Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Everclear, Never Clear

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Some people can conjure mean things when they don’t get what they want. They start to do shit like your friend did, or starting to say something along the line ‘you owe me a lot’ and blabla RM blabla.

That’s quite rich from someone who takes most of selective statement from me as mere rhetorical expression.

First, she got pretty adamant with the value of her reply is binding with valid form of citation. Which I didn’t stated it electronically (in the oh-so-public Facebook with selected circle of friends, micro-blogging of Twitter or Tumblr, or even wordpress), but I did in written form in my moleskine — which also was questioned by her the need to keep a written journal on Moleskine.

Second, the whole fiasco about a simple thing as receiving one “mass sms” and being resolute with my other text afterward as being exact copy to others. Do I have to elaborate things like: “I’m boarding my plane to the plane of echolalia.” Or do I have to make a creative writing on the passing of loved one, just to be unique per messages?

Third, what part of sarcasm she doesn’t realized when I mention about monetary depreciation in tandem with this statement:

It’s easier to make the argument worse by divulging financial losses. That’s when alimony issues arise.

It’s a non-sequitur irony to the power of null. Equal to ONE simple comprehension. And yes, I do keep track of my expenses on my Excel Spreadsheet since last 5 years. Like my dad said (who did financial auditing and accounting before he retired):

Buat kira-kira, tapi jangan berkira.

Count the penny, don’t be pinchpenny.

I don’t think it’s Ebenezer Scrooge paranoia when my last relationship I got £1700 cheque somewhere in her bank account — for working visa to UK. That’s quite a lot in RM, you know. I’m not an offspring of Sarawakian Timber Towkey.

When someone request an amount of cash as a loan. It didn’t suppose to mean ex gratia even if it’s given with bona fide. What am I, a pro bono dunce?

An increase in monetary gain can always put us in a different kind of perspective. A new sight of people can always put us to see things in different way. We become more stingy [stingier?] even if we earn much more than what we used to. We become vain when we don’t look like we used to. We become proud when we are not in the level that we used to. We become heartless even we used to be humble.

If I can get away with my bank with these “empathetic angst” everytime they ask me to pay my credit card. I’m scot-free.

Am I always this angry? Only on the internet. As angry as An Irritable Panda.

By the way, in that successful publicised notes on facebook amongst her closest friends and saints, the Everclear’s I Will Buy You A New Life lyrics is the epitome of irony when she “conjure mean things when she don’t get (understood) what the reality wanted”

Here is the money that I owe you 

So you can pay the bills

I will give you more when I get paid again

I hate those people who love to tell you

Money is the root of all that kills

To malign me as Ebenezer Scrooge is one thing, being demonised as Shylock, The Merchant of Venice is the demon of all miser.

I can stand Charles Dickens, but William Shakespeare? Not cool. Let’s play “empathetic angst” game, me as the Shylock — the heartless creditor.

SHYLOCK: Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

— William Shakespeare (1564–1616), English poet and playwright. The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 1.

Oh, please. Don’t spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. Yes, I notice the irony of this too.

LORENZO: How every fool can play upon the word!

William Shakespeare (1564–1616), English poet and playwright. The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 5.

Did I ever ask for a pound of flesh? Yes, in a perverted way — Bar Refaeli!

I’m a faux Jew, and I love the Israeli model; Bar Refaeli (בר רפאלי). I had been looking for the 2009 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition at the Borders and MPH without avail. Oh, how I heart thee, international Zionist celebrity. I wish I could savour her as I sipped my equally Zionist Starbucks’ Caramel Macchiato at the Borders — whom the barrista at the The Gardens keep pronouncing the name with phlegmy pseudo-american accent. WHeip? WHeup? Oh, Whip Cream. Laila? Pardon my mate(s), for he/she hardly assent to your barista pretentiousness.

I wish I didn’t have to resort being this divulging. Yet Moleskine written journal is indistinct inside the black cahier bind.

Oh, f*ck, now my FB friends know this wordpress link (or maybe not).

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Caveat: The gravity of this entry can be taken selectively e.g. I’m a pro-Semitic capitalist or I’m an irritable panda in real life. Be free to reconcile with mutual kiss-and-forget or retaliation with nondescript monologue.

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Look ma, I can do “mass note(s)” too.

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