I was going to entertain.
Another reason I opted not to attend to him sir, is because he is ugly. And so is his wife. This leads me to believe that they have birthed equally ugly offspring. I feel our organisation should not indulge and encourage the multiplication of his blood line. Thus killing his transaction, which in turn will lead to him making less money and consequently starving him and his circus freak family to death seemed to be the right thing to do. I fear however that my efforts may be in vain, as I am confident that this company pays you a salary. This being said, Ive seen your wife's photo, and it is safe to say your family home must function as a petting zoo on weekends.
Do not view this as an insult good sir, I am merely replying your memo in the very best of my capacities. My next and final reason for refusing the customers request sir, is that I consider him, to be without the shadow of a doubt, the most illiterate of illiterates. I feel that insulting him may have been a waste of my time, and thus I chose to ignore him. This man strikes me as so stupid, he could not tell the time if he was the second hand on a clock. He could easily measure his IQ by counting all the fingers on one hand. Infact sir, I suspect that's the only reason you have taken up this case so adamantly is that you are delighted to have finally found something other than single cell organisms which is dumber than you.
I have considered your suggestion of apology, and have decided against it. I feel that apologising to this bottomless pit of a man might somehow make him feel more intelligent and important than he and his entire clan actually are, which I cannot live with on my conscience.
I hope I have sufficiently explained my stance on this issue, and I wish to assure you sir, that for as long as you and your customers continue to think with the mental capacity of dead wood, I shall always be here to fuck up whatever plans you may have laid out.
To re-iterate sir, I think you're a prick.
Thank you for your time.
Yours Sincerely
I am Womilee.
A.M. ... 14/07/2010
I smell a rat. Something is not quite right here. The week is actually moving. And moving fast too. Is this some kind of set up? Are the fates lying in wait for me, biding their time until the right moment to knee me in the groin? I have long ago learned not to trust women, and let's face it, fate is a big bitch. She's part of a set of triplets. Mother Nature and Time complete this group and when the three of them get together to fuck you over, the resulting circumstances are indescribeable.
For now, I'm suspicious. Its wednesday already, meaning Time is the present cunt, cooking up something I'm not going to like, rushing me towards an occurence where Fate can manipulate and Mother Nature can aggravate. Of course, there's another explanation... The days are simply speeding along and I'm a paranoid maniac. Fuck that, I'm sticking with my original assumptions.
Gentlefolk, something has upset me greatly this morning. No, its not the usual having to get up early, lack of a wake-me-up blow job, wearing this fucking suit or the traffic. That annoyance is standard, its in my blood now, so it does not stand out. What has upset me is a person. And no, not my boss, or the girl with the constantly playful puppies she's hiding in her trousers, its someone else entirely. This person has absolutely nothing to do with my job, thus he has added a whole new dimension to my usual early morning dementia.
It is known I am not the friendliest of persons. As with the other members of the board, I have a low tolerance level, a severe god complex and an attitude best described as assholic. On the best of days, I'm a grumpy bastard, much less on early work day mornings. Because of this my delicate disposition, it is generally best to leave me the fuck alone, especially early in the morning.
Now, I know a chap. He recently, like me, got a blackberry after many months of planning, preparation, prayers and fasting. Like me. It is fully expected that this new gadget should excite him, he's only human after all. Why, when I first got mine, I was over the moon with anticipation. I just wanted to ping people constantly. But I didn't. I behaved myself.
So someone explain why this bastard has the balls to try and chat with me by 5.45am?! Asking me 'what's good?' What the fuck do you think is good, you illiterate fuck, its 5.45am! Nothing is good goddammit! I'm awake, I have a boner, I'm on my way to the office and I'm going to be answering to an unmitigated fucking moron all day. Tell me, in whatever neanderthal language you speak, which one of these can be defined as 'good' to you?!
Why oh why do people feel the need to talk to other people? More importantly, why do they feel the need to talk to me?! What did I do to deserve someone asking me utterly ridiculous questions this early in the morning? I already have to deal with idiot customers and mentally retarded co-workers all day. This means my capacity to inteprete stupidity is already at maximum, I cannot handle any more. I can only speak and understand so much 'idiot', I'm not fluent in it! My first language is english, not fucktard!
If you must speak to me, make it coherent, audible english. At a suitable and appropriate time of the day. My preferred accommodating hours are between 7.00am and 7.03am on sunday mornings. This is usually the best time to have a chat with me, as it is then I am more often than not terribly hungover and thus cannot hear a word you're saying. Within this expanse of time, I will gladly listen to and answer any rubbish you feel you must spew forth. Do NOT chat at me on weekday mornings, the chances of my purposely going online to download a virus and send it to you in an effort to crash both our phones is phenomenally high. I will go 'phonicide' bomber on your ass.
