The disadvantages of having a splinter lodged in a toe: A study executed at 2:36 a.m.

To whoever it may concern.

As explained by the title, I shall proceed to explain the disadvantage of having a splinter i.e. a small, sharp piece of wood pierce and nestle itself in a toe. This will be done through a step by step analysis and finally, a conclusion.

1. Discovering said splinter.

Discovering a splinter can occur in various ways. Mostly unpleasant, it is usually surprising in nature and somewhat fucking irritating. The moment a splinter decides that a persona will be it's next home, it embeds itself rather fast into the extremities, usually the fingers, palm, toe and soles of the feet though the last one might be rare due to the thick layer of keratin. Regardless, once this process happens, it is accompanied by a sharp, shooting pain which immediately causes a startled high pitched gay-like scream roar of various profanities. An example;

Subject A: So I was like fuck that man, there are limits you know.
Subject B (Friend participating in an active conversation): And then?
Subject A: I wanted to think of some kind of rebuttal that's not gonna- FUCKCIBAIBABIANJINGSIALKIMAK. Ah. Adeh. Fuck. Shit. What the hell?.

As demonstrated above, the profanities which are cried out in a painful manner are usually assorted in terms of languages, followed by minor, low volume inquiries; usually monologues, of what happened.

Pictured: Pain. Not Pictured: Splinter entering toe.

Now, with the splinter embedded neatly in skin and flesh, there are two possible scenarios on what happens next. It depends on the position of the splinter. If it is directly the toe (The why the fuck is my toe hurting when I walk position), discovery will be immediate and extraction (refer to number 2) will be swift. However, there comes a point in which the splinter is placed on the side of a toe (The Devil's Dick position) which is rare but the complications are high. This will be discussed later. In the Devil's Dick scenario, the splinter might be discovered much later when it causes much fuckery irritation.

2. Extraction.

As discussed before, the Why-The-Fuck-Is-My-Toe-Hurting-When-I-Walk position is much easier in which the splinter is fairly new and if lucky, has not fully embedded in the skin and flesh. Henceforth, extraction will be easy by using tweezers (recommended) or nail clippers (fairly risky). This will usually lead to zero complications and a well lived life forever after.

However, in the Devil's Dick scenario, it could take a turn and spiral out of control. Due to the nature of the splinter embedded, it is not easy to locate and all the more difficult to extract. This is largely due to the fact that earlier on, the splinter is only firmly attached in the keratin layer but as time goes by, the friction between toes and obstruction leads to tunneling or piercing of the splinter into the raw unprotected flesh below. When this scenario occurs, pain ensues and while 85% of the population would sit down and proceed to executing a full body search, the remaining 15% always have a positive outlook on life and disregard the pain as just a minor fluke. Strangely, studies have proven that this 15% are usually not fucking retarded. In fact, they're actually pessimist but it could probably mean that the two negatives makes a positive theory is true. Digression.

The extraction process in this scenario is mainly difficult and often complicated because the splinter has embedded deep in the skin and often into the flesh area. Tweezers are usually contraindicated in these situations mainly due to the fact that it tickles. A lot. Therefore, the nail clipper is preferred, even when it could cause some damage. The first thing that must be done is to clear or cut off the skin covering the splinter itself. This in its very entirety poses a threat due to the chance that the splinter being pushed even deeper and causing more pain and possibly bleeding and let's face it, trying to operate on your own feet is very fucking taxing on the back and also on the mind. Regardless, once the skin is removed, the splinter must now be very carefully pinched by the surprisingly not-so-easy-to-pinch nail clipper and removed slowly and all this must be done while the subject is squirming and cursing. Possibly kicking you in the face and spitting but that's the occupational hazard. 75% of the time, the not-so-easy-to-pinch nail clipper morphs into the very-easy-to-cut nail clipper and then... Then there's suffering.

The most common reaction. Minus the dark lord look.

It is inevitable, therefore there has been a solution. While preferably sedated, the subject must now watch and bear the pain as the pinching method is deployed. The area around the splinter must be pinched as hard as possible so that a minor but of it is exposed and the nail clipper must be used again. This has lead to countless arguments over the use of euthanasia because the subject usually cries out in agony and begs for mercy. This is the last chance of extraction and if there is failure, any more ideas of extraction must be shunned from the possibly twisted mind for the good of the subject.

