1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

Chicken salad garnished right you want to be white If you open your eyes I promise you will see The very best parts of me down down down with the revolution and wear an apron make urself palatable to the MASSES. Does it sell if SO call 911 and what's your emergency? cultural barrier language breakdown you are prettier with your hair down... No he's not single, he's got a white girl she's looking for some chocolate swirl she bends like a reed to his will I hate your eurocentric beauty standards. Chicken salad garnished right tomatoes cherries; they don't bite. Have you loved a boy so bad he's good? No, you say, I LOVED a girl.

oh god, I thought to look at you your head was brown, eyes blue. your whiteness was the problem here it made me want to disappear. you were, Mein Gott, so good so right you even asked if you could take a bite so fragile so wondering and I understand if you don't want this again I'm haunted by the thought of you inside me outside is cold, you tried you put it inside my opening I like you I said you said I'm sorry I had a bad breakup it's - "NOT YOU!"I interrupt. I know where this is going! No no no you say not like that you hug me before you leave. wunderbar Wunderbar you are what a lovely lad come again please i'll open up and this time it'll be better, so fun so tight so wet so much to give Mein Gott oh oh OH!

Someone has cut the flowers, trimmed the stems, slashed the bushes upon which they grew and still though I try- I cannot seem to forget you the bright creature so nymph-like and tall. My very own Sappho has bloomed before me stuck in betwixt and between youth and age with your long black hair and liquid pools of the darkest ermine as eyes. Summer is coming and the ripe autumn leaves and fruits are bursting with indecent passion, We used to roll around the fallen flowers and then a kiss from me to you. Neruda is romantic, but he forgot to describe  the unknowing beauty of those he cannot possible ascribe to, cannot see, hold or touch. My darling, he hath nothing to compare you to, Not star not moon not sun nor sky you surpass all in your Beauty it is like singing to a bard your conquests How pointless, how pitiful no words can describe my Sappho in bloom like verdant green in an abundance of brown You alone are there. When you smile it as if there ha...

Okay so basically I have so much to tell you!! I found out that Ling Ling is a jealous and super-fake girl, and her best friend Ursula is also pretty fake. Ling Ling is so extra but she calls me extra? Like waddafk? It's really weird because whenever someone gives me compliments she's always like, "What? It's just(insert denigrating statement here)." Like today during colour run everyone was complimenting my eyes and Ling Friggin Ling was like, "Oh it's just the sun." Like, BEYOTCH, the sun don't shine on you coz you repel light. Coz you evil!? And apparently, Jane told me that Ursula said that I repel dick?? Well, she's super fake and guess who's not going to help her barely pass her homework anymore? Me. That's who. On the plus side, which was a lot, roomie is back and it is lovely as always to see her and found out that R. the gappie might potentially be Jewish. According to Ursula, I repel dick so she thinks I have terribl...

Erasmus knocks on the door, three knocks, each loud and resonant. The insistence is clear- he is here for business. Inside the darkened room, she is waiting nervously chewing her pale, off-purple blanched nails. "I want you to tell me what's going on," he states in a calm voice, the tenors in his throat quivering only slightly. "I don't know, E. I don't understand why the program doesn't work." The ends of her sentences lift up as if in a question, even though it is not. She is telling him clearly, succinctly, confusedly. But honestly. "Come outside please," he says, patiently. She has a feeling that he's checking his watch, or tapping his foot. She imagines that it is the left one, going up down up down tap tap tap on the shiny waxed floor.  She opens the door, and discovers she's wrong. "Oh, I thought you. You brought the-" He raises a sparse eyebrow. She shakes her head, never mind. He's thumbing throu...

