Why we vote

So the colleagues have started debating the outcome of the upcoming elections – to death. There is more or less equal support for the two main candidates right now, although things could change over the coming weeks. Everyone is passionately trying to convince those from the other camp that their candidate is the one that should and will win. They’re so into it, you’d think their lives depended on it. They argue every morning. They talk about it during lunch. They talk about it at office meetings. It’s insane.

Sometimes a few people from one camp will get together and start talking among themselves about how their man is the best candidate ever, while not forgetting to eagerly and liberally badmouth the other guy like he’s the antichrist or something, as if he’d personally done something evil to them. It must be the whole ‘feel-good’ factor of it all. Apparently it makes you feel good to team up with a bunch of likeminded individuals (even if you hate their guts) and bash a common “enemy”, especially when he can’t hear a word you’re saying.

The above, I’m sure, is a phenomenon that is taking place not just in my office, but pretty much everywhere else in the country right now. There is nothing wrong with a healthy debate of course. This is a democracy after all, at least on the surface. But I can’t help but wonder why we do what we do. What is it about these candidates that make people abandon all reason and rationality and follow them blindly like a herd of sheep, defending their every sin? What makes us so passionate about our political stance?

Man, they say, is a political animal. Like it or not, politics plays an integral part in our lives. Sri Lankans, especially, live, eat, drink and breathe politics. We all know that an overwhelming majority of our politicians, whatever party or political ideology they claim to represent, are nothing but a bunch of daylight robbers who lie through their teeth on a daily basis. They cheat us, steal from us at every opportunity they get and generally mess things up for everyone, but have the audacity to come knocking on our doors whenever an election is announced, begging for our vote. And we vote them regardless. We blame them for everything that has gone wrong in this country since “independence” and yet, come election time, we’re more than happy to cast our vote for them. That’s how much we love our politicians. And they love us too. It’s a complex love-hate relationship that is almost beautiful and poetic by nature.

They need us to stay in power. We need them to provide us with entertainment solutions to our problems. We vote one party (or several, as the case may be) into power, and when we get sick of it we replace it with another. More often than not the replacement is just as inefficient and corrupt as the replaced, if not more so. So, despite our knowing better, we queue up at the polling booths every six or so years eagerly awaiting our turn to mark the ballot paper thinking we have the power to change things. We delude ourselves into thinking that we, the people, are powerful and call all the shots when, in reality, that is never the case. The reality is that a powerful few keep exchanging control of the powerless masses, ably aided and abetted by the latter. It’s a cycle. Is that necessarily a bad thing, though, considering we seem to be doing relatively well compared to some of our neighbours? We may never know. But one thing is certain: it is here to stay. Unless we wake up from this slumber, this trend will not change; and as things stand now, chances are that might never happen. The question is: do we really want it to?

Jingle bells, Christmas sells

Jingle bells
Christmas sells
No one gives a damn
Oh, what fun,
It is to ride an open market scam

Hey

Jingle Bells
Christmas sells
No one gives a damn
Oh, what fun,
It is to ride an open market scam

Dashing through the gore
In a one-track bullshit sleigh
O’er the mires we go
Laughing all the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

@#*$&^!*^$(@!#$^(*@#$^(*

FUCK commercialism!

____

Inspired by the Joker’s version of Jingle Bells

Freedom?

“It is better to starve free than be a fat slave,” is a quote attributed to Aesop of Aesop’s Fables fame, although its authenticity (and amazingly Aesop’s very existence) is somewhat disputed. Well, whoever said that obviously hadn’t tasted a burger.

We’re all a bunch of big fat slaves, irrespective of waist size, and we know it. We are slaves to multinational companies who force their products down our throats. We are slaves to a global mass media whose lies we swallow whole. We are slaves to organised religion. We are slaves to our own egos. We are slaves to ourselves. And you know what the best part is? We enjoy every minute of it, yours truly included.

That’s right. We have become such a commodity-centric species that our very survival depends on mass consumption of poison, lies and delusions on a daily basis. Isn’t that just great?

