In the beginning the Internet was created. This has made a lot of people excited and been widely regarded as a ticket to fill the gaping holes in their much unsatisfactory lives, and thus generally a bad move.
It begins with a blog.
Tucked away in bloglivion is a sniping teeth-baring underpaid overworked scribbler who somehow makes a difference to Blogtopia Zone 92′s education system. For the sake of what is temporarily called an argument in… oh for the fun of it let’s call it the name-dropping plugging, we shall call the sniping teeth-baring underpaid overworked scribbler The Shorts-Wearing Elf.
The Blogger’s Guide to Blogtopia has this to say about Elves, “Mostly harmless”.
“This must be a Tuesday,’ said The Shorts-Wearing Elf to herself, sinking low over the grammatical mistake overload and bombastical-happy lines, “‘I never could get the hang of Tuesdays.”
Zpp zpp zpp.
Enter the most miserable of all miserable cowboys, The Cowboy, way past his gun-totting prime into the inevitable beckoning slums of saggy beer belly and wrinkly tits.
“Elf, we need to talk.”
“I’ve been talking to the receptionist.”
“She refused to have sex with me.”
“Nooooooo,” The Elf sniffed impassively.
“Just thought you would like to know.”
The Blogger’s Guide to Blogtopia has a few things to say on the subject of sex. Sex, it says, is about the most massively consequential act of communication between two, three or more Earthlings. Partly it fulfils a certain physical need; you can have sex on your couch, in your kitchen, in the toilet, at a foam party; you can have sex with just about anyone of the same or opposite sex; you can have sex at anytime of the day or night, all year long if you like.
More importantly, sex has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a stud or slut has more sex than what is deemed necessary for overall health reasons, the Earthling would automatically be regarded as also be in possesion of various tricks, styles, techniques and methods pertaining to foreplay, fellatio, penetration and the aftermath. Furthermore, the Earthling will then hailed as a successful hustler and will make new friends of all sorts, further increasing his or her chances of getting laid. What the ordinary Earthling will think is that any hustler worth his salt and knows where, when, what and how to poke is clearly an Earthling to be reckoned with.
Hence a phrase which has passed into sex slang, as in “Hey, you banged that batang keras hustler? There’s a force who really knows how to dispose the condom after.” (banged: make love, batang keras: desirable, dispose: courtesy, condom: necessary.)
For newbie Earthlings still in learning, guidance comes in the form of a teenage counselor.
“Not even when I told her that I am a lesbian.”
Resistance to a conversation is useless. Might as well pack up and go home.
The Cowboy sighed, “This is the end of my life as I know it. She was Teh One. Now I shall have to glue my heavy self onto a chair and download porn from Kara’s Playground.”
“No way, your beauty knows no bounds.”
“Chances for you to find Miss Right is pretty slim for everyone are but pitiful shadows next to your glowing image.”
“You really mean this don’t you? You are not saying all this because you feel sorry for me?”
“I feel sorry for all the rest of mankind. Jealousy will flood through the male population once you inevitably rise to fame.”
With that, The Elf left.
Blabber Bimbo Bambo the receptionist bears the sweet angelic smile of a hopeful innocent, the last remaining glitter of virtue in this Shangri-la of sin. That which means a sickening countenence to the rest of the lost sheep, almost simpering as she silently prays to be chosen. Chosen as what? Chosen by whom?
The Blogger’s Guide to Blogtopia has this to say about Being Chosen, “It will never happen to you.”
But the Blabber Bimbo Bambo was not to know of this. And so flashing her nauseating pearly whites like the guinea pig who does not know what was about to
eat hit her, happily chirps,
With a swift turn of the head, The Shorts -Wearing Elf glared sharply at Blabber Bimbo Bambo.
“What is so good about Tuesday?”
The Elf continued, “Is it just this Tuesday? Or is it every Tuesday? Does that mean Wednesday is better? What about Friday? Is that the best? How do you know Tuesday is good? Who says? Did you?”
“Well, I guess..” What she guessed in her limited supply of grey matter we would never know, for The Elf cuts in again.
“Does that mean you only do good things on good Tuesday? Or does bad things become good? Does that mean if I do all my bad stuff on good Tuesday, I will still go to heaven?”
Shocked into momentarily enlightenment, Blabber Bimbo Bambo had only one thing to say,
The Shorts-Wearing Elf took another look at the pitiful whimpering lump cowering before her then slowly walked away, certain in the satisfying knowledge that yet another person’s life would never again be the same.