Her dreams were beautiful, they were solid and coloured vividly, as if carefully drawn by an artistic hand on the whitest, purest canvas. And they were always about America. Umrika. Oh, America. Land of Milk and Honey Freedom God Guns Bible thumpers Immigrants Emigrants Hollywood Burgers New York honey You Gotta Say it like Ya mean It Ellis Island Democrats Republicans Trump Clinton Obama You Gotta Vote Are Ya kidding' me? How d'ya werk this damn thing Eileen? Collard Greens Black Lives Matter The Latino Vote Catholics Muslims Christians Sikhs Hindus Jews Buddhists I can't say I guess I'm atheist Wow that's progressive. Umrika. The Real America was hidden somewhere outside her small bubble of posters, irascible like a fever itch in the dark nights. Sometimes the itch was so strong even after she'd thrown off blankets she'd toss and turn , slapping at the slippery sheen of sweaty skin the damp heat swelling everywhere. The Real America was not POS...

" There is only the State. If you remember nothing else, remember that. The State, the State, the State." "There is only the State. If you remember nothing else, remember that. The State, The State, The State." POLITICO revolves around two friends who grow up in the future, a dystopian totalitarian state called Malistan founded by General Kristang Malistan, who was Premier when the country was created in 2084. Malistan is officially ruled by the “Official Communist Party Of Former Independent Southeast Asian Republics”, known in short as “Stagov” or the “State Government”,  the only party allowed to exist and it has complete power. STAGOV consisted of 2 representatives from each former republic. It was made up of 5 ministries, Education, Welfare (religion, housing, healthcare, pleasure etc), Industry , Innovation and Bureaucracy. At the age of 18, the children will be given the chance to choose which industry they work in, and thus become a party member. I...

*Note: This is a fictionalised account of events. Any resemblance to any living persons, animals, things etc are purely coincidental. The long drag of a cigarette brings some brief respite from the swirling thoughts in her head. What did it all mean? The anger, the joy, the pain, the depression? Surely, it must have had some significance? There must have been some difference from her actions to the actions of the many, many middle class maniacs before her who'd have done the same things? Look, she types, banging it out on the keyboard. Look, you idiot. The key to being profound is to be depressed. Not sad, but depressed which is essentially being sad with the flab cut out. No crap. You look the world in its eyes through your tears. Being deep, her fingers spell, being deep is . She doesn't know. Everytime she tries, she is told to stop lying. Her mother has read her work, the work she is proud of having created, from veiny hands and sallow skin, but her moth...

Hello, readers! If you're out there, that is. Is anyone out there? Well, if you ever read any of my posts and do like one, even A LIIIITLLEEE bit, please comment down below just so I know I'm writing relevant things that people want to read and hear about! And please don't be afraid to leave some recommendations. Like, one I heard from one of my good friends, best friend even, was that my site was kinda ugly. Yes, well, in more subtle terms. Probably something along the lines of 'quite hard to read'. Okay, so anyway, I was thinking about representation and I immediately thought of Mindy Kaling. Look, cliche or not, Mindy represents what every major Hollywood TV show doesn't. DIVERSITY. Exactly. She's a main character, messy and unsimplified, she is so far from the typical 'model minority' stereotype that we've, as a general global society, come to accept and unwittingly expect. She's loud and funny, stubborn and frustrating s...

The child's loose curls doth bounce so lightly on his head, Causing a tight pain in my strange heart. Oh, how could it not! How could this babe not bring back a humorous, paining memory? It was... The Mukherjee. Tall, be-pimpled, gangly, tennis god, deep of voice, shy of girls, You-who-seemed-to-never-speak, I adored you! And that adoration translation became silence, hiding behind my fringe! My conquest of you, had, in, my mind, Failed. So I rushed for a glass of water, Oh fateful, Christmas day. The baby reminded me of future we could have had, Amit Mukherjee. Remember? Remember, with trembling hands, I beseech, Look upon my face, and the hands, which so embarrassed me. The tale I must grudgingly and happily tell. Christmas day, I had not eaten, my stomach as bare inside as the manger we didn't have, I went into the kitchen, swearing to this day, for a glass of water, WATER, If only I had just water, sipping demurely, We might be Mr and Mrs Mukherjee...