And then there’s the fact that we are so morally bankrupt that we think it’s okay to steamroll our way to a predefined, elusive ‘success’, losing whatever that is left of our integrity along the way. We don’t even realise that, in our almost indecent hurry to get there, we have effectively eliminated any chance of freeing ourselves from this bondage, this shameless servitude that we have the audacity to call freedom.

No, I did not contradict myself there. How can you ‘free’ yourself from freedom itself, you ask? The answer is you can’t. Why? Because you’re a slave; a slave to a psycho-physical construct the little red horned guy on your left shoulder wants you to call freedom, freewill, independence, or what-have-you. You’re not free. You never will be. Don’t kid yourself. ‘Freedom’ itself has you on a leash, bound and gagged. And you like it that way.

Don’t get me wrong; this is not paranoia talking. Heck, it’s what I want. How can I be paranoid about something I know I want, nay need? That’s just tosh. And I’m not preaching either; far from it. Why would I want to be a killjoy?

Point is, no human being on this planet is truly free till he or she has given up his or her quest for freedom. We spend all our lives looking for it; much like the knights of yore who went in search for the mythical white stag; but, unfortunately, few of us will ever find it. Reason being this ‘freedom’ we so desperately crave is, in fact, just another commodity, to put it crudely.

Mere rhetoric? Hardly.

Think about it: you have so many obligations to fulfill, so many goals and expectations to live up to, so much to accomplish that you hardly have the time to do anything else. That is why you have become a slave to the system, as a means of escape.

The food you eat, the books you read, the music you listen to is all part and parcel of that system. And you, out of sheer helplessness (inadvertently of course) have labeled it freedom. In other words, you have paid for that ‘freedom’. Hence my argument that freedom as we know it is a commodity.

Is that a bad thing, though?

No one ever said it was. Our species wouldn’t have come this far without it, and if we were to suddenly change things around (which, by the way, will never happen) we would stop ‘progressing’. We don’t want that now, do we?
Now go slave away please, and don’t forget the ketchup.
______________
The above is something I wrote a few weeks ago as part of work.

Dear MR and SF

Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Papare Boy, a 25 year old citizen of the country that you both claim to love endlessly. I too love my country endlessly, though probably not the same way you do, but let’s not get into that right now.

So, I hear the two of you are running for President and I understand that one of you is already the hot favourite to win the race to the throne while the other is not too far behind, catching up slowly but surely. Good - democracy is not dead yet; not completely, anyway.

Before we go any further, let me tell you a few things about myself. I absolutely loathe politics. Getting into politics in this Paradise Isle, in my humble opinion, is like diving headfirst into a cesspit – if you ever get out alive, you’re going to smell like shit the rest of your life. Excuse my French.

I am no peacenik or NGO activist. Nor am I a chest-beating “patriot”. Although I have my reservations about the way you conducted the war (and believe me, I do), I am sincerely thankful for the two of you for putting an end to that three decade old curse. I suppose it was a necessary evil that was required for the greater good. This 65,000 square-kilometre land that all three of us call home is too small, and too precious, to be divided into pieces. So, I say kudos to the both of you on ensuring that our country’s territorial integrity remained intact, against heavy odds – even though it was achieved at a very high cost. My only question is: what next? We won the war, but what have we really done to win the peace? But I digress.

Now, you both have children around my age and I’m sure neither of you has forgotten the fact that young people make a sizeable portion of your potential vote banks, which brings me to the point of this letter – what have you two planned to do for the betterment of this country’s youth?

As young people of Sri Lanka we are in an unenviable position today. We have no one to guide us when it comes to matters of national importance. We vote for whoever our parents/relatives/peers vote for. An overwhelming majority of us are politically illiterate – including me, unfortunately. For instance, not many of us can say we know what the 17th amendment to the constitution is. Heck, most of us don’t even know if the print on the constitution’s cover is black on white or white on black. This speaks volumes about this country’s future voters. We’re unable to make educated political decisions, an attribute vital for the wellbeing of any democracy. And that is a frightening scenario as I’m sure you’ll agree, considering the pace at which the rest of the world is progressing.