3. Complications.

Common in the Devil's Dick scenario, it could range to minor discomfort to a full blown what the fuck situations. Pain will not be discussed due to it's life preserving mechanism (Message from the author: Remember kids, pain is t3h gewwwddd...) The most common complication is having to walk around with a constant irritation in the foot. This has been known to cause CURIPUBS or CUrsing In Public Syndrome or to the bat shit insane where subjects manually amputate the affected toe using household appliances. However, for those who persevere, the pain usually goes away mainly thanks to the Oompa Loompas in the body going round sprinkling pixie dust. Or something. Whatever.

Death has been reported mainly due to the fact that the splinter enters the blood stream through random wormholes and they sprout into trees in the body. Mental instabilities and substance abuse is also common due to the depression which sets in after the subject realizes that he or she can't even extract a fucking splinter.

Not pictured: The Devil's Dick. Also, wounds from substance abuse. Damn make up.

Others include mainly moronic trials of extraction with fire (NOT fireproof), acid (NOT invincible), sucking said splinter (strained back), and so on.

4. Conclusion.

The increase in splinter cases and their outcomes have been on the rise and due to the fact that it's a splinter, subjects usually laugh at the notion of going to the doctor. It is, of course, quite outrageous for one to be charged a fucked up amount of moo-lah just for a piece of wood. Researches are now furiously trying to come up with a device which would allow swift and painless methods of extracting splinters. Some include the SplinSor which senses the presence of potentially harmful splinters and explodes when it detects one. It's supposed to be attached on the subject's foot, somehow, having your foot explode into tiny chewable pieces is one of the solutions to the unsolvable problem. 'If you don't have a foot, you can't get a splinter' is their motto. Many great figures have recently joined this group of researches, including Dr. Frankenstein, Jack the Ripper, Botakchin, Vlad the Impaler and so on.

Dr. Frankenstein was too busy in his lab to participate.

And dude.

Splinters suck.

Thank you.

Sleepless Nights 29 - One day...

They're gonna make dragons into fuzzy little motherfuckers with anime style eyes.

Wait.


They did.


Back when I was a kid, dragons were the epitome of fucking badass. Give me anything and it'd be stumped by just the mere thought of fucking dragons. Fireballs, massive wingspan, horns it's everything badass and evil merged into one fucking awesome prehistoric creature. Fuck the Ninja Turtles or fucking Dragon Ball man, the only thing I wanted to be as a fucking dragon.

I don't think I made that clear.


DRAGONSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



However, as time passed, changes occurred. It's funny though, those days I thought that, meh, maybe a bit of technological advancements, they made dragons a reality better hygiene, I mean, all that shit you know. What I have never thought I would see, was this blasphemy.

Imagine; for those who are born stupid and imagination-less, fuck off, this ain't where you are supposed to tread. Anyways, imagine, a huge creature, sailing over your head as you cower in terror (of course, religious people won't do that right, you've got God on your side ) blotting out the sunlight, flame all around and then the last sight before you die are teeth, and your intestines spilling out... You've fallen at the hands of a dragon and all you can think of honestly was how large their dongs are how majestic these beasts are.... For a more clear picture, try to remember how it felt when you lost your virginity imagine what it felt like when you first watched cloverfield or when you first had a cigarette or how it just felt so fucking awesome when you dreamt that one day you could have a chance to be me... Or I could just put a picture. Yeah. Picture.

 Yes, click for awesomeness. Okay, Im not satisfied but fuck it, go google dragons or some shit fucktard.

Anyways, back to the point.

So imagine growing up with this imagery, imagine this being everything you've ever wanted or dreamt to be. This is your childhood, this is-

....

The crime of doing just that is punishable by, nay, not death, but life in a prison where each day a transvestite, no, an UNSHAVEN transvestite cuts you a million times with a scalpel and throws you into fucking lemon juice.

Each year this shit happens, the perfect childhood memory gunned down by fucking faggots that just wants to shove it in our faces. Like saying 'I'm gonna twist the world so bad that you'd die just from overexposure of fuzziness'. Well aren't you just the sneaky little fucken bastard child.

