Introducing Fully Loaded.

It all started on a gloomy Thursday evening. The rain had been coming down hard since morning……….felt like droplets of Nitrogen. I couldn’t feel my left tit………..blasted air conditioning. It was day I just wanted to go home. I had a funny feeling in my knees……….it’s called arthritis………I’m just kidding…….ha…ha….laugh it up, asshole. But something told me that today was not going to go according to plan…………at least not according to my plan.

I rubbed my cold palms together trying to get some life in to them. I could almost see my steamy exhale. It’s only a matter of time I told myself. Ring. Ring. The phone made me jump out of my skin like an electrocuted testicle.

“Err..hello?”

It’s Shorts.

“The Boss wants you in his room in ten.”

Fuck.

“Now what does he want?”

“Come find out for yourself.” Click.

Bitch.

My mind starts running at the pace of a pirated DVD on my LG player.

Smooth….Stuck…..Smooth……Smooth……Stuck…….Stuck…….Stuck

Now what does the moron want? Then my rotted brain horns in on something. Something big. Shit. Must be the segmentation model. Has he found out that there are no Arabs in Colombo? Fuck. Kotler, that son of a bitch.

The walk to The Chamber was not pleasant, it never was. Feels like the green mile. I need a drink. Suddenly I could hear ice against glass. Cling, Cling. I could feel the mildly sweet aftertaste of a sip of Chivas. Shit. Office was not meant to be pleasant anyway, I tell myself.

I see Shorts typing something. I like this dame. She smells nice. I imagine fucking her brains out.

“Hey Shorts, wassup?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol” comes the reply.

Nobody is feeling like small talk today. Blasted weather.

The Boss keeps me waiting. I like the local gun law. Silencers are banned.

I hear the telephone conversation in the room ending. “Fuck off”. Thadang!! I am sure the receiver chipped. That’s my que to enter. I hate days like this. Curse………

………Half an hour later I’m at my station. What happened? How did I get here? I feel run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Last I remember was walking in to The Bosses room. Shit. Now I remember. I didn’t even see the bastard coming. He must have hit me with a butt of an AK 47. Fuck. Now I have to carry this headache home. I hate days like this. Blasted weather!!

Ironically, “Time of your life” by Green Day keeps running in my head. Armstrong, that pimp.

I came close to asking God for a break. Shit. I gave up on that freak a long time ago. Bastard father of a bastard son. Smirk!!!

I got that funny feeling again. Danger was lurking close. I could almost smell it. I was half expecting it jump at me and tear my throat out. Like a salivating Rothweiler. I was holding my breath. Suddenly it did. Michael Stripe of REM started singing Orange Crush on my N70. I pick up.

“Hello?”

I regret that “hello” faster than I could find a tit in a strip club. It’s a dame and her name is Dangerously Attractive. I hate chicks that call me on rainy days. Dames who call me on rainy days land me in trouble…….or bed. Pretty ones want to tell me about the asshole they are fucking right now. The ugly ones want to fuck me. Either way I’m fucked. I need to start that directory on my phone. My memory is not as good as it use to be.

“Hi”

Shit.

“Hey”

“Wachay doing tonite?”

From the looks of it, regretting answering this call.

“Um…..nothing much”

I’m old. I hate that. Fuck. My brain and tongue don’t seem to work together anymore. Shit.

“Want to go for a drink? Nice weather for one.”

Here it comes.

“Yeah, sure”

I could use the exercise.

I get picked up at seven. I’ve got use to that now and it’s not funny anymore. I get down from a 2004 Toyota Corolla. I smell the cool Colombo air. Smluck! I step on mud. I see mud all over my boot. Like I held it under an asshole. Fuck. I hate this weather.

I meet the same cunts all over again. I have the same drunken conversations all over again. I just enjoy the alcohol, helps me loosen up. I knock up a quick couple. Fuck! That felt good.

I wind up in a sleazy tavern with Dangerously. A sorry excuse for an Irish Pub it claims to be. If there’s anything worse than the air conditioning it’s the lightening. Fuck! The band’s blasting the cover off a CCR cover. To think I use to like this place!!

I have a pet name for Dangerously. It’s call “very”. I could see her buttocks tighten under her skirt as she balanced on those high heels. Fuck. I think I’ve drunk enough. We sit as further from the band as we can. Suddenly all hell breaks loose. I look for a political hoodlum spraying everybody from the bar. Shit. My mistake. DJ is playing a Shakira track. The dames think themselves Shakira. The punks think themselves Wyclef Jean. Cheapest masquerade one can organize. It pays off to have a broken leg sometimes. You don’t get drag on to the floor.

I light up. Suddenly Dangerously squeezes my hand under the table. I hate that……..well actually I don’t mind. This is where I think my film-noir style of narration wares off. Ever notice the difference between when your hand is held under the table and over? Anyway, I explore her hand with mine. I could feel the lines on her palm. Slender fingers. Nice change. Feels nice.

“I’ve missed you”

Fuck. She’s hunting. Alcohol and hunting is a dangerous mix. Somebody can get hurt. Seriously.

“Since when?”

I try to joke my way out of it. But she’s got all the guns. I just have the clutches.

“For the past few years. Technically.”

Jesus fucking Christ!!! Good answer. When a dame says “technically”, she means business. Fuck. How the fuck do I get myself in to these things? Fuck.

“It was nice while it lasted and we moved on.”

Safest possible answer I could think of.

“Do you know the cutest thing about you, Mr. Horus?”

My face? My butt? Please tell me it’s my face.

“The way you sleep in your socks”

Shit. Hey, my feet get cold. Okay?

“I don’t any more. I broke that habit a long time ago.”

