I am Volstagg.

I can't say 'no'; at least, not directly. Not to the effect that it would offend you...but maybe to the effect that it would annoy you.

I just received a call from a particular company whose offer I had to decline; it sounded like they were willing to knock me over with an interview offer. However, the woman on the other end of the line got my name very, very wrong, and she sounded terrifying; though, looking at the company she represented, she would probably have been very, very fit.

Not that it's what I look for upon choosing a company to join, no. No distractions, no, those are bad. I do believe that I'll be okay, because I'm hardly qualified to fumble my way through the cookie jar. I'm simply not tall enough...metaphorically (but, of course).

Anyhow, for those of you in the know, the head of the company of the whose offer I declined is an English tax exile, believed to be living a reclusive multimillionaire's life in Bermuda. (That pretty much nails what we want in life, no?)

I can't really say if I could work for someone like that. There're some of you out there who'd lambast me for being picky, especially over something as detrimentally trivial as this.

What difference would how slim shady the leader of the organization you're never going to meet make? A part of me would even say that it'd be quite nifty, working for a hermit shyster. But I'm not really sure if it'd leave a fine imprint upon my conscience.

Goodwill is better than ill will.

And yes, the woman on the other end of the phone was very, very scary. It was too much to take for my daintiness.

At this point, I wonder if my conscience and my own set of skewered ethics could be used as a vibe reader when it comes to choosing a job. I'm not exactly Balder the Brave; I don't have to uphold a stunning reputation for do-goodery.

With that said, the son of the former head of the company that I do want to be employed in was the second Saint after Roger Moore!

Not that anyone cares.

This job-hunting business feels like a glorified game of cat 'n mouse.

And I still don't know how to properly decline anything without taking the time it would need to apply for a mortgage and pay back the amount.

* * * * * * * *

A conversation in my head between an incredibly straightforward pimp and a Norse god:

'Do you want herpes?'

'Mayhaps if thoust wench is ripe...doth thoust have such a wench?'

My point exactly. There are some things you just wouldn't know how to say no to.

* * * * * * * *

On another note, being called 'Hing Tai' in a non-colloquial way was probably the highlight of my morning.

Salut.

Rant rave.

• Ample cleavage eventually gets amply saggy.
  
  
• Without a doubt, I'm definitely cut out for a life of doing nothing at all.

• If I was a Mayor, and I had a female Chief of Staff, then she'd be just that: my own personal chief of staff. Insert the drum roll here.

• I can't stand the fact that my stepmother likes stomping her thong-padded feet around the house. I also can't abide by the fact that she prefers to slam good china plates onto a glass table, as opposed to taking a modicum more of effort to just simply place them properly on said table.

• I have nothing against Turkish people. I just have something against Turkish people playing poker on Facebook.

• People who walk around and think that they can do whatever they like usually don't know that they walk around thinking that they can do whatever they like.

• I still haven't been stung by a bee yet.

• Actually, in technical terms, my stepmother isn't even my stepmother.

• It's alright to be overly righteous because you'll never be as righteous as me, anyway.

• The ends never justify the means. Which is why you should cheat more, coz nobody would really give a toss.

• I sleep with my head beneath the sheets because I'm scared of the dark.

• The hottest girl in my neighbourhood kicked me in the balls four times over the period of a football match. That's bonding.

• Having sex does not make you sophisticated. Having a long list of partners who've had sex with you does not make you sophisticated. Having multiple partners who simultaneously have sex with you does not make you sophisticated. Anal sex is not sophisticated. Introducing your friends to a self-described fuck buddy and then chasing another tail shortly after that does not make you sophisticated. Openly trumpeting this certainly doesn't make you sophisticated. And, despite your denials, you're sad enough to care about what people think of you. You know who you are.

• It's hard to believe in karma when all the good people leave you and the bad seeds stay afloat.

• Taking the effort to reestablish contact is great until you realize that they're doing it for a favour.

• Never forget dates.

• I like short shorts.

• My interpretation of love will always be deeper than yours. Simply because I know that it's something more that's served chilled on a silver platter.
  

Trust yourself.

I trapped a beached fairy.

No, she wasn't sunbathing on the beach. She was stuck in the sand.

I made a cup out of my hands and kept her trapped in my palms.

I took her home, and kept her in a bottle. I didn't feed her.

Fairies don't require sustenance, after all. They are beyond the craving for morsels.

What fairies do need, is belief.

I believe in fairies. I have to. Otherwise, there wouldn't be a plausible explanation for everything that you see around you.

The fact that you can be amazed in the first place only shows you that there's something bigger at work.

Fairies do exist. I don't deny that.

I had to let her go. She didn't belong in a bottle.

I still regret letting her go. I think I always will.



But she didn't belong in that bottle.

I clipped a part of the wing, to remind me.



It's not exactly the same thing. But it helps.



From time to time.

Bemused over bewilderment .

Tying up loose ends isn't as fun as leaving them hanging.

Resolutions always leave me feeling empty, simply because they steal the sensation of having something to look forward to.

It can be understood that temporarily misplacing your keys can be a great inconvenience, but upon finding them, you're immediately swept with a feeling of dissatisfaction over having nothing to scour over.

Without panic, there's just silence. No alarm bells ringing in your head. No adrenaline goading you on to cross the finish line. No inspiration. No motivation.

We all need a bit of fury to keep us moving. Not too much, of course, lest we fall prey to the dangers of too much analysis and the deluge of anxiety that'd come our way as a result of that.

It's sad when you realize that the only thing that really gets you going is trouble.

It's twice as sad when you've got a face that can only ask for it.

Undoubtedly, you'd be absolutely livid with yourself if you couldn't find some form of inner peace all the time.