Dammit, even if anyone has to talk to me, it should only be about one or all of the following reasons:
1. Money
2. Sex
3. Sudden public holiday declared
4. Tragic death of my boss in freak milk and cookie related accident.
N.B. It is also preferred that the news be delivered by a sexy female voice, with a picture of her posterior for verification.
These are the only reasons anyone should try and contact me in the mornings. For anything else, please feel free to go and fuck yourselves. Hard.
I feel a bit better now.
I am Womilee.
For now, I'm suspicious. Its wednesday already, meaning Time is the present cunt, cooking up something I'm not going to like, rushing me towards an occurence where Fate can manipulate and Mother Nature can aggravate. Of course, there's another explanation... The days are simply speeding along and I'm a paranoid maniac. Fuck that, I'm sticking with my original assumptions.
Gentlefolk, something has upset me greatly this morning. No, its not the usual having to get up early, lack of a wake-me-up blow job, wearing this fucking suit or the traffic. That annoyance is standard, its in my blood now, so it does not stand out. What has upset me is a person. And no, not my boss, or the girl with the constantly playful puppies she's hiding in her trousers, its someone else entirely. This person has absolutely nothing to do with my job, thus he has added a whole new dimension to my usual early morning dementia.
It is known I am not the friendliest of persons. As with the other members of the board, I have a low tolerance level, a severe god complex and an attitude best described as assholic. On the best of days, I'm a grumpy bastard, much less on early work day mornings. Because of this my delicate disposition, it is generally best to leave me the fuck alone, especially early in the morning.
Now, I know a chap. He recently, like me, got a blackberry after many months of planning, preparation, prayers and fasting. Like me. It is fully expected that this new gadget should excite him, he's only human after all. Why, when I first got mine, I was over the moon with anticipation. I just wanted to ping people constantly. But I didn't. I behaved myself.
So someone explain why this bastard has the balls to try and chat with me by 5.45am?! Asking me 'what's good?' What the fuck do you think is good, you illiterate fuck, its 5.45am! Nothing is good goddammit! I'm awake, I have a boner, I'm on my way to the office and I'm going to be answering to an unmitigated fucking moron all day. Tell me, in whatever neanderthal language you speak, which one of these can be defined as 'good' to you?!
Why oh why do people feel the need to talk to other people? More importantly, why do they feel the need to talk to me?! What did I do to deserve someone asking me utterly ridiculous questions this early in the morning? I already have to deal with idiot customers and mentally retarded co-workers all day. This means my capacity to inteprete stupidity is already at maximum, I cannot handle any more. I can only speak and understand so much 'idiot', I'm not fluent in it! My first language is english, not fucktard!
If you must speak to me, make it coherent, audible english. At a suitable and appropriate time of the day. My preferred accommodating hours are between 7.00am and 7.03am on sunday mornings. This is usually the best time to have a chat with me, as it is then I am more often than not terribly hungover and thus cannot hear a word you're saying. Within this expanse of time, I will gladly listen to and answer any rubbish you feel you must spew forth. Do NOT chat at me on weekday mornings, the chances of my purposely going online to download a virus and send it to you in an effort to crash both our phones is phenomenally high. I will go 'phonicide' bomber on your ass.
Dammit, even if anyone has to talk to me, it should only be about one or all of the following reasons:
1. Money
2. Sex
3. Sudden public holiday declared
4. Tragic death of my boss in freak milk and cookie related accident.
N.B. It is also preferred that the news be delivered by a sexy female voice, with a picture of her posterior for verification.
These are the only reasons anyone should try and contact me in the mornings. For anything else, please feel free to go and fuck yourselves. Hard.
I feel a bit better now.
I am Womilee.
Monday 12 July 2010
P.M. ... 12/07/2010
As usual, 4days. Or 96 hours. Or 5760 minutes. Or 345600 seconds. Gentlefolk, these numbers are staggering. Especially the seconds estimation. One can go mad in that kind of time. Or in my case, become sane. But, no matter, it is our TL. In 345600 seconds we shall be temporarily relieved.
