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Men and Socks

Today we talk about an era that now seems to be but a fleeting memory of its former glorious self. We are told that ‘natural’ is the way to go, and that interfering with nature's course will lead to the doom and destruction of all of mankind. Keeping this fact in mind, we must first elude to a short history lesson.

There once was a time in the history of our magnificent planet when man walked barefoot and grunted his disapproval of something instead of sending a “strongly worded” email. This was a simple time without the complications of modern society, a time when human beings functioned as nature had intended them to. Men, being physically stronger than women, went out to hunt and gather food, and women being capable of emotions far beyond the understanding of men stayed home and took care of the offspring.

"If they don't deliver that dinosaur tail in 30 minutes, it's free!"

These were glorious times. All was right, all was well, and nature was functioning perfectly. However, somewhere along the way, things got a little... twisted. You see, food no longer came from hunting deer and bulls. Food now came from the supermarket, with the exchange of money. It is thus clear that the creation of money was the beginning of the downfall of humanity. We were doomed to a world which was no longer comprehensible and where we men would be left wondering, “What are we here for?”

Let me explain. Human beings are of two kinds... well, usually they are of two kinds, sometimes there is a third kind that really doesn’t do anyone much good. For the purpose of this discussion we will stick to the two main kinds, “Men” and “Women”. As the elaborate history lesson stated, men were built for action and women for love. This according to me is a very beautiful rendition by nature. However, when action was no longer required, we men were stuck in a bind. The purpose we were built for was no longer a requirement and thus we set about earning our living doing work which is, in most cases, unisex.

As we all know, women by simple natural ability have the capability of handling several jobs at the same time. Multi-tasking they call it. We men are able to focus on one thing and one thing alone at one time. When we eat, we eat. When we sleep, we sleep. And when you tell us about the latest collection of shoes from Prada, we space out and think about monster trucks and beer. This is the working of a man’s brain, and any man who claims to be capable of more is a lying twit who should be shot in the testes and be laughed at. So now, women are able to do all the jobs men are able to do, as well as, take care of a family, and take care of the house, and frankly take care of the men. Which is why men are sitting there wondering “what are we here for?” Of course there is the basic purpose of procreation but I am sure, that some woman in a lab coat somewhere in the world is working very hard to eliminate the need for that, while knitting her kids' sweaters, and bringing the Dodo bird back to life.

Until the start of the 21st century men were at least able to claim that they brought home a bulk of the household income and thus were able to maintain some semblance of their masculinity. The statistic today is that close to 40% of wives out-earn their husbands and thus, 40% of men have had what little role they had left to play taken away from them. This number is fast growing too.

So today we are in a situation where evolution is really kicking men in the jewels. We no longer are as strong as we used to be because we don’t need to wrestle with wildebeest.  We are no longer as hairy as we used to be because we do not need to keep warm when out searching for food. We no longer are the source of security for our families as every second woman today has taken a self defense class. And no longer can we claim to bring home the primary income of our household.

Clearly it will not be too long before all men will but put in a freezer and harvested for our sperm as we will cease to serve any other purpose. Even our ability to love a woman is insufficient because as we are often told, “a man can never understand a woman”. There are thus only two options we have if this hostile takeover of our world is to be avoided.

Option one, we gather the smartest men in the world and somehow give our selves the ability to give birth and PMS. This would give those smug women a taste of their own medicine as they no longer would be the only ones able to bring someone to life.
Option two, all the women in the world realize that what is happening in the world today will eventually render men useless and stop attempting to hijack everything that we were meant to be doing by nature.
There is also a third option, but that would involve ridding the world of women and clearly the men would no longer be able to find our socks in the morning and will, in turn, die.

Thus, after having expressed my views, I shall now go into hiding as all the men of the world and all female activists will surely wish to burn me at the stake. However, I highly doubt I'll survive as I am not of the female disposition, and have trouble finding my socks in the morning.

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Comic: Big Feet

Amateurish, but I had to get the ball rolling. I'll probably get to deconstructing the expression "get the ball rolling" another time.

Click to enlarge.

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Review: The Dark Knight Rises

So, I watched the movie today. I can't say I was blown away, but then it's very hard to blow me away. I have a low center of gravity. 

I walked into the theater already knowing that the movie was not up to the mark. All the early reviews, Rotten Tomatoes, Twitter... that's just too much information. I guess that's just the... Bane of the Internet?


You can't tell, but he's laughing hard at that joke.
There's one thing that I have to get out of the way because it has become sort of a cliched way of complimenting a good long movie: it didn't feel like three hours. Far from it. It didn't even feel like time had passed or was passing, and even as the movie was clearly winding down to its climax, the thought that there was still maybe an hour to go was bouncing around my head like a tennis ball on meth.

