Cricket and Sex. Perfect. Yum….?

“Combining cricket and sex is a pointless exercise. It simply never works. IPL cheerleaders, nudes in lad’s mags holding bats and balls, cricket-themed porn sites and Brian Lara Cricket booth babes — all have entered the game of late and all are about as sexy as KP in a thong.

Why? Becuase this is cricket — a game for ugly men in jumpers, a game for long, drawn out boredom spotted with an occasional wicket and a hesitant fielding change. Call us bluff old traditionalists, but we don’t want to see glamour models in cricket pads trying to work out which end to grab the bat”

Source: http://www.asylum.co.uk/2009/06/30/shameful-mixtures-of-cricket-and-sex-a-history/

side note from the ripper: I’ve always hated cricket. Their attempts at trying to make it alluring = FAIL

like a raft on an ocean of bitter perspiration

There is, yet, a heaviness that I try to subdue by guzzling my brain with a stream of inconsistent information that I salvage from an archive of an ever deepening consciousness.

It is the simplicity of it all that draws me in. Simplicity in all its amazingly infinite truth.

But we remain callous in our pursuits; ignorant in our outlooks and preoccupied in our ways of life.

And I’m left feeling so tremendously small… in the vastness of the universe and life itself and all that life contains. So – small.

Cats on Drugs

Squeal, squeal, squeal.

Fuckin shit.
Roars and screams and rage and I just sit there, taking it all.
I feel like I’m in a fuckin rat’s vagina, on its period.
What the fuck is he screaming at me for? Fucker.
Stay calm, or scream back. stay calm. no, scream back, cowardly bitch.

Fine fine, so I fix up the dvd surround sound system. He’s happy. But he shows no sign of it.

My palms are hot and my toes are hot and my thighs squeal.
But my lips stitch themselves together.
And my fingers smell of Arabian perfume. Hot, intoxicating perfume.

The Murder City Devils seem to agree with me on anger.

I want respect.

…thats what she said.

If I was a man, would I have said “I wanna do that again!”?

So it seems that women have become… or more accurately have taken a liking to the crude activites that are more habituated to men.

 

I mean. woman raping men?

 

Okay, the odd part here is that the men actually find it a turn on. Penis trauma? hahaha, yeah. think again. They find it hawt. sizzle. Rope to keep erect. Dayamn. O_O

 

But then, I suppose it helped that she was not some socially awkward, fat dumb skin flabbing brace wearing woman for them not to actually suffer from penis trauma… or what say you?

 

 

Either way. funnies.

 

Link Here

Twittered to death.

Wow. Teenage girls dying because of twittering. Now that tops it.

“A teenage girl was electrocuted after dropping her laptop into the bath as she twittered in the tub.

Police said they believed Maria Barbu, 17, had tried to plug in her laptop with wet hands after the battery died during a long session on social networking site Twitter as she took a soak at her home in Brasov, central Romania.

She was found dead by her parents with the laptop lying next to her.“

How wry. Hilarious.

On the “lighter” side,

I got caught in the rain. We ended up talking for an entire hour and a half under two umbrellas. Drenched, we had chai in a local stall. Jeans sticking to thighs, sleeves sticking to skin, and toes squishing in converse. Fun Fun…

great. just great.

no cell phone
no guitar
no going out with friends.
no friends allowed to come home.
no internet

i have been stripped of all my privileges.
bugger.

the wave of pestilence

i like people who express themselves with a passion.

there is nothing wrong with it, no touch of immaturity, (like a few label it) or dramatic pretense.

just what they feel.

there is a limit, true. always. but then there’s also always a certain eccentricity about them that i admire.

when you get passionate, you get passionate.

it may seem awkward at first glance but when you really think about what they say…you say to yourself…damn. i wish i could do that.

however, when you feigned the last speech, it annoyed the hell out of me. i’m sorry but your words were never so empty never so shallow. your expression was never so glossed up and your behaviour a masquerade that hides a true sense of full self-acceptance. i’m sorry hun. you just disgusted me back there.

sighs and kisses

the moon is as beautiful as ever.
she shines in all her glory in the summer night sky, majestic and mysterious as the words you said to me the other night.
i can still feel the breeze blowing my hair into strands and kissing my arms like a lover.

tonight is a wonderful night.

the sky is overflowing with a new found love, like it was no accident. the thunder seems to have gone to sleep, leaving only his fierce sister glistening nude in the sky at sudden moments.

it is beautiful.

i want everyone to experience a night like this. it is amazing.

mother leaves me in a perpetual state of perplexity, inspiring the depths of my soul. i wish to express it but i can’t.