I lie. Fuck.

“Things change, ha?

“Big time.”

I stop her from taking her hand away. Shit. I shouldn’t have done that. Red Hot Chilly Peppers. “Take it away, take I away, take it away now!”

The gang’s back at the table. One asshole asks me for a light. Thankfully I use both hands. No hand when I come back. Fuck. If I didn’t want it, why the fuck do I miss it?

Parting time. Thank god. Only a little while longer. I get in to her car. Shit. Another green mile. Maitland crescent is good. Not a word is spoken. I try to ease the ice.

“Can I put some music on?”

I get a nod. Good enough. Put the bastard on and I’ll be at home in no time.

WHAT THE FUCK????

REO SPEEDWAGON.

FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!! Holy mother of Peter!!!!!

I assume she still likes REO Speed. Fuck.

Why can’t they have one common button for all stereos to change from CD mode to Radio mode? Fuck.

“Hey, you still listen to REO.”

“Yup, some things never change.”

CLICK. CLICK. BOOM!!!!!!!!!

My brain matter is all over the fucking dashboard. Oh look, the hypothalamus is on the carpet.

Lordus Cuntus in his delusional state tries to make things better.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For acting like I just discovered my first pubic hair.”

I get a laugh. Thank you god!!

“It’s just that I’ve got a lot of shit going on in my life right now.”

“You’re not the only one whose life is not going according to plan.”

I told you the pretty ones want to tell me whom they are fucking right now. Here it comes.

We exchange shit over coffee. It was nice. Like old times.

Last bit of the conversation is just fucked up. Went something like this.

“You know horus, you are one guy tuff guy to get over. I still measure other guys with you, even if I don’t fucking want to. But a girl once in a way wants her guy to make a stand. Tell her what to do when she can’t make up her own mind. You don’t have to always ask. For fucks sake it would be nice to be told once in a way.”

I get dropped off. It’s raining again. I’m drenched by the time I get to the porch. Learnings for the day, number one, chicks that call on rainy days are bad news. Always. Number two, must have updated phone contact list. Smirk!

Mind Over Matter.

Like in the words of somebody I can’t remember, it’s been a while. For the last couple weeks I was caught up in the race of means where individual ends are met. Seems like such a fucking waste now. Like I’ve said before, shit happens.

It’s almost 1.30am on a Sunday morning. Here I am on a beach in Induruwa, stoned out of my mind with Shams next to me. She always looked the prettiest when she’s asleep. Nice to know that I wasn’t bull shitting when I told her that. Nice trip this is turning out to be.

Anyway, Kottu has been on fire over the past few weeks over doing things, knowledge gaps, revolutions and….errr….V for Vendetta. All good stuff but I’m too stoned now to look at the big picture. I am not a revolutionary. I lack sacrifice to be a revolutionary. I am too middle class to be a revolutionary. I do not have the recourses or the faith of the masses to be any part of any revolution, which I think are prerequisites for a revolution.

I have a very false sense of patriotism too. I hate everything about Sri Lanka. Hate the roads, hate the drivers, hate the system, hate the war, hate the rulers and the list goes on. But ask me whether I hate Sri Lanka, nooooo you mad! I think the only reason why I like Sri Lanka is because I’m not one of the masses. I get to do things that fascinate others and talk about it, which gives me a false sense of superiority. Given the choice I think most Sri Lankans would prefer to be of some other European, North American or even South American origin than from a third world South Asian. But then, I might be wrong.

As for saying that I should be give back all I’ve received from the country, there would be a whole heap of people who be there before me, who if they started ever repaying by the time it come to me my name the list would be so faded that it can hardly be read. How far down would you think a guy who never went to a public education institution and worked all his life in the private sector lie in that list?

This is me in my own way trying make sense of it all without making it sound like, with all due respect, a cheap Hollywood take of an excellent comic book hero. So where do I stand? In this frame of mind why am I writing a post on a borrowed PDA instead of listening to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and snuggle up next to Shams? (Fuck! That’s so tempting now that I’ve mentioned it. Mind over matter. Mind over matter.) That means unfortunately I honestly do give a fuck about this country. Unfortunately because I have not idea what to do about it. At least to start with, I don’t think it has anything to do with political affiliations and revolutions. Again I might be wrong but I’m too smoked up to give a fuck.

People are leaving the country. Mind you these are people who think that the present system is good for the country. When people who think the system work, leave, there is some thing radically fucking wrong there, don chu think?

Last week this dickwart was telling me that though the government is loosing money by curbing (at least trying to) the consumption of cigarettes and alcohol, since the people consumer less it cuts down on what the government spends on health care. I tossed him a rupee and asked him to go get an education! When the likes of Al Capones run the illegal alcohol business and the likes of Valentines day massacres take place here, we will be wondering, HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN in our sacred country?

Sorry, that’s me going on a trip. Political decisions have been criticized enough I think in the blogspear. What I think we lack is “somebody” who has the balls to teach economics to the masses. Commend the decisions that make sense and ask “what the fuck were YOU thinking?” when it comes to the baloney. Right now there is no one body which does both according to my limited intelligence. If there is, then it has a serious fucking marketing issue. Everybody who commends is bias and everybody who criticizes is bias too. People have lost faith because nobody gives them logic anymore. All they hear are political agendas that are cheaper than a whore who will blow a dog for fifty bucks!

Ouch!! That’s a head rush. Time for a smoke, if I can find the pack without waking Shams. Anyway, that’s that. Nice sky. If stars, when they burn out make black holes, wonder what happens to a black hole when it come to the end of its’ life span? Shit! Sure could do with Entire Island being wi-fi now. Are they even thinking of that?