How did monday go? Did she do her usual thing and upset you all? Mondays give me a slight bi-polar disorder. Its obvious I do my Jekyll and Hyde thing on mondays, even my dog notices. Every other day of the week, as soon as she sees me, she does what every dog does and immediately goes beserk. Its like she hasn't seen me in months. On mondays however, she ignores me completely. I walk into the house, and there she is, lying down, pretending not to notice I'm back. I think I've upset her many a time on mondays, she's getting payback.
Not only is this day and this job ruining my sex life with human females, it has marred my relationship with the only girl who loves me unconditionally. I have tried to explain the intricacies behing my monday disorder to her, but alas, we cannot communicate. She's a dog. Obviously.
Today, in my cubicle, I realised I am a very dangerous man. This makes absolutely no sense, but bear with me. My bank is a prison. The board of directors are the state and governors. My boss is the warden, in charge of all the prisoners. And the security guards..., okay that one's kind of obvious. But let us continue. There are inmates who get benefits for good behaviour. They the ones with reasonable salary packages and working hours. These inmates, by virtue of their compliances with the authorities, have nicer desk, friendlier colleagues and better parking spaces. They've served their time, blended into the system and sucked all the dick they had to. They dropped the soap times without number, thus anal rape is no longer a thing of fear.
And then there are the dangerous criminals. The ones who must be kept on a leash, for noone knows when they might snap. These individuals do not get any extra benefits, because they are rebels. They go against the laid down rules and refuse to bend over. Fuck it, they don't even shower. If and when they do, they fully expect the system to drop the soap. They should be the ones doing the fucking. Its what bad asses do. And so as punishment for their non-compliance, they are not rewarded as well as the goody-two-shoes fuck boys. The most dangerous of these psychos is yours truly. I'm so gangsta, I'm constantly locked in solitary confinement. My cubicle. My 4x10 cell. This is where I am incacerated daily, in a bid to control my mind.
The fluorescent lights above me keep flickering, the walls and the ceilings are the same fucking colour. Its all an attempt to break me. And they nearly succeeded last week. Luckily however, my need to be mental far surpasses their need for my sanity.
I will never give in. I will keep being the bad ass inmate I am. The system can blow me. I need the action if nothing else. I'm going to keep doing what I do, regardless. One day, ill arrange a jail break Micheal Scofield will be proud off. And when I'm finally a free man, I shall go back, walk into the building with my head high, go up to my boss and shake his hand. And then, just when his guard is down, ill kick the sonofabich in the balls! Facking bastards.
I don't honestly know when I shall be back gentlefolk, I cannot guarantee wednesday. But we will be talking again soon. Till then good people...
I am Womilee.
How did monday go? Did she do her usual thing and upset you all? Mondays give me a slight bi-polar disorder. Its obvious I do my Jekyll and Hyde thing on mondays, even my dog notices. Every other day of the week, as soon as she sees me, she does what every dog does and immediately goes beserk. Its like she hasn't seen me in months. On mondays however, she ignores me completely. I walk into the house, and there she is, lying down, pretending not to notice I'm back. I think I've upset her many a time on mondays, she's getting payback.
Not only is this day and this job ruining my sex life with human females, it has marred my relationship with the only girl who loves me unconditionally. I have tried to explain the intricacies behing my monday disorder to her, but alas, we cannot communicate. She's a dog. Obviously.
Today, in my cubicle, I realised I am a very dangerous man. This makes absolutely no sense, but bear with me. My bank is a prison. The board of directors are the state and governors. My boss is the warden, in charge of all the prisoners. And the security guards..., okay that one's kind of obvious. But let us continue. There are inmates who get benefits for good behaviour. They the ones with reasonable salary packages and working hours. These inmates, by virtue of their compliances with the authorities, have nicer desk, friendlier colleagues and better parking spaces. They've served their time, blended into the system and sucked all the dick they had to. They dropped the soap times without number, thus anal rape is no longer a thing of fear.
And then there are the dangerous criminals. The ones who must be kept on a leash, for noone knows when they might snap. These individuals do not get any extra benefits, because they are rebels. They go against the laid down rules and refuse to bend over. Fuck it, they don't even shower. If and when they do, they fully expect the system to drop the soap. They should be the ones doing the fucking. Its what bad asses do. And so as punishment for their non-compliance, they are not rewarded as well as the goody-two-shoes fuck boys. The most dangerous of these psychos is yours truly. I'm so gangsta, I'm constantly locked in solitary confinement. My cubicle. My 4x10 cell. This is where I am incacerated daily, in a bid to control my mind.
The fluorescent lights above me keep flickering, the walls and the ceilings are the same fucking colour. Its all an attempt to break me. And they nearly succeeded last week. Luckily however, my need to be mental far surpasses their need for my sanity.