What I loved

1) Without a doubt, Catwoman. Anne Hathaway absolutely nailed what wasn't a greatly written character. I wasn't sure whether to narrow my eyes in suspicion or widen them to see more of her. Self-serving for pretty much the entire movie, she had an inexplicable change of heart at the end both in regards to Gotham as well as romantic interest in Bruce/Batman, neither of which the writers attempted to develop for two and a half hours. Hathaway made it work, though. She and Marion Cotillard were definitely an upgrade on Maggie Gyllenhaal and Katie Holmes from the first two movies.

2) Alfred had a larger role in this movie. And that meant more of Michael Caine saying cockney things. Sorry Avengers, but this is what you're missing. Iron Man's butler is a disembodied robot voice that won't cry when he dies.

3) "WHERE'S THE TRIGGER?" - Batman, in similar fashion to his Joker interrogation.

4) Ah yes, Bane. The Scottish Darth Vader voice, the total pwnage of Batman in their first encounter. The single tear falling down his cheek... er, I'll get to that later.

Actually, I'll get to that now.

What I didn't like

1) That tear down Bane's cheek: what the hell? (yeah, that's it. I'm no rager.)

2) The "twists". I haven't read many Batman comics in my lifetime. In fact, I've read only two, and those were in my pre-pubescent days. One of those comics happened to involve Ra's Al Ghul. In it he had a daughter, Talia, not a son. And that's how I knew that Miranda was the mastermind, because there were a grand total of two women in this movie, and one of them was Catwoman.

3) The post-ending ending. Okay, why on earth would you have Joseph Gordon-Levitt be Robin and tease us with an ending like that? We know you're not making a Robin movie, Christopher Nolan. I don't care if you don't want to explain how Batman survived a blast with a six-mile radius, but bringing Robin in at the end was just. Not. Cool.

Overall, The Dark Knight Rises was still a way above average movie, with a wonderfully gloomy tone and flat-out superb performances from the stellar cast. Unfortunately, no one compares it to the average movie, only to its predecessors - and it fails to live up to those expectations, the writing being weaker in the final quarter. Having said that, I could have easily watched three hours more.

A solid 8/10. I should probably devise my own rating system. How about feet? Pizza slices? Oh, how about brains? 

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Bring a Sober Friend

Just last week, I had one of the worst experiences of my life. I cannot begin to explain how much of a shock the night’s occurrences were and the fact that I had never expected to feel the way I did, turned what was supposed to a regular night into a life lesson that should be preached to the world and should be used for the betterment of all our lives. 

It was a regular start to the weekend. After work, I got into my car and went into town to meet a few of my friends. After the usual confusion about where we must go to rest our buttocks to converse about our lives, we decided on a bar that we frequent. 

On any other day, I would have sat down, had a few drinks, gotten a little drunk and then would be driven home by the one or two sober individuals who are part of this little gathering for a good night’s rest. This day however, was different. It was an experience I had never been through before and thus, I had no idea that it would be so atrocious. 

Due to certain events in my life, a.k.a to stop the girlfriend kicking me to the curb, I have had to let go of my boozing pleasures. So, on this fateful night, I was joining the circle of sobriety within my group of mates. I now formally apologize, and deeply sympathize with anyone who has ever had to take care of me when I was, as Little John would say, “getting crunk in this bitch”. 

It was a HORRID experience. At the beginning, I had to pay close to the same amount as I would for a proper drink, for something non-alcoholic and frankly, not as nice. Then as the night wore on, I slowly started to get involved in conversations with my “buzzing” mates about things that would never be uttered between two sober men. All sorts of feelings became known, and all secrets came pouring out, some rather disturbing. As the night grew darker and my mates grew drunker; conversations turned into overly emphatic hugs and shouts of “I love you”, “I hate you”, “I have a bigger Johnson!” etc. Very uncomfortable. 

After this, things just kept getting worse. At around 1 am, one of my friends, had consumed a little too much liquor and was attempting to hug the space that had been occupied by a girl around an hour earlier. He literally was hugging the air above the chair where the girl had been sitting, and upon realizing that said girl was not actually present, his loving hugs turned to angry and confused kicks as he tried to break open the chair hoping the girl would be coerced into jumping out of her hiding place within the cushion lining and proceed to lock tongues with him. 

Once the bouncers had successfully kicked us out of the bar, and I had developed some hope of perhaps getting home; more conversations began. It literally took over an hour to convince and at times, trick my mates into getting into the car so that they could be driven home by us sober “chauffeurs”. 

Once home, one of them, very adamantly, demanded that I accompany him to the rest room so that we can bond via communal whizzing. The other just barfed till he had nothing left to barf and then proceeded to pass out into what looked like a very comfortable sleep, leaving me and my sober friend to clean up the mess. After all the messy business was sorted out, and I had reached home at 6 am, I finally got to bed, exhausted after this harrowing night of being a caretaker, chauffer, janitor, and whizz buddy. 