Let's focus on the picture shall we. What does a dragon need. Horns. FIRE! Wings; tattered if possible. Rough exterior. If possible just the skeleton.

Let's see what this dragon mudkipp have. NO horns. NO tattered wings. NO rough badass exterior. (I have to admit, the fire thing was pretty awesome. Digression). But seriously, it does look like a fucking mud-skipper.

Yes. Very apparent, no?

A major part of my life, incinerated, just by watching a movie about an asshole, his pet dragon mudkipp and his fucking girlfriend which I strongly suspect to be a transvestite. I mean, look at those jaws. Christ, you can measure right angles using those mandibles.

You tell me thats not awesome, I swear to god I'll pop a cap into your groin. You don't need them. Trust me.

And...

Just because I can.

Next they are gonna make a movie about voices in your heads and how they're in fact not real.

Wait...

Look.

He built layers and layers of solid concrete around him to defend himself from anything.

He put a small door at the front of it and he decorated it with poems and humor.

One day while he was strengthening the walls around himself, he forgot about the door.

No one ever entered the door before, so he himself forgot about it and covered the door with said concrete.

When everything was done, he looked around to admire his work and all he could see was miles and miles of solid stone.

Then he sat down and he realised of his entrapment.

He still ponders about it.

Can't you see him wallowing in his filth?

Can't you see him clawing at the walls?

Can't you see him crying while he's sleeping?

A Stranger's Silence

I love meeting people on the streets. The kind that I know I'll never see again for the rest of my life. It somehow preserves a sense of beauty to it, the faces of strangers that just disappears the moment something else comes up. That fragile short piece of memory just dissipates the moment you turn your thoughts away from it.

What makes it special though, is the silence of it all, the absence of conversations. Anyone I meet can be anyone I want them to be, in that minor two or three seconds in which we cross paths, I can make them demons, angels, lovers, humane even. The moment we lock eyes, conversations spark up in my brain, we'll talk, he or she as a character in a play, each with their own scripts and plots.

Though I must say, the hot ones are reserved as main characters. Just saying.

Anyways, this is why I love a traffic congestion, the characters show their true colours and I can sit and observe in my little reserved space in a vehicle, exactly like a play. I look around and there's bound to be someone who locks eyes with me and then... Then the act begins. She's a paranoid schizophrenic and no one understands her. He lost too much in the world, too much for a human being to endure. The old man finds himself wandering aimlessly because he lost his wife whom he had known for fifty years. A little girl plots on how to kill her abusive parents. So much potential...

Then a few seconds later, it ends.

However, I admit that the best acts are when I'm involved. As in there's an active conversation going on in my brain. Usually it happens when *cough* theres a hot chic that looks at me *cough*. Her gestures help in making the story each movement of her head, the way she flicks a stray strand of hair away... I'll say hi, she (Or my alter ego, it works both ways) replies, then the story unfolds... Or she starts the conversation... Sometimes it jumps straight to the climax sometimes it's at an ending. Sometimes she's screaming, sometimes she's crying, sometimes she offers advice and sometimes... Sometimes, she's dying.

God I love those moments...

Be Nice.

Someone told me back then that I should have a day where I should be nice. In her own words:

Just take a day off from all the moody shit, all the morbidity, all the ZOMG WTF you're so fucking stupid moments you know? A day where you're nice, well, to a certain extent, I mean, can't expect to still be all Confucius when some fucker steals your food.

I gotta admit, it sounds fucking stupid, so, in an attempt to prove her wrong (Note: This should be read with an image of a Persona gripping a flag with retro stripes in the background and uplifting music as the theme song), I tried it.

I lasted 3 hours.

Shit was hard you know, one; when you put me in an environment filled with douchebags and morons who don't know half of what they're saying, I'm bound to be an anti-douchebag to counter their douchebaggery with some douchebaggery of my own. Two; the universe hates me. Three; I like being morbid and moody.