I will never give in. I will keep being the bad ass inmate I am. The system can blow me. I need the action if nothing else. I'm going to keep doing what I do, regardless. One day, ill arrange a jail break Micheal Scofield will be proud off. And when I'm finally a free man, I shall go back, walk into the building with my head high, go up to my boss and shake his hand. And then, just when his guard is down, ill kick the sonofabich in the balls! Facking bastards.
I don't honestly know when I shall be back gentlefolk, I cannot guarantee wednesday. But we will be talking again soon. Till then good people...
I am Womilee.
A.M. ... 12/07/2010
I heard them too. The rumors. Ridiculous weren't they? The board has a very unusual sense of humor. That's being too polite..., the board are a right bunch of fucking morons. As with all rumors, there were some truths in them. No, I was not caught trying to defile a camel in Dubai, that has no truth to it whatsoever. Infact, I'm currently in search of a good solicitor. I am suing the bastard who started that one. I'm going to take him for everything he has. Unfortunately, his net worth comprises of a blackberry, an impressive collection of porn and possibly the entire female population of Bradford, UK. This may not seem like much to you good people, but I've always wanted my own harem. Sheik Womilee.
How are you all? Its been too long hasn't it. One of my advisors is of the opinion that I should not apologise. According to his thinking, admitting fault makes guilt obvious. To quote him "Did Bill Clinton apologise for fucking Lewinsky?" I however do not support this. Please don't get me wrong, I mean I do not support my advisor's train of thought..., I do however fully support President Clinton's actions. What is the use of being president if you can't get a little nookie on the side?! I mean yes, the cigar was a bit much, cmon, we all have a bit of freak don't we?
Back to the point, I apologise. What I did was unforgiveable, exceedingly arrogant and downright uncool. I'm a dick. I know. All of you who informed me of that during the week didn't need to...obvious?! It was a bit of an ego trip I must admit. I received promises, threats and curses of all manners and types. Some of you are incredibly imaginative, a bit twisted , but then again, you do read this blog. Some readers chose to appeal to my conscience, others took the more violent route. One person said and I quote "may something slightly unpleasant happen to you like an onion falling on your head unexpectedly"... This cracked me up. You know yourself, you should start a blog too. You already have a fan.
I simply needed a break. I was beginning to feel sane. I guess therapy really does work. I poured out all the insanity in my soul onto this page everyday, then thrice weekly. And despite what many people think, insanity isn't inexhaustible. I ran out of madness. The scale that is my mind was happily unbalanced and this blog normalized it. I was becoming mentally healthy and I did not like it. I was beginning to see reason in situations I never understood before. I was beginning to understand why I should work for a living, why my job was important and appreciate the role I play in my organisation. I started being polite and accomodating to customers. I even felt attraction to females without any of the important 3 (face, tits or ass). But the last straw was the day my boss asked me to perform a particular task. And I did. Without complaining. I even understood what I was doing and why I was doing it. In short, I agreed with my boss. This affected me in ways I don't think Ill ever be able to explain.
I was becoming sane. Normal. Mentally and socially acceptable. Gentlefolk, my favourite thing about myself is my warped mind. Yes I also happen to be an avid fan of my dick, but that's just sentiment. We've been through a lot together, good times and bad, hard times and harder times. But none the less, I treasure my mind. I all its capcity or lack thereoff. And since I lost it at a tender age, I discovered contentment. I discovered bright colours, imaginary friends and faraway places inhabited solely by big booty bitches. I love the fact that I was insane and never wanted to be considered as mentally stable. All was well (or unwell) in the world of Womilee. Then I started this blog. At first, it seemed like a good idea, letting you all into my mind so often. But like some parasite that feeds off disturbia, I felt all that I hold precious seeping away slowly. My lack of mental health was being transfered out of my head and onto this blog. And maybe into you good people as well, judging from the quality of
the threats I received last week.
I may have come up with a another ground breaking discovery. I really must submit copies of my brilliance to the Nobel panel. I deserve some sort of acknowledgement after coming up with so many incredible thesis in such a short space of time. I believe that from my recent experience, medical experts and specialists should adopt my approach in the healing of their patients. Instead of shooting crazy people up with all sorts of drugs and concoctions, simply give them a way to express themselves. Hand them a paper and pen, a blackberry, put them in a fucking sandbox and hand them a stick. Let them write down all the fucked up shit that goes through their minds. No matter how nuts they are, after a while, they too will realise that they're out their fucking minds. I am talking out of personal experience here, trust me. The next madman you see on the street, stop him and ask him to explain himself at length. Repeat this activity for as long as it takes, I believe oneday, he'll begin to show signs of sanity.
