Posts Tagged ‘crack’

Dream Contest!

December 17, 2010

Note: Just because I used the word “contest,” don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’re going to win anything. Because you won’t. Except perhaps the feeling of personal victory for being as cracked-out as I am.

I had a dream. And it wasn’t about one day my four little children living in a nation where they won’t be judged by the colour of their skin, but by the content of their character. Nay. Definitely not as deep and inspiring as my homeboy Martin’s dream. Rather, it was about ____________ and I’m fairly certain it was based on my recent viewing of the film “_________________.”

“But Ona, we don’t speak in blanks! What does this mean? What was your dream about? We need to know before our minds spontaneously combust!” Well guess what, my friends. That’s why the title of this post includes the word “contest.” I’m gunna show you a couple scenes from my dream, and you get to guess what it was about! Wee, fun times!

And yes, the reason I’m doing this is because I’m actually too lazy to type and draw out the whole thing. I got other shit to do.

So… good luck? Leave your guesses in the comments section in the form “Your dream was about _________, based on the movie ______________.”

Scene 1:

Scene 2:

P.S. I’m not tricking you. These scenes are related. If you need more clues, I might add some. But even more likely, I’ll just laugh maniacally and watch you suffer. Muahahaha!

UPDATE: Okay here are some hints.

1999

Kinda creepyish

My depicted scene about the banquet does not happen in the movie, but the dancing one directly does.

How you are perceived based on your typing style

November 9, 2010

The 5-year-old who just smoked crack rocks in the basement and now hallucinates cats. Probably not a child. Probably not on crack. And there are probably no cats involved. This typer is just a sick, sick person who finds pleasure in tainting the web with z’s and lol’s.

The wannabe emo teenager who’s actually an adult and can’t spell for shit. Key characteristics: Uses “2” instead of “two/to/too”. Uses “4” instead of “four/for.” Uses single letters instead of full words (e.g. u = you). Combines letters and numbers to create words (e.g. b4 = before).

The unicorn who just ate a bunch of shrooms. People who type like this need to have their arms chopped off at the elbows. If that doesn’t stop them from coming in contact with a keyboard, shoot on sight.

The lazy college kid who sits around facebook all day. The only thing missing in this typer’s style is a bit of appropriate capitalisation and the occasional apostrophe. But because he’s in college, a lack in motivation is completely understandable. It’s just sad because there’s so much potential! *sheds a tear*

The ADHD princess who can’t be bothered to type full sentences. A plethora of exclamation marks tends to be used, and almost everything is abbreviated into an acronym.


The overweight, balding, 50-year-old gaming nerd who pretends to be a kid in chat-rooms.


The totally awesome Ona (and people who aspire to be like her, but never quite make it).


Tattoo taboo

May 31, 2010

Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come. That wonderful time of year when I decide on getting yet another tattoo. Only this time, it’ll be a double whammy. Here’s the story.

Sailors, as you may or may not know, are highly superstitious beings. Also, the majority of hardcore-nautical men get tattoos as a souvenir of sort, to show where they’ve been. This combination of superstitious badassness has lead to a variety of typical sailor tattoos that we see today. A common example is the anchor, which signifies stability.

Anyway, the tattoos I wanna get are a small pig on top of one foot (like just under my last two toes) and a small rooster on the other. The myth behind the pig and the rooster is a little vague, and there are a lot of variations and twists to the symbolism behind them. One explanation is that both of these barnyard creatures despise the water and will therefore help a capsized sailor swim quickly to shore by carrying each of his feet and not sinking too far into the depths of the ocean. Another tale involves a huge shipwreck, and everyone died except this one smart dude who grabbed hold of one of the cargo crates that was floating nearby. Eventually, he drifted to shore, and after a while, so did a lot more boxes. Upon opening them, he found that some of the crates housed pigs, and the others contained roosters, and they were the only things that didn’t sink into the sea. So when he explored the island to look for other people and shelter and shit, he found this native guy and told him the story (in exaggerated hand gestures) and the native as a token of luck, tattooed a pig onto one of his feet and a rooster on the other.

Regardless of how the story goes, the bottom line is always the same: in sailor superstition, tattooing a pig and a rooster on each foot will prevent you from drowning. Now I know you’re asking yourself if I’m on crack because I’m 1.) not a sailor and 2.) fully capable of swimming, so why would I consider permanently inking two random (yet delicious) farm animals onto my feet? The answer is simple. July 27th marks the end of a full year’s worth of slavery at Jumeirah. And in that time, not one person drowned under my watch. And in honour of surviving a hellish year and saving others from the water’s death grip, I will get my fucken sailor tattoos. Because it’s fitting. And they will be cute. And Jumeirah has consumed an entire year of my life, and I feel I must pay respect by honouring It with some form of permanent tribute. And I mean, I’m not retarded, like, I’m not going to ink the Jumeirah logo onto my cheek or something. So I think this is the best option.

In other news, while we’re still on the topic of tattoos, Aaron just asked me to help him come up with another design for his forearm and I’m pretty excited for it. Because the idea I have in my head is wicked, I just need to find time to get it down on paper. And when that happens, I’ll share with you the final version.

An icy wonderland

March 2, 2009

Ten, Omar, Mohammed, and I decided to go to Dubai Mall. I was driving my Hummer limousine, Mohammed had shotgun, and Ten and Omar were in the spacious back part. Which had an ice-skating rink in it. They were rehearsing.

We get to the mall and manage to find parking, grab our skates, and enter through the entrance near the aquarium. There, we had to stow away our normal walking shoes and slip on our skates, because the entire mall was covered in ice. So instead of walking from store to store, one had to skate. Which was good news for us, because only few people could skate well enough to shop in that manner, so there wasn’t too much people-traffic.