Then there’s that little issue with the economy. There are many people my age without proper jobs. By proper jobs I don’t mean the traditional doctor/lawyer/engineer jobs; I mean the kind of jobs that they can actually enjoy doing as opposed to wasting away behind a desk. The jobs are there, but there isn’t enough government backing for such professions and there is little to no school-level encouragement for students to go for fields that are outside the accepted norm. Some are contemplating leaving the country in search of greener pastures, but I know for a fact that most of us would much rather stay here and give back to the country, as unbelievable as that may sound.

There are millions of other issues to be discussed of course, but I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your plates already. So, I shall stop my rambling now. Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not blaming either of you for any of these problems. But as the next president of this great nation, one of you will have the power to address these issues and really make a difference. What with the end of the war, there is so much potential for us to go to very great heights and I’m sure both of you are equally capable of taking us there.

And with that, I shall take my leave with a bow.

Good luck to you both.

May the best man win.

Yours respectfully,
Papare Boy.

PS: Only one of you can win this race, and I’m sure I’m speaking for 20 million people when I ask you to respect the final result and work together with the victor to bring peace and development to this battered land. Thank you for hearing me out.

Letter to my 16-year-old self

Dear 16-year-old me,

How goes it?

Not too well, eh? Your O/Ls are coming up and you haven’t studied shit. Don’t bother starting now – you’re not going to remember anything; you know that. You’re one of those last-minute slackers who won’t be caught dead studying for an exam until you’re left with only three months to go Yes, you’re not going to touch your books till September; mark my words..

Don’t worry too much, though; you’re going to do just fine. The results won’t be anything spectacular; but at least they won’t make your aunts and uncles wanna disown you – that’s not going to happen for another four years (oops, have I said too much there?) Here’s a teaser: You’re getting ‘A’s for the subjects that matter (five of those) – go figure. But do take your studies a bit more seriously. I can’t tell you right now whether or not you’ll regret your current attitude towards academia and the usefulness of paper qualifications (or the lack of it). I honestly don’t know yet. But the ‘what-if-ness’ of it all is going to haunt you for some time to come. So, be warned.

Let’s talk about your nonexistent love life now. How’s that girl from Literature class you’ve been eyeing? Yeah, the really cute one. You’re going to ask her out a few months from now. Oh, yes, you are. And she’s going to tell you that she’s already seeing someone. Guess who that someone is? It’s that slimeball/douchebag/asshole who’s always sweet talking all the girls in class – including the 60-something teacher. But don’t worry; you’ll be over her in no time. And then you’ll move on to bigger and better things – literally (don’t ask). But she too is going to break your heart when you learn that she’s been in a serious relationship for several years. And guess what? Eight years later she’s still seeing that guy. You’re going to be happy for her.

We’re not done yet. Two years from now you’re going to fall for yet another girl from that same Lit. class. Don’t ask me who that is. Where’s the fun in that? But seriously, WTF, man? Three girls from the same frickin’ class? What is WRONG with you? Oh, W. T. F. stands for ‘what the fuck, by the way’. It’s… er… ‘netspeak. Never mind. You’ll learn these things soon enough. Anyway, this girl is going to confuse you a little. Not intentionally, though. She’s a complete sweetheart (despite the fact that she’ll be going out with one of your closest friends from school. Yes, yikes! I know). I’m meeting her and another old friend for lunch tomorrow. So, don’t worry. It’s all good. And, yes, you’re going to be over her too – and you’re going to remain friends. Isn’t that great?

You’re probably worried sick right now after reading this. My apologies. Don’t worry, dude. You’re not going to remain single for too long. You’ll find love in the strangest and most amazing places. Yes, plural. Just hang in there.

Be nice to your best friend. I know he seems like a dick at times, but he’s been your best friend since the first day of school and he really cares about you. A few years from now the two of you are going to have a major falling out. He’s going to stop talking to you for some time. It’s only going to be temporary but you WILL miss him a lot – even though you’ll never admit it.

