Monday massacres: A new era

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We are still going 2010. We are impatient, we cannot wait at all at all. We are in this stuff paka last.

He had always been very very protective of her. She was his baby. The type that turned heads. The type that gave men thoughts that they wished would come back to them during their not so dry dreams. He had guard dogs, a secret-password for the gate, an electric fence and a security guard. A real one who spoke English and did lean on his gun like it was a walking stick. She loved the attention and he gave it in plenty. He fed her on all those good things that most people see in catalogs and those other glossy books.

One day, he was broke so he bought her local food. She took a walk to ponder what was going on. What was the meaning of life if she couldn’t get good food? Did he love her anymore? What was her purpose on earth? These questions tore at her as she braved the overgrown trail and trudged on…thinking. She soon came to a clearing, a big clearing. In the distance, she could make out someone chilling. She walked up to the stranger. He noticed her coming but he didn’t flinch. She sat and watched, fascinated at how the guy could eat so fast, for he was eating. Finally they started to talk. And she was fascinated by how much he knew. When it was getting dark, she had to leave. She went back home, thinking of him.

Days turned into years and it was soon time for her to leave home. He shed tears. It was too soon. And where would she go? Why did she want to leave? Why? Why? He cried…wept, sobbed even. Then he got up, wiped his tears, blew his nose and cleaned off the lipstick…yes, he had been fooling around earlier in the day and the damsel had left a mark. So he cleaned off the lipstick and sat her down, gave her the ‘I want what’s best for you’ speech and offered her his blessings…she stood up to leave. He looked and saw how beautiful she was…how the new man in her life would have a blast, and a number of headaches coz she was the bratty type..the ‘talk-to-the-hand’ type…the ‘emancipated’ type. He walked her to the door and there stood the puny guy who had come to pick her up. What? Give up my daughter to this puny, mal-nourished chap? Neyvar!! But on second thought, that face does look familiar…is that…it can’t be…is it really….him?? What are the chances? Yes it is him…it must be…she won’t be in bad company after-all. So he called the chap over and made him take an oath:

“I Sleekness

Do solemnly swear

To treat the Monday Massacres

To the very best of my magic

So help me God

And Rented

By the power vested in me by the Supreme Court of Blogville, I declare thee Sleek Sleekness Sleek the second president of the United Massacre Front (U.MF)”

*Cheer cheer (from a crowd that had gathered outta nowhere)

And the bitch became his. And they rode off into the sunset, to his castle, where he had plans of giving her a make-over. He had a twisted plan to take over the world, and she’d be part of it. 

This

will very quickly be transformed into this:

And a great week to you too…