So I went to her, defeated and whimpering (Note: Picture a wounded Lion *cough* with a wound on a leg, limping in a blazing desert with some sad instrumental playing. *Cough* LION.) and I expected this array of insults to be thrown with the viciousness of a uh... something that thorws thing in a fast manner. Actually, I was hoping she'd do it so that I can give the 'Nobody-can-be-nice-nowadays-and-you-proved-it' argument. But she didn't. She just laughed and ordered some fucken coffee for us. Which sucked. Big time.

Obviously I asked why, in a very dramatic manner at that (Fucken Indians ey?). Again, in her own words:

Fuck man, you were nice, for three hours. And I don't really trust you but whatever. Point is, for three hours, you made some pretty fucking fortunate people feel good about themselves. After this, while they have the happy feeling in em, they're gonna go make some other fucker feel good. And the cycle goes on and on. And you know what's the best thing? For three hours, you could be responsible for failed suicide attempts, you could have saved a relationship from crashing, you could have prevented a mass murder due to stress and shit. And knowing how you are, you couldn't care about all those things so think bout this. If you succeeded, you could've saved a hot chic from killing herself. And you can manipulate people easier if you're nice too. Three hours la wey. The shit you can do.

I didn't buy any of it though, no matter how awesome it sounded. Yet, even I know that deep down, I'd be happy that some fucker (preferably real smoking hot) didnt commit suicide, or some fuckers (preferably ugly as shit) decide that they're gonna have babies together and that some mental fuck (Preferably ugly as shit) didn't go berserk and kill a fuckload (preferably real hot office girls in skimpy outfits) of people. It made me feel good that I could have done some shit that matters by not even lifting a finger but by just saying some nice bullshit.

Then this thought came to me that I should do it here. Which was then canceled out by the fact that there are no hot chics here, no one to manipulate, literally, in the easiest way, there is no one here that's worth being nice too. Fuck, why should I? I enjoy telling people how they're too fucking materialistic or how they're living in a fucking dream world. I love busting people's bubbles, it's satisfying, and so god damn enjoyable. So fuck being nice. Fuck all the shit I could do with it. Fuck the manipulation. I'm might not be happy all the fucking time but at least I can shoot down some fuckers while I'm at it. The world is too full of fucked up stereotypes and if I can reduce that number by not being nice, ah well, that's just delightful innit?

It's too sweet.

That taste of pure innocence... The way it spreads in your mouth... Caressing your taste buds; an inferno... Dreams manifest, reality crumbles... Smoother than silk and sweeter, much sweeter than honey... It trickles down your lips as you moan in sweet pleasure...  You lick what's left of it; rough and relentless... Till every single drop now reside in you... Apart of you, it glides in your blood, rests in your muscles...

Innocence...

Innocence...

Innocence...


It keeps you warm on the coldest winter night... It cools you down in the midst of a summer heat wave... You crave for it, nights are spent sleepless as you grit your teeth and clench your fists... Just one drop, you tell yourself... Just one drop of that oh, sweet innocence... Pure, untainted... Naive...

Innocence...

Innocence...

Innocence...

Sweet fucking innocence.............................................................................

Sleepless Nights 28 - Hi awak :D

Seriously, I think sooner or later, when someone fails his/her exam, they're gonna put the blame on Jews.

*Cough*

Moving on.

Anyways, I had this chat with this old fuck I knew before. You know how it goes after awhile, all you can actually think of is 'How's life'. I mean, as everybody sighs and goes 'You haven't talked to her in awhile you should have a fuckload to talk about...' I say fuck that, how can you have something to talk about with someone whom you haven't contacted in years and even have anything to talk about? It's fucken preposterous innit? Unless its a close friend or some shit then at least you can ask bout how his/her granddaddy got caught under debris or how his/her sister ran away from home in the arms of a transvestite and still... You'll run out of topics in a jiffy. And then there's that awkward silence that descends and you (I) appear offline. You know, just to avoid complications. Digression. It's morning.


Where was I? Oh yes.

So this friend of mine she found me through witchcraft and bad voodoo magic a mutual acquaintance and we talked for awhile. And somehow... There wasn't that awkward bitchin' 'ball of hay being blown by the wind' moment. We just... talked. Or she did. Oh yeah, she did. Anyways, it irritated me somehow. I mean, it was against the tide of reality, people don't just pop up from the past and chat as if they never left. The very fact that she had so much shit to talk about fucking freaked me out. It's like she was caught in a void in which time was nothing but a figment of the imagination and when she re-emerged from said void... She was the same hot fucking person. Nothing changed.