That other old friend I mentioned… the one I’m meeting tomorrow together with your ex-crush… she’s going to be the reason for the fallout, through no fault of her own (you’ll be meeting her next year). She, you and your best friend are going to be really close. Really close. It’s going to be a beautiful (read cheesy) friendship that will last a long time… until another mutual friend from school starts dating her. This is going to piss your best friend off for some reason. He’s going to blame you for it and accuse you of siding with her when she gets tired of arguing with him. You’re going to get caught in the middle. To you, they’ll both be equally important, but life is never fair, and so things will naturally get ugly and that’ll be the end of that dream friendship. You’ll lose them both. But don’t feel too bad. Your best friend will come back, eventually. And you’ll mend fences with the other one, years later. Tomorrow’s meet up has aptly been titled the “Super-awkward-meet-up-2009” by her – wish me luck, by the way, I’m meeting her AND my ex-crush at the same time after a very long time. As for your best friend, he’s in Singapore now. I’m still in touch with him and we’re still good friends.

Anyway, I bet you’re feeling all dizzy and stuff now after hearing all these bizarre “predictions”. So I’m just gonna bugger off now and leave you dazed and confused – which was kinda what I had in mind when I decided to write to you. I’m masochistic like that. Sue me.

Okay….. Adios then!

Oh, wait… one piece of advice before I go: Don’t ever, I mean EVER get an internet connection. It’s going to destroy you.

Who am I kidding? We both know you’re not going to listen to me. Fuck it.

Bye!

Yours truly,
25-year-old me.

______________________________________

Excuse the disjointed, somewhat long-ass post. Kinda got carried away and I AM supposed to be at work after all. -_-

Anyway, thanks to Ladida a.k.a. Gutterflower for the tag. :)

I hereby tag Makuluwo, Chavie, Chathura and Nefarious. Take it away, guys. :)

What is love?

None of you bastards tagged me in your stupid "♫ What is love, baby, don't hurt me, baby don't hurt me ♫" posts. But Makuluwo and Chavie have left an open tag so... here goes... -_-

"'Love' as we know it is a product manufactured in Hollywood by the media. What we call love is actually affection generated by lust. Love is essentially lust. There's no such thing as 'love at first sight'. It's always LUST at first sight.
Real love is selfless, unconditional and transcends lust and attraction. That kinda love only exists between parents and children.
However, romantic love too can come to that stage, but it takes YEARS to develop. I would say old couples are really "in love". The younger ones are more "in lust".
Just my $0.02."

Left the above as a comment on a friend's FB note on the same topic.

Doomsday? Really?

Apparently the world is going to go kaboom on December 21 (or 23, depending on who you ask), 2012 (conveniently a few weeks after the US elections).

OK.

Believers will tell you this is because the last day of the Mayan
Calendar falls on this date.

Right.

As absurd as this... uh... "prediction" sounds, there are people out there who seem to be taking it very, very seriously. Just do a random search for 2012 and you'll see what I mean.

So if the world as we know it is really going to end in another three years, WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE GOING TO DO TO SAVE OUR ASSES?

I mean, I'm not saying I believe this stuff. It may or may not happen. It could happen in 2012 or even 3012. Point is is we just don't fucking know! Heck, it could happen even TOMORROW.

What have we, as a world, and as a species done to prepare for such an eventuality?

Not much obviously.

Hopefully at least this (KICK ASS) movie will wake us up:

2012 by disaster movie pro Roland Emmerich.

Prepare to drool. It looks fuckin' amazing.

These trolls...

I happen to like trolls. Including, but not limited to, the ones that trash me.:p

I really don't get why everyone's so worked up about this. Why is everyone suddenly all up in arms about the whole thing? So they make fun of us. So what?

It's humour. A tad tasteless and crude, yes, but it's humour nonetheless. Lighten up already.

Am I in deep shit?

A little over a month ago yours-truly quit his permanent job at the [arguably] safe, old, comfortable weekend newspaper and stepped into the murky world of advertising. Still not sure if it was a wise decision on my part, but then it's only been four weeks, so I guess a fair assessment is not possible at the moment.

