This is supposed to be a blog. I really hadn’t noticed it until a certain friend pointed it out to me yesterday. Ok, that’s not right, I knew that this was a blog. But what my friend said was that this is “my” blog. Mine, meesta, meehihihi, meeka meeka, meowin.
So today I have something to say, about me. also, because I haven't said anything in a month and my picture looks weird. I look back and all I see are random nonsenses that I have talked about considering the state of the world. But although, I did care about what I was talking about, today I find myself not caring at all. I am going to mark this day as about me and talk about me.
I know, I know, its been done to death and all in every chick-lit no(nsense)vel, every teen movie and by all those weirdly idiotic hot chicks who talk too much because they find every guy is listening to them, but don’t realize that the guys are doing it only to touch their asses or boobies.
But today, this is me. But but but. See we have a problem. I don’t talk. Well, yes I do. Hmmm, is it that I am a loner and don’t talk about myself? Nah, well ok kinda. See I am not a social pariah. I am a nice friendly guy. Very. And yes I do talk about myself and would also like to talk about you. But the catch is, I lie. Always.
But it’s a new day, maybe I have changed. Maybe.
Lets start. I am a nice guy. Very nice. I am the guy that all the aunties and most of my friends mothers really like. No, no dinguses, I know where you are. I know, because that’s where I’d be. No MILF stuff. What I mean is that I come across as a nice sweet guy. No troubles, the very innocent kind.
You know, the kind that a girl can take home to her parents and tell them ‘I am going to marry this handsome young man.’ And they would be like, “Cool!” Well, if they don’t focus on the ‘is he super rich and has a steady job?’ thing. Ok, let me put it nicely, I am a sweet guy.
Now the question that may come out concerning an earlier statement: ‘Is it for real?’
Yes.
Yes, I am a sweet guy. Believe it or not, I really am. See, the bad part comes out because I really don’t make an effort to be good, although, that is what I want. If it easier to be a nice, that’s what I’d be. Always. Or if I was not like super lazy.
I really have never cared. Don’t know, jus haven’t. No, its not a cool guy thing, just a lazy thing.
I have this friend, another one, who has competed with me ever since I have known him. About whom, I sometimes wonder why he didn’t name himself “wannabe”. And yes he has won every time, because, well, I never competed.
No, for somebody, who may think me good, I didn’t uncompete because I am Gandhi, I did it cause I didn’t care, ever. Even now. And those rare moment when, I might have, well, I am too fucking lazy, remember.
See, nice as I am, I would also tell you, I aint that that much. I am the guy who loooo-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ved 300. Loved it almost like an adoptive religion. But fuck, I really don’t care much for Spartacus, well except for the naked chicks in almost every scene.
But, like I said, I also would like to kill me some weird Persian dudes with nipple rings and slow dances. But you just have to guarantee that I would never die, wont have to work for my six packs, don’t have to fight my underwear( a little shy, sue me!) and that I get couple of really hot Persian chicks. You know, spoils of war.
Ok, ok, ok, now for those who moght think of me bad, I would like to remind you, I am sweet. Very. You know, the kind of guy that the you sweet girls would like to hold close to your breasts and comfort forever.
Hmmmm, ok maybe that wasn’t the best of way to put things, but like I said, who cares.
Tada sweetlings, daddy gotta go.