As I said, this is a personal experience.
Gentlefolk, I missed you all. And love you all too. You can have all of me. My money, my wife, my brother's wife, fuck it, I will sacrifice my balls to you if you so require them. But I cannot let you take my mind. My insanity is worth everything to me. I am back. And I will continue to show you things in my head, but please understand if I disappear again. It simply means I'm gone to get mad again.
I am Womilee. I'm back.
How are you all? Its been too long hasn't it. One of my advisors is of the opinion that I should not apologise. According to his thinking, admitting fault makes guilt obvious. To quote him "Did Bill Clinton apologise for fucking Lewinsky?" I however do not support this. Please don't get me wrong, I mean I do not support my advisor's train of thought..., I do however fully support President Clinton's actions. What is the use of being president if you can't get a little nookie on the side?! I mean yes, the cigar was a bit much, cmon, we all have a bit of freak don't we?
Back to the point, I apologise. What I did was unforgiveable, exceedingly arrogant and downright uncool. I'm a dick. I know. All of you who informed me of that during the week didn't need to...obvious?! It was a bit of an ego trip I must admit. I received promises, threats and curses of all manners and types. Some of you are incredibly imaginative, a bit twisted , but then again, you do read this blog. Some readers chose to appeal to my conscience, others took the more violent route. One person said and I quote "may something slightly unpleasant happen to you like an onion falling on your head unexpectedly"... This cracked me up. You know yourself, you should start a blog too. You already have a fan.
I simply needed a break. I was beginning to feel sane. I guess therapy really does work. I poured out all the insanity in my soul onto this page everyday, then thrice weekly. And despite what many people think, insanity isn't inexhaustible. I ran out of madness. The scale that is my mind was happily unbalanced and this blog normalized it. I was becoming mentally healthy and I did not like it. I was beginning to see reason in situations I never understood before. I was beginning to understand why I should work for a living, why my job was important and appreciate the role I play in my organisation. I started being polite and accomodating to customers. I even felt attraction to females without any of the important 3 (face, tits or ass). But the last straw was the day my boss asked me to perform a particular task. And I did. Without complaining. I even understood what I was doing and why I was doing it. In short, I agreed with my boss. This affected me in ways I don't think Ill ever be able to explain.
I was becoming sane. Normal. Mentally and socially acceptable. Gentlefolk, my favourite thing about myself is my warped mind. Yes I also happen to be an avid fan of my dick, but that's just sentiment. We've been through a lot together, good times and bad, hard times and harder times. But none the less, I treasure my mind. I all its capcity or lack thereoff. And since I lost it at a tender age, I discovered contentment. I discovered bright colours, imaginary friends and faraway places inhabited solely by big booty bitches. I love the fact that I was insane and never wanted to be considered as mentally stable. All was well (or unwell) in the world of Womilee. Then I started this blog. At first, it seemed like a good idea, letting you all into my mind so often. But like some parasite that feeds off disturbia, I felt all that I hold precious seeping away slowly. My lack of mental health was being transfered out of my head and onto this blog. And maybe into you good people as well, judging from the quality of
the threats I received last week.
I may have come up with a another ground breaking discovery. I really must submit copies of my brilliance to the Nobel panel. I deserve some sort of acknowledgement after coming up with so many incredible thesis in such a short space of time. I believe that from my recent experience, medical experts and specialists should adopt my approach in the healing of their patients. Instead of shooting crazy people up with all sorts of drugs and concoctions, simply give them a way to express themselves. Hand them a paper and pen, a blackberry, put them in a fucking sandbox and hand them a stick. Let them write down all the fucked up shit that goes through their minds. No matter how nuts they are, after a while, they too will realise that they're out their fucking minds. I am talking out of personal experience here, trust me. The next madman you see on the street, stop him and ask him to explain himself at length. Repeat this activity for as long as it takes, I believe oneday, he'll begin to show signs of sanity.
As I said, this is a personal experience.
Gentlefolk, I missed you all. And love you all too. You can have all of me. My money, my wife, my brother's wife, fuck it, I will sacrifice my balls to you if you so require them. But I cannot let you take my mind. My insanity is worth everything to me. I am back. And I will continue to show you things in my head, but please understand if I disappear again. It simply means I'm gone to get mad again.
I am Womilee. I'm back.
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