Some of my work there were met with positive enthusiasm by Palpatine himself, some didn't make it past Lord Vader's usually generous lightsaber (it really is a lightsaber... don't ask). I suppose only time will tell whether I made the right choice or not. But right now the prospects aren't looking that good, and something tells me the force isn't that strong with me.

:|

Oh well, at least I'm getting paid. For now.

Hooked on Twitter

I'm hooked. It's like a drug now. I'm so hooked I can't even blog anymore. HELP!

That aside, Chavie101 dug this up on YouTube recently.

Oh the nostalgia.

The songs that turn us on

OK.

This is going to be awkward.

I.. er... I'm back... If you noticed that I'd disappeared, that is.

So... um... yeah, the plan is to start blogging again.

Oh fuck it. Yes, I'm back. The shit that caused me to become all melodramatic and take a sudden break from blogging has, by no means, disappeared, but I figured that quitting blogging (that sounds HORRIBLY sing-song by the way) was not going to make matters any better, and so, here I am, back in business. Yes.

And thanks a lot to everyone who commented on my previous post, to goddessofvileness who convinced me to start again, and to The Missing Sandwich who took the time and effort to actually send me a mail and cheer me up; ME- an anonymous blogger she's never even met. (That was very sweet of you, TMS). :)

And also to messiahofmadness and tulie for doing the same in their own unique way.

Thanks a mil, guys. :)

OK. Now that the cheese is out of the way, let's get back on topic.

I've been annoying my friends lately, asking them to send me lists of songs that they find 'sexy' (for the lack of a better word). I'm trying to compile a Top 10 and so far I've been told that the following songs make some of my friends feel all hot and sweaty. :p

Let's Get It On - Marvin Gaye
You Sexy Thing - Hot Chocolate
Layla - Eric Clapton
Skin To Skin - Harry Belafonte
Smooth - Carlos Santa ft. Rob Thomas
All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You - Heart
I've Got You Under My Skin - Frank Sinatra ft. Bono
All I Want Is You - U2
Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me - U2
Fire - Babyface & Desree
Push it Push it - Inner Circle
Sexual Healing - Marvin Gaye
"Any Barry White song" (apparently)
Sweet Child of Mine and November Rain - Guns 'n' Roses
Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen
I am Sailing - Rod Stewart
Bleeding Love - Leona Lewis
Imagine and Let it Be - Beatles
Paint It Black - The Rolling Stones
Hallowed Be Thy Name - Iron Maiden
Number of the beast - Iron Maiden
Breaking the law - Judas Priest
Highway to hell - AC/DC
TNT - AC/DC
Stuff - Blank Sabath
Stuff - Disturbed
Goofy Goober - Spongebob (don't ask)

OK. Some very different genres there. Anyone care to help a dude out? :D

How do we know Humpty Dumpty was an egg?

Age old question, I know. But seriously, why is Humpty always depicted as an egg? Nowhere in the rhyme is it mentioned that the little bugger was an egg. In fact, it doesn't say what he was at all.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again

So all the kings men and all the kings horses couldn't put him back together again? So what? Doesn't mean he had to have been an EGG. Why couldn't he have been... made of porcelain or something? Why an egg (of all things)?

_________________________
Bored. Nothing better to write.
Image courtesy Wikipedia.

Birthday blues

Yes, it's my birthday today. It will end in a few minutes. It's almost midnight now. And guess where I am right now.



Work.


That's right. I'm at work. On Saturday. My birthday. More than half of it spent right here.

And now, here I am, sitting in front of the only PC at office that doesn't have access blocked to half the world wide web (including the Proxy sites), writing this blog post, because I have nothing better to do.




Wait, it gets worse.

I've got two passes for the Lite FM Flashback party safely tucked away in my bag right now, each worth a whopping thousand bucks and probably wondering what the fuck they're still doing in there.

And my friend tells me the party is in full swing. She wants to know why I'm not there partying the night away.

And you know what really sucks, man?

It's MY fault that I'm not there right now having a ball as I know I fuckin' should be, and I'm here instead, whining and complaining and boring you with this rather tedious read.

