Pop goes the Tribal
I'm Bernard the Buffalo, and this is my home.
(In a few months from now, my first year at college will end. After so many horrendous years at school, this sure was bracingly different, while rather overrated if you ask me. The mediocrity of this entire year at college is the only thing that stood out, and of course, the sudden appearance of the [...]
Nobody could slam a dunk, or even dunk a slam, like the Long-Haired Slam-Dunk Kid.
I mean, just look at him go! Will he make it? Will he?
He’s getting closer! But will he make it? Will he???
It looks like he made it!
Nobody could do it like the Long-Haired Slam-Dunk Kid.
****This has been a Tripe Presentation.****
Pictures [...]
(Move over Hindustani, for the title of the Longest Thing I Ever Wrote now belongs to this. Thinking about the length now, I wonder how many people actually will have the time to read this. If you decide to read however, you’ll see the return of the two certain fat schlobbs and one blunt friend[...]
Recently, I had a conversation with my other brother, the revered Ricardo, which touched me enough to drive me to my keyboard. Strangely, I have never bothered to mention him before, so this piece aims to change all that. I do believe I have a sister somewhere, too… But never mind, we’ll let things pop up[...]
(While having a title similar to the last rumination, this one deals more with the question of personal independence and what it means.) People living in democracies the world over pride themselves on being “Independant”. But I am sorry to say that being independant is a mere illusion. If each one of us goes through our[...]
I just got back from my Loathsome school’s Passing-Out Parade. You know, that day when everyone gets drunk and passes out? Not that one. This is completely and utterly different, when the school says goodbye to a few hundred students each year. The reason I went was to collect some of my hard-earned cash, in the form of a scholarship, and I must say, the unimaginably unthinkable happened: this year’s seemed to be determined to exceed last year’s in term of sheer crappiness. At least it was shorter than last year, and praise the lord, no lavish ‘dance’ choreographed by the legendary Poe, which was, more or less, for better or for worse, the Superbowl of the little hick-town that I live in, complete with subtle and cheesy ‘wardrobe malfunctions’. I’m not kidding, every year some poor soul’s outfit would suddenly fall to the ground, leaving him no choice but to continue dancing and enjoy the cool breezes, and make like it was all part of the dance.
So that’s the only reason Poe’s dances were so famous, because the voyeur living in everyone finally had a chance to celebrate. A bunch of Peeping Toms is what we were, and we were not ashamed to show it.
Anyway, now to the real reason for writing this, even though I specifically stated that I would not write anything until the exams were through. First of all, there’s nothing else that I can do right now but sleep. It’s quite difficult to study when you’re tired, and doing something nice that you really like is just the antidote to feeling wasted. This whole ‘Passing Put Parade’ reminded me of something that I wrote ages ago, about an incident that occurred after one such ‘passing out’ regarding two members of the female persuasion. Those two provided me with such a very important lesson about life that it would only be the morally necessary for me to pay a little tribute to them, they whose identities must on no account be known to anyone but me.
As I said, this momentous meeting occurred after a thoroughly cheesy Passing Out Parade, when an acquaintance of mine, Blunty McBlunt came up at me and said, “Come, I’ll introduced you to some girls.” At that time, I found it necessary and beneficial to humankind as a whole to hide an oh-so-irresistible quality I possessed by virtue of which I and only I had proclaimed myself to be an unabashed Babe-Magnet. I was so successful at this that I came across to most people as one whose ‘chances with the girls’ was as much as leprosy-stricken rat’s. So, Blunty only thought it his duty as friend to do me the great service of changing all this. Cheekily, I obliged, and together we cycled up a deeply sinister-looking road, at the end of which were two mountains of animal dung, and we appeared to be moving towards them. However, on closer inspection, I saw that they were in fact two large girls, standing there in the most feminine way that they could, and all I could do was gape at them. Until, a voice broke my fixation on the schlobbs.
“This is Rolly Poly. Poly Rolly. Rolly’s Poly? Poly’s Rolly!” It was, of course, Blunty.
And before I knew it, they were looking at me with dung-brown eyes, expecting me to say something. I didn’t. So Blunty obliged.
“Ah, yes. Rolly, this here is Baby-Face and this one here is Tribal Chief,” he said, while pointing that the respective beings. Desperate to break the crusty ice of the situation, I turned to Tribal Chief and said, “Hooga Booga Booga,” doing the best imitation of what I assumed was a tribal language, because I thought it would be laugh-out-loud hilarious if I did so. But no, all I got in return for this innocent jab was a look from the Chief that said ‘bite me’ and at the same time accused me of being a stereotyping pig. Not knowing what else to do, I turned my head and tried to keep the bile down.
Baby-Face, however, was a different story. Blunty, ever the freakish, had his roving eye on her for a long, long while, and one would usually find him spending his lunch hour staring at the road for her with the look of a dog just before it gets neutered. As time went by, he got to know her, and then he deemed it customary to refer to her as his ‘girlfriend’, or, in his blunt words, his ‘GF’. He truly believed that he had in his hands to eighth wonder of the world, and so for hours and hours he would boast about her like crazy. So it must be emphasized that when I met her, or rather, until I met her, I had this image in my head of a beautiful young thing, with just the right amounts of oomph and argh. That’s the reason I started giggling like a schoolgirl, um, schoolboy when I finally laid my eyes on her. I’d heard that love was blind, but for it to be this blind was just ridiculous.
This woman named Baby-Face, eventually became for us a sterling representation of self-important, mushy sugary syrupy ‘young love’, which no one could stand, least of all me. I looked at Blunty sadly, the way one would look at a asthmatic mongoose fighting a troop of heavily armed snakes, and saw what this thing called ‘love’ had done to him. Just by falling in love, he had lost all credibility as a person. It was then that I said to myself, “No way, uh-uh. All this ‘young love’ business is not for me.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I have anything against love itself, it’s just the people in love that give me the creeps. Why is it that they feel the urge to rub it in our faces? Why can’t they just restrict their business to sleazy motel rooms? Why??
And as for Mr. Cupid, that sadistic little naked guy with wings who flies around shooting people in the butt for no particular reason, all that I have to say to him is: bugger off!
THE END. I hope you enjoyed that. If you'd like to read more, there's plenty available in the archives