What happened the next day is what really got to me. When I met with the same friends the following evening, they all seemed to be well rested, smiling, and on the whole jolly. Meanwhile I still felt tired, sleepy, and rather cross with all of them. They all laughed about the ridiculous things they did the pervious night, and competed on how much each one of them had drunk. They all claimed that the previous night was one for the books and this just drove me out right crazy. Then I realized; at the end of the night, it’s the sober people who always draw the short straw. They are morally obliged to listen to and take care of their incapacitated friends; they have to be the drivers and take said friends home, and have to ensure that none of them die. It is very sad because, by not drinking, you have less fun, spend the same money, do more work, and have a nerve wracking night at a bar, while your drunken friends have “the time of their lives”. 

I thus have two options, option one: I must get friends who do not drink and spend time with them playing twister and charades at home, while contemplating blowing my brains out. Option two: I get back to my boozing ways and let some other poor sober chap take care of me, drive me home, make sure I stay alive, and accompany me while I whizz. 

I think, all things considered, option two pretty much ensures I have a relaxing and happy weekend, while option one almost directly translates into me committing suicide. I choose option two. Anyone up for a drink? Bring a sober friend.

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Today, I was engaged in a fierce battle. With an equal, or perhaps, stronger opponent.

It took all my creativity and expert agility to get that damn spider.

You see, killing it is easy. Catching it and throwing it out humanely is the real challenge. And no, throwing it out a window isn't going to kill it. If a real human being like Spiderman can survive, imagine what an actual spider can do... it's probably (spoiler alert) on a ship halfway across the Atlantic Ocean by now. If ships are still a thing.

Anyway, it was the size of your fingertips (yes, your fingertips in particular), and moved like lightning, but slightly slower.

It all started when I was playing Pokemon Diamond an age-appropriate game on my laptop.

As I battled an Onix shot at strangers with a sniper or something, something tickled my arm. Ever the optimist, I imagined it was a spider. Though I was immediately proud of my accurate guess, I was swiftly horrified when spidey used my arm as a bridge to get onto my desk, where it crawled around my desk, coming into contact with my water jug and some uselessly important / importantly useless papers.

My human instinct immediately cried, "Kill, Kill! Pick up that newspaper and smack it into the middle of next week!" 

I didn't listen to it though. The human brain doesn't adhere to logic when it's panicking. You can't just smack something into the middle of next week, brain! Current scientific developments don't allow for time travel, and even if they did, the technology would be too valuable to use for something so inconsequential. I do wonder what I'd do if I had time travel, though. I think the first thing I'd do is probably -

You know, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll get to time travel in a future post. (HA. Get it?)

Back to the situation, then. I didn't listen to my brain's killer instinct, mostly because I was sort of frozen. And also because I hate having insect carcasses on newspapers with half-finished crosswords. I like crosswords. Every time I saw Garfield swat a spider with a newspaper, my insides wrenched a little.

Spidey (yep, I've named him. let it never be said that I don't develop characters in my stories) got away somehow, so I decided to get my bed as far away from the desk as possible. Not that I'd ever sleep now, under the threat of being crawled upon. I cleared the desk, mind working overtime as I analyzed my resources.


I found an empty sandwich bag and an empty toilet paper tube. Don't ask me what they were doing on the desk.

Luck favored me then, as spidey got onto my notice board and settled itself onto a piece of paper. I pulled the little plastic bag over one end of the tube to make a one-way trap and waited.

I stood there for a couple of minutes (it was actually twenty minutes), and when I had decided that Spidey wasn't going to move, I brought the hollow tube down onto the spider as quick as I could.


At first I wasn't sure if I'd got it, as it wasn't in sight. I shook it a bit and peered into the plastic-enclosed end while keeping the other end firmly against the notice board. Sure enough, it crawled round and round in that tube, with both ends blocked off.

This bought me enough time to ponder what I should do next. The sandwich bag wasn't big enough to seal with the toilet roll in it, and I didn't have a bigger bag within arm's length. I knew where Spidey had to go - I'd had the foresight to open the window. The problem was, I couldn't get it from desk to window without exposing it to the open air, which I couldn't risk, because Spidey had some serious pace.

So how did I do it?

I panicked, that's how.

Spidey wasn't too dull itself; it found a way between the toilet roll and the sandwich bag and crept between. Unwilling to come into any contact with it, even with plastic in between, I dropped the entire package.

Sheer luck ensured that the roll landed upright, so Spidey remained inside. I reacted quick enough to slap the nearest newspaper on top of the tube (crossword and all) and wrap it around, and out the window went it all.

Despite the victory, I don't feel superior at all.

I'm probably going to be awake all night, feeling itchy.

PS. My only consolation is that there was no sequel.