I have no idea why I'm even writing this shit. Reminiscing me thinks. Of those days when I used to throw oranges from the 37th floor with her and see who can hit the gaylords below or walk around in KL at 3 in the fucking morning because we were too fucking cheapskate to take the taxi had no money or harass the fucken cashier at bookstores because they couldn't spell the names of authors... It brought me back to days before this. Before all this. And fuck it you bitch, why didn't you invite me into that damn fucking void. Fuck. FUCK.

You know, fuck it, can't dwell on the past now ey... What's done is done, no hard feelings and heck, you still owe me a fuckload.


JS: Fuck those were good days...
Me: Guess they were. In comparison to now, that is, there'd prolly be more awesomer times otw.
JS: Faggot, you can't blame me for the huge nuclear explosion. You know as well as I do that there aint shit we could've done about it.
Me: Hmmm... I'm curious, does that mean I can put the blame solely on you? Cause that'd be pretty fucken awesome looking at how you exposed a tinge of guilt there woman.
JS: You're a fucking pussy, the only time that you can blame me on what happened is if I come up with this new theory on how it actually did happen because of me. You blame yourself, think I don't know that? And no, for the fact, I'm not telling you to stop feeling that way. I somehow enjoy the thought of you in deep depression. Anybody told you it makes you a lot more tolerable?
Me: Funny, I don't remember myself crying like a retard at the fucking balcony now do I... Oh wait, wasn't that you? Suicide ideations, thoughts of running away, hmmm... It all kinda points to you... And fuck you, if I'm happy, the world will brighten up and subsequently crumble upon itself.
JS: Cibai, I was undergoing a phase that day, it might ring a bell in your feminine brain; it's called menstruation. You know, the one you stopped by consuming lots and lotsa coffee?
Me: How do you not expect me to call you a fucking retard when 1, You think that coffee does that shit and 2,
JS: 2?
Me: Scratch that, 1 is enough to prove the world of your lack of brain cells.
JS: Well at least what I lack in fucking douchebaggery, I compensate with the ability to stay true to my words and pure courage. Unlike you faggoty cocksucker.
Me: Only those who lack a few segments of their brain including the fucking limbic system looks at intelligence as douchebaggery. And you? True to your fucking word? Please la babe, dont make me fucking go there.
JS: Aww, you called me babe. See, your gay-feminism is clawing out of you. Now who wants some pink undies?
Me: It was a figure of speech. Fucktard.
JS: Hi Awak :D
Me: ................. Don't start. You expand that and I swear on everything holy that I will fucking ban you from everything that involves me.
JS: Can you fucking chill the fuck out ah? Besides, it's a figure of speech.
Me: I'm gonna start laughing now.
JS: I'll prolly join.

JS: I miss you.
Me: Again, don't start. Shit's over woman, and believe me, saying this is fucking hard even for me.
JS: I'm flattered. Ah well, we had a pretty awesome time didn't we?
Me: Haha, hell yeah... Hell yeah...
JS: You're not feeling anything are you?
Me: Meaning?
JS: No pink tears flowing? No pink hanky by your side?
Me: Uh. Do I need to pour ketchup over my head?
JS: Hahaha! Nah, we're way past that, kan awak?
Me: I swear...
JS: Wordplay bitch, get used to it. Oh well, it's reassuring to see you're the same fucking asshole from before. Don't change kay?
Me: Again, you can't tell me what to do.
JS: I know I can't, I'm just telling you your future. You're always gonna be that bitching asshole in the corner, its inevitable. And make sure you get someone just like me in the future, I can tell you're having so much fun :D Don't cry over me too much aight?
Me: Yeah, I'll try. Go away.
JS: So will I. Heh. I won't come back to you, you know that right?
Me: If I didn't I wouldn't have started this shit in the first place.
JS: I need a bigger smiley.
Me: I'm going to bed.


I raise my glass with menstruating-stopping coffee to you. Thanks. And bye for that matter.


Fuck you and your hankies.