Thursday, September 24

The Godfather

via Neon Stilettos

As long I'm not acting daft, and begin to realize that I must set things straight; I am perfectly normal.

Under any circumstances.

And no, I'm not going to give you an excuse for a justifiable action for which I am going to tell you right now. Look, I want to be the Don.

Yes, and I'm not crazy, plus I wouldn't even bat an eyelid if I were given a chance to be involved with the Syndicate.

Not any Syndicate mind you, the big time blowers floats my boat darling. Well, if I can't be the Don by any chance; being the Consigliere would put me at ease almost immediately--for at least ten seconds I think.

No, I haven't been watching the Godfather it was just a random book I picked up about the Mafias and such, and yes, Marlon Brando was sexy in his younger days, he's a fuzzy old man for a Don but I like the fact that he had a pet cat. It bridges the similarities gap closer between us, ooh I feel a bit like a Don Vito Corleone already!

My pet cat died. Either way stolen or lost its way home.

Anyways, as I was saying I mentioned earlier on that 'power is sexy' on my previous post before this and I still do find it sexy till now; if you tell me which girl wouldn't like a little bit of arrogance, wanting her man to prove that he's manly enough for her?

I want a man. I know, I do. A man who won't whine as frequently as I'm capable of but not likely to do it unless I want some attention from you. YES, YOU. A man who is able to provide me security especially when I'm walking about and there's a bunch of idiots ogling at me as if they've never seen a pair of legs before, he should possess the power of an immensely cold icy stare at them clowns to scare their pants away; or else get a pair of eye laser beams or something. You're suppose to make me feel safe. A man who can feed me like a walrus because if I'm hungry all the time, I'd probably be digging your liver out for suppe--umm nothing!

You know what I mean? A man!

Not some boy trying to teach me to adapt to his own liking. WHAT DO YOU KNOW YOU INEXPERIENCED LITTLE *takes a deep breath* GIT!!

The only girl you've ever been with is just as clueless as you are! No wonder it doesn't work!

Get a clue, damn it!

Actually, the last two sentences up there is somewhat applied to me sadly. :(

But hey, that's why we learn from the past, or rather a good ol' reason why the miserable subject History ever bother cropping up on the high school syllabus; making a right misery out of anyone. What you like History?! Get out of here!!

History classes, lectures, homework or anything that related to history is boring. We are done and over with it; could not wait any sooner to get away from it. But let's not take this matter based on one point only: Boring. Perhaps there was a manipulative factor that causes the dreaded subject to be boring!

Come back here you History book worshippers!

What makes History much more interesting is that you need a good storyteller. Not everyone is good at that. I'm not. A story told with full passion and effort is mesmerizing for weeks and your listeners can pass it on to others and they pass it on to another millions of people. A story that was barely even a story, half assed through the way; people most likely to toss it off their mind the second the next sentence came out your mouth.

I have lousy History teachers at high school. Plus, even lousier History lecturers at university.

Nyeh. Whoa, what an include to round up a pair of sentences!

So I want to be the Don. I know it's easier said than done, I barely picked up a gun in my life, let alone a battering stick or diver's knife; but I'm probably most harmful with a feather duster. I'd tickle you to death of course.

Never mind, I'll just use the short cut, probably flirt with some bloke who happens to be a Don and marry him off to me. Persuade him. Make him. Control him. Take him. Rape him!

Okay, stopppp.

Maybe I was dreaming back there, there's no way that's gonna happen, I mean, how would I really know that he is the Don or something? And the other question that will string along somehow. Questions, questions, questions...that's why I never bother writing them down! And forget about them later.

Had the misfortune to remember about it again but with the completely erased memory that I have run into this mental block before and repeat the whole process again. How lovely.

Anyhow, the pointless dialogue of the day have kept me well and satisfied for at least a few hours or if I'm unlucky, days I suppose. But nevertheless, I shall carry on with my charming fantasy of men in black suits and shades escorting me into a brightly colored ice cream van to get my 'fix'. You know? Triple chocolate chip sundae with extra whipped cream and cherry toppings; God I'm a slob and you know it.