But would it be worth it when everything else is turned up to 11?

Maggie's farm wants you.

These are exciting times. Malaysia's ruling majority has been significantly silenced; the Democrats are going to win; and I'm going to get a job....eventually.

I took another look at my past academic transcript over the years, and I can say that my progress has been consistently stagnant at all times. But, on the bright side, I can say that I've been constantly underachieving.

Though it's not something that I'd want to bring to the table.

Having to declare my willingness to suck face to compensate for my lack of book smarts might not look too encouraging for the corporate types that I'm suddenly in need to so desperately impress these days, but it gets the point across: if there's shit to be swept underneath the rug, I'm your man.

On being asked what my greatest strength is, I've given the same response: the fact that I have empathy, and that I find/force myself to identify with others easily. That's right. I hate all of you, but I've got to stoop down to your paltry level just to get a sale out of you. My greatness weakness would probably be my allergic reaction to doing work, which I've had to relabel 'an ability to work well under pressure'. And how do I handle stress? Well, with a sunny disposition, of course.

I don't have much of a choice.

But it's been looking good. And for the limited amount of time I've had to impress people, I've at least refined my delivery in trying to convince people in employing me. I'm feeling that it's starting to become some sort of a sick game. Though it's fun reinventing myself as the go-to guy who has an unlimited supply of motivation and determination.

And that's true. My source of motivation is the fact that I've got to get the resources needed to get me off this rock and onto your stereo. Or, at the very least, to leave an imprint upon your very mind.

Well.

To be honest.

I just need money for an Xb0x 360. And maybe a new SD card adapter for my DS.

I'm a simple, down-to-earth, results-oriented guy who's always committed to working hard.



Trust me.

A preamble in shambles!

I'd most probably remind you of a premature ejaculation: a bundle of energy that's waiting to be released, but gets set off just a little too soon without ever really hitting the spot. To others, I'd be more hype than buzz: I'd be the bastard rainbow coloured glow-in-the-dark Reebook Pump that was never really a practical idea.

To others, I'd be a slow tortoise. A very slow, oversized, uncompromisingly lethargic tortoise.

Personally, I'd like to think that I'm the perpetually easy-going everyman that every girl would love to know and that every guy would love to depend on. The truth is, I'm not very dependable. Nor am I totally quick to put on my thinking cap when it needs to be worn to etch a living out of becoming dependable.

It's hard to look on the bright side of life after believing that you've blown a job interview. Especially when you really want the job. I'd like to think that it takes a lot of courage to take a job that you'd probably be incredibly passionate about at the risk of not being compensated well enough. However, being the humble soul that I am...I think that I'm worth as much as I make myself out to be. While others would say that I'm a fool to undervalue myself, my only response would be to say that the undervaluation is justified.

Now, I digress.

A less than satisfactory answer that was pressured out of me somewhat made me realize that I have to be quicker. I kicked myself in the head (figuratively, not literally, as I lack the total flexibility) when I realized that I had a brilliant response...7 minutes too late.

In retrospect, it might not have been the speed at which I stumbled upon the better option that hit me the hardest, but more of the fact that I didn't have the mega answer lined up first.

I'm scared that I'm not living up to the expectations of someone who loves to think of himself as being out of the box.

And the tragic part is, I can't be easy on myself when it comes to this.

There's no pity like self-pity, Rufus!

But, by Crom, I'll dig myself out of this hole. I'll get a confirmation on whether or not I've landed the job on Friday. Until then, I suppose there's a countless number of places I can visit to continue living through the dredge of monotony that I seem destined for.

This is more of a reminder to me than it is for you, True Believer, but let's get on with this one mantra:

LIVING MEGA IS THE NEW ADOPTED THIRD WORLD BABY.

Love thy saccharine.

Most addictions come and go, if we're lucky enough. I've managed to hold cigarettes at more than an arm's length since New Year's Eve, though it was more of a voluntarily challenge to myself to see how long I could consciously neglect them for. I'm happy to say that it's been a fruitful effort so far.

However, despite the fruitfulness, I don't feel any different; there's not really a boost in energy, and sometimes I feel even more cranky and super fatigued faster than you can say Yomeishu.

But, despite these pangs, I've got nothing to complain about. Well, I had nothing to complain about until I started developing a cough. What's annoying about being sick in my case is how nothing seems extreme. I'd prefer to get hit by a heavy illness and then completely heal from it, as opposed to having it pace itself and amortize its effects on me.

Thank God for cough syrup.

Benadryl has this solid, fat, cherry taste.

It's also wonderful how two teaspoons of Benadryl are enough to slowly burn you down and put you to sleep.

It's also becoming a little bit worrying about how I might be addicted to Benadryl for that fruity taste.

I need to find an alternative: a non-medicinal syrup on the market that's just as easily available and equally as tasty, yet won't make me a driving risk.

I hope I can find it, for my sake. I don't like staying up til 3, ensuring that everyone else is asleep and then spending my time, slowly pouring that thick, ruby effervescence into my teaspoon and then slowly mouthing it all down, swallowing with such a satisfaction that you'd think I was in the extreme throes of some lustful, lustful, filling passion.

And then doing it again.

But, no, don't worry. Really. I'm not really addicted to Benadryl. I'm just saying that it tastes great. And I'm also saying that I'm not abusing it. Much. I'm only abusing it because I'm using it for a purpose that allows me to abuse it. Like gasoline. And smelling glue. I love the smell of fumes. And I love the taste of citrus-flavoured Listerine, although I can't really swallow it. In fact, I think swallowing mouthwash got me into this whole mess with the cough anyway.

I better stop here.

Life's great without cigarettes.