Warning:
Boys, girls and shirish*,
This line was a gimmick to catch your attention and DOES NOT discuss the finer aspects of a thong or a g-string. All perverts and family members requested to buzz off.
Aha! (yell of triumph) Now that I’ve graduated from an amateur blogger to a not-so-inexperienced novice, I’m gonna quit blabbering on any social issue (including lobbying for Shirish* to attain human status…yawn!) and start moaning (my favorite pastime) about how my life is a colossal tragedy surpassing even Ann Frank’s. Well, after falling in a gutter, looking like a moron before my crush, trying to operate DC++, trying (and failing magnificently) to sneak out and visit City Centre (don’t you snigger! My butt’s never been the same again) and attempting to hide from my mom that 2 liters of Baskin Robbins’ finest had disappeared down my stomach and were now happily chugging down the sewage, my week has finally grounded to a halt. Phew!
So with a mournful five days before I depart for hell with its raging fires and face my evil bent-upon-murdering-me teacher’s smug grin…gotta give my farewell to you all.
So here I present my last will and testament (appropriate solemn expression):
1. My love obviously goes to mum, dad and Rafael Nadal
2. My gravely-in-doubt brainy genius goes to The Academy Of Brilliant Brains
3. The money in my piggy bank goes to the selfless, noble and gallant organization fighting to eradicate all the shirish’s* in the world (spare me the simpering looks…I KNOW you’re trying to say thank you!)
*Shirish – a vile evil stupid creature comparable to a troll, gives off an evil smell (be careful of the undies since their origins are unknown) with a mucus laden EVERYTHING and an abnormally long nose with hair sticking out of the nostrils (unless it’s got it trimmed). Found generally in the forests of Zaire but it is believed that an infestation may have occurred in Apeejay as well.
Having finished my monologue let me resume the highly interesting topic of life after castration…of Wobbles, a cat of amazing bravery and devoid of the over-inflated ego that most males of the human species posses in relation to their libido.
Wobbles’ observations on post operation life
By Wobbles the castrated cat
On sitting
I feel a little less comfy
As I sit inside the hall
Since I’ve lost that special cushioning
Of my furry little balls
On washing
Licking myself was a sheer pleasure
Especially around there
Now it’s a fruitless pastime
With nothing but a tuft of hair
On hunting
The mice are getting cheeky
While I watch them, prone
Since I have no more resource
For good old testosterone
On sex
My sex days aren’t over
Since they haven’t yet begun
Oh! My wet dreams now turn dry
I feel like a monk on the run
On revenge
I can’t do very much to that f*****g doctor
To pay back in the same coin
Except hide in darkened corners
And scratch every suitor’s groin
I decline the honor of having composed this; it reflects the creativity of Albert Barton, friend and lover of the glorious feline species.
With loads of love and luck, and wishing you all a very happy death (with a knowing smirk to the numerous fingers wagging at me)
Duly signed,
Chocoholic
2 comments:
reality in ur face is the mantra u clearly follow u have mentoned some thins which never happen like someone attainin a new gender status and u have even mentioned a new species which appears to be quite foul and spreadin a disease which has now become an epidemic
the poem which u have contributed to the readers is one hell of a pastime
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