Frig Index: 4
Communism Bit: On
Location: Job, of course
I nearly forgot about the Blogger's Happy Hour. Until someone called me up. I ran. I ran. Kikumi.
And I found, at Mateo's, a testament to the smallness of the world. Dante kept saying it: it's a small world. People from all over the world. The Dansk (she knows the meaning) had a snazzy tattoo on her right arm. Kelly, who, from reading her blog, I thought was something like a preacher (in retrospect, what had blinded me?), was doing a chain smoke. Degstar dropped in, definitely a fave of mine, and did another chain smoke. I was right between. I got addicted, I swear.
Lots of other folk I just can't, for the life of me, remember. (Please, please gimme the links - I lost mine! Someone! Help! Help!)
Dennis Matanda is a capitalist. I knew that, already. But that he is that capitalist? Watch dis:
He called a guy, on phone, who was standing like 5 metres away, and said `See ... I am waving at you!' Maama, nze! Capitalist! And it was his chauffeur!
His clothes are all monogrammed. He slid his cuffs, and I saw his names there.
For a while, the propaganda nearly got me. But the unquenchable vim of the Revolution held me up. I confessed my weakness to my Mao Zedong poster, and read from the Book. I feel absolved, renewed. Like a baby. Tears rolling down my face ... [sniff] ... revolutionaries don't cry.
The first chic to spot me was Cheri. I saw the smile, the eyes, the chin, the vertical reach, the legs. For a moment then, as she blinked at me, my mind whispered: Me is in love.
Jackfruity had the cleavage again. For a moment then, as it waved shyly at me, I thought: Me is in love.
Dee had this weird thing going. She would like squirm about, pushing her top this way and that, dexterously, so you'd have to be discerning to see it. Seeing it for the third time, I knew right away: Me is in love.
Carlo is a
Now, those of us who stayed there 'til well past the 10th watch ... we escorted Dante to Worker's House. I saw the scorn on the watchers' faces: Evil, hormone-filled yuppies and their loud women. Nga we no give no shit. There was Rock Nite in the plan, but that died out, as the strolls got lazier.
Oh, and I strolled with under the stars, her arm in mine, loving gaze ... then I got the joke. I'm the punching bag, so to speak. The real bout is farther from the Afro-ed guy with Communist boots on. :'o( Kale, kale, kale.
Baz wasn't there. Burn in Hell, Baz. Frig ya. I don't want any excu ... I said, frig ya!
Joshua can be forgiven. He's gone for a while. But where were the Martinis? I swear I looked! Even under the table! My phone jammed to blog, hence why I'm doing it this late. I tried, though.
The Mao Zedong poster was sourced from here: you may wanna read.