See, I have no one but myself to blame for my current predicament. Here's why:

I'm not dressed for a party.

As shallow and superficial as that may sound, I can't be seen at a party wearing what I'm wearing right now.

It's common practice here at my work place for employees to dress down on Saturdays (and by down I mean way down). You could say it's an unwritten law of sorts. And I, assuming that I wasn't going for this party tonight because one of my friends who was supposed to join us had dropped out at the last minute, decided I wasn't going to break the rules today.

Now I don't give a flying fuck about what others think of me, but if only I had the sense to wear something nice or at the very least, to bring a change of clothes to work, I wouldn't be here right now writing this shit.

If I were in decent clothing today, I could've easily thrown my stock excuse of "family dinner" at my boss and he would've let me go, no questions asked, just like that.

Like I said, I couldn't care less about what others think of my appearance but a guy's gotta look socially acceptable at least on his birthday, yeah? I mean, I don't mean to sound gay or anything (no offence to anyone) but I'm just not properly attired for a party tonight. To be blunt, I just look plain shabby right now. I do realise that sounds incredibly shallow on my part, but you'd understand if the shit you were in was similar in depth to that of mine.

And, yes, I am in deep shit at the moment.

My ex girlfriend thinks I deserve what I got and is threatening to cut all ties with me. All because I went to watch Hamlet at Elsie's Bar yesterday with some friends that included someone she isn't particularly fond of.

I don't want her to hate me.

And apparently, I'm a liar, a fucker, a bastard, and a moron for doing what I did yesterday (in that order). Yeah, and she tells me all of this on MY BIRTHDAY! Yippee fuckin' ya ye, eh?

To be fair to her, though, I did keep the details rather vague. For instance, I didn't tell her that some people who were supposed to join us yesterday for Hamlet had told me a couple of days earlier that they wouldn't be able to make it. I didn't tell her this. With good reason; I didn't want another argument and, more importantly, I didn't want her to get unnecessarily worked up over nothing. But, as you may have guessed, she found out somehow (she forced it out of me).

She took the whole thing the wrong way and accused me of doing all sorts of horrible things and called me all of those names I have mentioned above (and more). Oh and she also added "and all the bad things in the world".

What a birthday, eh?

Oh well.

Hmm... It's 1 a.m. now. Apparently we're finishing early today. Time for me to bugger off.

Later.

Paranoia

We are born killers.

We are everywhere.

We, as a species, move ever forward eating up all the resources this planet has to offer, and as a token of gratitude we leave utter destruction in our wake.

We have religions designed to keep us from doing wrong, despite which we commit every sin in the book on a daily basis.

We have leaders and people making sackfuls of money under the guise of representing us in government.

We have governments telling us what to do, all the while breaking their own rules in broad daylight.

We whine about it a little, curse them a little, and we, being the hypocrites that we are, vote them back in to power.

We thrive on division and competition, be it racial, religious, whatever.

We wage wars against our own kind.

We are systematically destroying everything that is vital to our own survival.

We are well on our way to another stone age.

It's gonna be awesome.

How real is Reality TV?

How could any of this not be staged?

Yes, there are the occasional deluded souls like you and me who think they're the awesomest shower singers the world will never hear, but, surely, no one is THIS wrong about their... "talents".

I'm not saying the producers of Idol are trying to cheat their viewers, and I'm not trying to make fun of those contestants; no way. But it's highly unlikely that anyone would be so stupid as to make fools of themselves on a TV show that is watched by millions of people the world over (unless, of course, it's publicity that they're after.. and, as everyone knows, there's no such thing as bad publicity).

It's one thing not being able to sing and to give a less than stellar performance (vocals wise), even on international TV, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that (I can't sing for toffees myself :p ), but it's absolute lunacy to sing something like Genie In A Bottle and dance like a retard, when you know you're a perfectly sane and rational human being.

I find it all a little hard to swallow.

