Balloons

          So, my thirtieth post. I suppose I should write something that's so totally exciting, new, hip, rad, cool, and psyched it'll make everyone's eyeballs cook and burst like eggs in the microwave that is their skull as it is heated by the radioactive energy my words shall pump into the neurons of the optic nerve, and as everyone who's been through third grade physics knows, as the resistance of a wire increases so does the amount of heat produced by an electrical current passing through it (i think) and it follows suit, seeing as how no one has ever managed to boil heads with sheer wordpower before, that I should win the 2012 Nobel prize this year, it's either that or I'll get a shitload of cold hard cash from governments and terrorist cells alike, both interested in the literary weapon I created. Only problem is, how can I be awarded the Nobel prize if the judges' eyes get microwaved? Anyway, so this would've been my usual course of action to celebrate my thirtieth post, but seeing as how I am not in the mood for awesome writing/weapons design, I'll just skip that part and pretend it's just another random post - i.e: I'll just moan and whine about whichever string of words that comes to mind.

         I hate my phone. Why? It's the fact that it keeps on reminding that it has a low battery. It's not that point that annoys me, but, it's that irksome little feature called "make-ur-phone's-low-battery-alert-so-loud-it's-clearly-audible-3-metres-away-and-make-it-sound-like-a-monkey-whore-in-heat", which I really didn't want installed on my phone but apparently it's not an extra, and it's free. I've always been fascinated by the Arabic proverb "3asforeen b 7agar wa7ed, walla kanet zalata wa7eda?" because i really couldn't imagine the physics of it all as a child. I was a very literal child and as a result I kept trying to imagine projectiles that can hit one bird then bounce off to hit another without losing any momentum. I also kept wondering about the Robin Hood who would be able to calculate the angle at which the stone, rock, pebble, whatever, would hit the bird so that it would bounce to hit another bird, that is to say, until I concluded that throwing rocks at birds is wrong anyway. This particular proverb comes to mind because, well, the furry footmat I like to call my cat purrs like a diesel engine, so i was considering shoving the phone down his cute little throat. I'd still be able to hear the low battery alert, I reckon.

          Facebook is no longer the social networking website I signed up for. It's mostly a study group (mehayeseen el 2asr el 3einy) / religion-preaching centre / CNN / and twitter posts. Now something that really pisses me off is, why should I give a damn about something you posted on twitter? I  mean, I've avoided creating a twitter account for a reason, and if what you have to say is so damn important, why don't you just post it on facebook instead? Or are yow pickwe littwe fingews too tiwed? so, why do I hate twitter? That's a good question, and, honestly, I find the fact that there are so many people out there with enough mental capacity and time to spare for writing what they think about everything that everyone else finds totally irrelevant and not worth knowing to be overwhelming. Happy people should be against the law, in my opinion.

          Exam stress is not good for your skin. Nor your social connections. When you've been sitting at home for months on end because of your exams, you start getting really strung, like guitars, only more strung. It's like someone's twist-drying your pants while there are a million dollars in the pockets and you're going crazy over these million dollars. A well known fact is, I'm a hazard during my seriously-overstretched-three-months-of-finals. I should not be carrying a gun or anywhere near one, because I tend to think that anyone who is busy travelling or taking happy pictures or something just as annoying and who has the nerve to stick em under my nose deserves to be shot. That simple. Not saying it's rational, bu it sure feels worth it. I'm not usually big on the whole murder thing, but then again I've never been much of a trend-follower. Still, people get alienated, and arguments flare, and the good natured people just don't realise they're being stupid by deciding to sharetheir awsum happy moments with yours truly, because, honestly, sometimes all you care about is for your next exam day to arrive so your family would find an excuse to force you to shave and quit looking like a hobo.

        But on another note, I dropped laughing just last night because I mispronounced the name of a virtuoso as a well-known, highly sought profanity. Totally irrelevant, I know.

        So, that's all for tonight, ladies, and, well, more ladies. I hope you enjoyed whatever sick pleasure you derive from reading these twisted ideas. Bi-Bi


"PS: in case you haven't figured it out yet: the Bi 3 lines ago is a pun on the word bye, which sounds the same as bi, meaning bisexual, so basically this is a dirty line that is perfectly PG-15 if you read it outloud. I have no idea why I just did this, but I do know that, if you got the pun, then, chapeau, my good fellow. If you haven't, then you deserve having to read these extra 4 lines, as punishment, I think"