Friday, January 28, 2011

I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, (i got something special planned for that bastard)

Alright, I have a video shoot in 2 hours and I did not prep for this week's post, so this is a true test as to how good I am at writing this ridiculous, although I blame my editors for rejecting my first two drafts, (the first being How Mangoes Give You AIDS and The Burden of Child Bearing for Men; a Manual To Avoiding the First 18 years of Your Child's Life, apparently they are inconsiderate and historically inaccurate, but that does not stop the Tribune from printing papers everyday). This is going to result in me rambling on for a page or two about no particular focus or aim...it is the fault of my editor Olive Greene (I don't know what she is going to put there, but whatever it is, it probably isn't her name...or gender...or plane of existence)
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So when I was a teenager, ( or as my younger and completely out of my league female friend, who I keep hitting on but is insisting that "we can just be friends" lie that the hegemonic structure of Hollywood is constantly peddling through the quite beautiful Jennifer Aniston, refers to it), in the year King Uzziah died, I lost a close personal friend by the name of Rhemmy Rhemington. For those of you who maybe to young to remember the '90's, he was a very popular House DJ.

His death was tragic as he died in a freak chocolate smelting accident, (we had shirts printed up and everything, with catchy slogans like "Give Me a Break" and "Gone but Not Delicious"). Personally i blame the girl that he was dating at the time. He was trying to impress her for Valentines Day, but with little success as after he encased his body within a shell of chocolate, he suffocated and was not found for three weeks because the girl was lactose intolerant and instead of telling him, simply put the 220 lb box of chocolate in the back of her fridge behind the jar of Mayo and olives.

For some reason I always connect his death to that of The Beatles. No one is quite sure about the exact number of members of the band, but we do know there were at least four; Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Ringo Starr and...Scratchy, the Bass Player, who also died in a chocolate smelting incident.

But back to this young lady that he died for, (did I mention that she was from New Providence, which if you haven't been paying attention is an epic fail, the only good thing that has ever come out of Nassau is the mail boat heading back to Andros), she was chicken head. I don't mean that as a euphemism for something filthy that I learnt while watching CSI, she literally had a chicken head, due to some genetic mutation caused by her mother drinking Nassau tap water while pregnant with her, she was born with the head of a hen. So you can understand how it is impossible to even think that the relationship would have worked out, where could he take her to dinner?


Bamboo Shack is completely out of the question, and so where does that leave them, with no viable place to stand in the relationship.

I am wearing shoes.


2 comments:

  1. OMG! this post really rocks! I love it! Totally random...but begs the point expertly!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Really awesome post! Random, but awesome! You're a great writer. Keep up the good work!

    Also read your poetry on your Tumblr account.

    Thanks for commenting on filmcocaine.wordpress.com

    Much love,

    Renier

    filmcocaine.wordpress.com

    ReplyDelete