It's a safe bet that more viewers worldwide watch the latter stages of the show (the run up to the finale) than the audition and 'Hollywood' rounds. This, quite possibly, is the case with a majority of so called reality TV series.

Could it not be a ploy on the part of the powers that be at the big networks aimed at giving a boost to a given season's initial ratings (which, to be fair, is not a heinous crime)?

Is it ethical, though, to "display" such auditions? Sure, you watch it, have a hearty laugh at someone's expense, and forget it the moment the next contestant comes along. No biggie. After all, what's TV for, if not entertainment, right?

I dunno.

Anyway Wikipedia has this to say:

Before contestants get the chance to see the show's judges, they go through two rigorous sets of cuts: the first consists of a brief audition in front of one or two of the show's producers with three other contestants. Contestants are then either sent through to the next round of producers or are asked to leave. Only about 100–200 contestants in each city make it past this round, which is a staggering statistic considering that tens of thousands of people show up to audition in each city.

So, clearly, the producers decide who gets to meet the judges (and, consequently, end up on TV). Is it so impossible that they intentionally send the really bad ones to the judges just for laughs? Obviously not.

But what about those over enthusiastic few who go the extra mile to annoy Simon? Contestants are only required to sing; they don't have to do anything else (again, unless they're looking for 15 minutes of fame).

Do they really want to make fools of themselves like that? Or do they genuinely believe that they're good at what they do? OR are they told to get all theatrical like that (for a few hundred bucks maybe?).

Somehow, I don't think it's the first two.

_________________________
Disjointed post. Tired. Hungry.

It feels great to be stabbed in the back!

I'm pissed.

I was just stabbed in the back by a couple of friends who I thought I could trust. I’m pissed off to the hilt. But am I hurt and wallowing in self pity? No. Why, you ask?

Because, for some weird-ass reason, it feels GOOD to be stabbed in the back. The feeling is quite amazing really. It’s a mixture of pain, anger and, oddly enough, a really good feeling of being on moral high ground, way above the fucktards who actually did the backstabbing.

It’s weird, but, for some inexplicable reason, it makes you feel good about yourself. It’s like taking a sugar-coated pill, if you get my analogy.

You gotta feel it to know what it’s like. Hand out a few sharp knives to your friends some time. ;-)

____________________________________________________
Sorry. Didn't want to write this shit down. Not very proud of this post. Oh well. It's just one of those days.

Why do nice guys finish last?

I mean seriously, isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

What makes a nice guy less appealing than, say, a backstabbing jerk who'd dump you for your best friend without a moment's hesitation?

As kids all of us were taught by our parents and teachers that being NICE is the way to go. You be nice to the world, and the world will not bite your ass. You treat the ladies like a gentleman and they will at least CONSIDER going out with you.

But we ALL know that that's not the case. AT ALL! I mean look around you. The hottest chicks are dating the biggest jerks you know.

I'm not a nice guy (ladies, please take note of that :D). Well I am, but I'm not THAT nice. My ex-girlfriend didn't think I was very nice to her while we were breaking up and she was probably right. But then don't all couples tend to feel that way when they're going through a bad break up? (Yes, I'm trying not to sound guilty).

Anyway, I'm generally considered a relatively nice guy. A nice-o-meter would give me a 7.5. :p

OK fine, I'm a VERY nice guy. But in my defence, I can be pretty nasty when I'm angry. Not that I ever get violent or anything but I tend to use the F word a lot when I'm pissed. However I have gotten into a couple of fistfights here and there; but then that was only because I had to defend myself.

Generally, I'm cool and don't look for trouble even in the face of extreme provocation; not that I have ever really been provoked as such, but you get the drift. However there are times when I'm so driven up the wall that I just HAVE to deal with it in a physical way, and I do that by taking out my mountain bike and riding it for miles and miles, non-stop, till I my legs start to feel like lead. And I suppose even THAT doesn't make me a non-nice-guy. Argh! But I digress.

Getting back to the point I was trying to make, or rather, the question I was trying to raise, WHY do nice guys finish last? Or do they really? Is it just one of those popular misconceptions or is there really some truth to it?

I just don't get it, man.