Updating Services Menu

I've been going through a rough patch with pretty much every aspect of my life, and I didn't want to leave a running commentary of the little horrors such as a busted pipe in the apartment causing all the toilets to flood gunk... which is why I had to leave my blog alone for sometime.

Friends had let me down hugely so far in 2009, to the point where I don't interact with anyone unless I absolutely have to, as I don't want to lose respect for people that I hold in high regard. Thus, if people want me to look up to them, they probably should uphold the values they talk about so much.

I can always go to the Friday Prayers to hear hypocritical preaching, with the added benefit of hot sexy men.

Well, 6 months and an eternity of grieving later, I've [finally!] gotten over my ex boyfriend. Of course, in the process I'd lost a lot of weight resulting in a dramatic increase in the number of I-love-you-will-you-have-sex-with-me calls.

Well guess what? My rates have gone up as well. I've drafted out the new menu of services as per below.

Simple Foreplay - $5
Lap Dance - $15
Strip Tease - $15
Pole Dance - $15
Oral Sex - $15
Anal Sex - $30
Bondage [Slave] - $10
Bondage [Master] - $5
Other Kinky Sex - $10
Other - $20
Shower Sex - $50
Outdoor Sex - $70
Emotional Support - $50
Sex training module - $20
Safe Sex training module - $20
LGBT Rights training module - $20
Fine for if despite training, unsafe sexual conduct had occurred - $200

Cheap? Not really, when you realize that just like Wataniya, I charge either per minute or per second. You can choose the plan you like. And yes, the emotional support is only for the crying because of unresolved religious views and/or childhood trauma. Anything else will be charged under "Other".

I charge extra for Haabees. It's called a "Shower and Trim." Can't make my mind up on the rate.

So by the per min per sec rating, I think this will be a very lucrative business.

Being single rocks!

Water water everywhere

Water, water, every where,

And all the boards did shrink ;

Water, water, every where,

Nor any drop to drink.

English literature was the only class that I looked forward to, in School. This poem by Coleridge was probably one of the first poems that taught me to look for depth in the written word, rather than skate over life without so much as a thought.



Life is a lot more than the numerical superficiality imparted by scientific thinking. Indeed, when one dismisses all thinking beyond one's little universe, one's thinking gets stunted like a seed thirsting for air, water, nutrients and sunlight, shut tight in a sterile vessel.

Yet, when I revisit this poem, I learn something one would take at face-level... I am writhing, twisting, thirsting for someone to love me... and Malé seems to be a breeding place for all sorts of handsome curly haired bastards who are all into mindless sex.

Not that I don't indulge myself in it after all... Haha.

Yet, water... water... sigh.

And God said.

2TT and I were communicating over the phone about his issues with God and the lack of scientific proof thereof. I am pro-God of course, but he questions the existence of God.

I asked him whether it'd help if God dropped by and had a few words with him, you know... like, "Hi, this is God... heard you needed proof and all, and I thought of dropping by for your sake." I also told him that the last time someone asked God to drop by, a mountain exploded and a prophet nearly died.

Well, we met the next day, and he was asking me where the primeval atom of the big bang came from. I asked him not to think about it so much about it but just live and enjoy the good life. But being the stubborn guy he is, he needed to have something.

So he came up with a brilliant idea which I am now going to expand, with his permission.

Apparently the Creator of the Universe was a blacksmith. One fine day, this blacksmith was walking down a country lane with his hammer. It was a balmy afternoon... no one was around at the time and there was very little business. After all, this blacksmith was the best blacksmith that ever lived and all the cartwheels and axles and all the horses's shoes were all shiny and new.

Then he came across an Oak tree and a stump beside it. He sat down on the stump, to rest his backside, and was promptly conked on the head with an acron. He picked up the acorn and, just for the sake of wielding his hammer (he hadn't done that all day) lifted his hammer and smashed the acorn.

And then, all hell broke loose. The last expression on the blacksmith's face was that of awe and shock. Then he was annihilated along with his plane of existence, during the formation of the new Universe.

And that, my dear reader, is the most scientific and factual explanation of the big bang theory and why God doesn't exist.

* * *

And then God said, haha, good one.

And on the 8th day...

Ever since I've made the largely unnoticed and ignored announcement regarding me and sex, I've been down with one heck of a fever. There were brief insightful moments between long and entertaining cough sessions and periods of writhing like a snake on the bed till I broke it.

It broke. I didn't break it.

So I dragged my mattress to the floor and slept there.

Anyway, my gloriously handsome landlord (okay it's been 8 days now and I see lamp posts as gloriously handsome, so okay, ) checks on me whether I'm okay. This was on Friday, and to tell you the truth, I was going through the worst fever and I took off all my clothes, and was panting under a fan that refuses to go faster than 4 rotations per second.

I take a couple of moments to respond... don a maroon red towel that reaches the shins when tied around the waist, and open the door a crack.

He was on the floor, looking up at me.

Yes, he was, and I'm not kidding.

So then I fall onto him and we have sex.

I'm kidding.

He looks up with those @$%@* basset hound eyes and say, "so how are you... haven't seen you all day."

In my state of sexual deprivation, I hear it as,

"so... how are you... haven't... seen you all... day..."

Oh my. What a little bit of punctuation, pause and intonation can do to a person. And I didn't even have to say "sultry" there...

Actually he was playing with his baby daughter, so he was on the floor of the sitting room. (So much for sultry.)

But anyway, I think on the whole, my writing is improving, with the lack of, well, let's just say activities to be otherwise engaged in, I tend to write, or think about writing all the time.

I suddenly feel like this "holier-than-thou" sort of person who considers himself simultaneously deeper and higher than others.

Yes, I am celibate. And I am so proud of it. I don't think there's anyone who I care so much as to incorporate into my private sphere of influence. This is My World. My Style. Hello Schizophrenia.

Oh, and my response to the landlord hottie?

I simpered a little, appeared a little confused and shocked to see him from that angle, wondered about his point(s) of view on me, thought about what to say, and said, I have a fever, but I'd been out earlier to get some meds and it's better now, and closed the door.

All done within 5 seconds flat.

Taxi!

Trembling with fever, I nevertheless met some friends at west park, just to escape the dreary sickroom that had taken over my lovely bedroom.

Out of the blue, he gets a call and says, look guys, I have to go... there's a gathering going on at the Elections Commission. He leaves, and then the other two accompany the rickety (oh woe I say woe is me... I've been reduced from a full-framed fellow to a lanky... rickety... cot sort of thing.) person that I am, to the pavement outside West Park.

Which, coincidentally is about 50 feet from where I "met" someone behind a lorry. I'm too sick to cross index right now, but someday...

Anyway, they leave, and there I was, calling up center after center for a taxi.

Then suddenly, I get a vision, Coelho-esque.

I saw everyone putting on their best dress, getting all made up and pretty, taking up sharpened stakes and burning torches and getting into taxis to go to the Elections Commission.