We made our way through the mall, stopping at the Adidas store to buy some french fries (weird, I know), and finally reached our destination: a huge rink smack-dab in the middle of the mall that had bleachers full of about ten thousand spectators. The show was about to start!

Ten and Omar changed into their costumes, and for some reason, Mohammed and I weren’t in the show. But we were like, crew people, in charge of music and lighting and such.

Anyway, I cross-faded the lights and Mohammed aimed a spotlight at the announcer. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…” boomed his voice, “WELCOME TO THE THIRD ANNUAL ICE-SKATING EXTRAVAGANZA!” While he was talking, I was supposed to get my music ready for the routine, but my computer was refusing to work! I tried restarting it and everything, but nothing seemed to get my iTunes open. Which sucked, because I foolishly forgot to make a backup of the music I needed. “…LET THE SKATING BEGIN!” Shit! Ten and Omar had already taken their positions, waiting to hear the music cue, but I couldn’t get anything up and running!

“Listen loser, you’re gunna have to improvise,” I told Mohammed. “Don’t worry about it, I got it covered. I’m gunna sing the song myself,” he replied smugly. This actually did worry me, because Mohammed can’t sing for shit. Let alone in front of ten thousand people for some huge ice-skating event.

Suddenly, the music starts. What? How is this possible? I thought. It sounds exactly like the real song! With syncopation and rhythm and snare drums and backup harmonies and instrumentals and everything! I turned to look at Mohammed, who was now plugged into an amp, and he just winked at me. “Dude, seriously. This is fucking weird, how are you doing this?”

He then explained to me that because he’d heard the song so many times before, and because he’s part bedouin, part robot, he has the ability to use his brain like an extensive CD-ROM and burn shit onto it. So the music we needed was written onto his brain, and all he had to do was set up the necessary connections, and the music would play. This same procedure could be used for anything, including studying, watching movies, learning languages, memorising dance moves, and everything else one can possibly do in life. I was in awe.

Meanwhile, Ten and Omar started their routine. And they looked amazing! Ten landed the triple axle perfectly, while Omar skated backwards in front of her, matching her every move in reverse. Then came the part of the routine where he had to lift her over his head and spin on axis, let her go so she would fly through the air, then do some weird flip-thing, and she was supposed to land on the other end of the rink and spin to a stop. This is the part during their practice runs when they usually messed up. Because he’d throw her too far, and she’d end up crashing into the bleachers. So I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

They waited for the crescendo, then he lifted her into the air, and began spinning. After eight counts, he was supposed to fling her across the rink. Eight counts came and went, but the instrumental cue never came. In fact, it sounded like the CD was skipping. But then I remembered: there is no CD! I look at Mohammed, and he’s just standing there, looking confused. “Uhm… Sorry Ona, I don’t remember the next part of the song! My brain is stuck in this loop!”

I looked back at Omar and Ten, and things were not looking good. Because the rule of skating is, you follow the music cue. There was no way Omar would let Ten go until he heard that first note of the violin. So they were still spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning, faster and faster and faster. The ice underneath Omar’s feet was beginning to crack. He was literally drilling a hole through the rink!

“C’mon Mohammed, THINK! You know the next part! It’s like da-da deeeee, dadadaaa dum… da deeeee, dabadabadaaaaaaa… Remember?!” He obviously didn’t. His brain was indeed stuck. Stupid advanced bedouin-robot technology.

There was an ear-splitting crack, and the crowd gasped as the ice finally reached its brink and shattered, forcing Omar to stop spinning. He flung Ten in the direction he was supposed to, she flew gracefully through the air, and landed on a floating patch of ice on the other end of the rink. The audience went wild! They thought this was part of the performance! Omar and Ten were now on opposite ends of the ice-skating rink, which looked more like a semi-frozen ocean, with patches of ice strewn about the place. 

Not sure of what to do next, the two skaters began making use of their small ice-patches and did their own solo performances. But you could tell it was difficult, because the ice was all wobbly and stuff. I had to think fast.

Quick as a bolt, I turned the lighting machine on autopilot and ran downstairs to the garage where the Zamboni was parked. I jumped in the driver’s seat, put it on the submarine setting, and slowly submerged under the water, completely hidden from the crowd. Once I was fully below the surface, there was another garage door that opened into the rink, but from the underside of it.

I slowly cruised forward. On the dashboard were several buttons, with various useful functions. I was particularly concerned with finding the “ice restore” button. Finally, I found it. I then positioned myself in such a way that when I pressed the button, ice would shoot out from the top of the Zamboni, to reach the surface, and fill in the gaps. I did this for the entire length of the rink, and could see that Ten and Omar were back on track, because they were continuing the last part of the routine. Looks like Mohammed remembered the rest of the song after all! Now all I had to do was get back to the garage.

I turned the Zamboni around, to head back to the garage door, but it was nowhere to be found! Apparently it was only an entrance, not an exit. And the only other door led to the inside of the aquarium, where I definitely did not want to be, because there’s like, sharks in there. And everyone knows that sharks eat Zambonis for dinner. 

I heard the muted, underwater sound of the crowd applauding frantically, and looking up, I saw they were throwing roses and stuffed animals and other paraphernalia onto the rink, indicating their extreme level of enjoyment. Ten and Omar bowed several times, and after a while, skated off. Meanwhile, I was still trapped under the surface.

A penguin swam up to the passenger-side window and gazed sheepishly at me. He then took out a piece of paper and started scribbling something on it in permanent marker. When he held the paper up to the window, I could read what he wrote: nEEd hELp?

I nodded and signaled to him that yes, I did in fact need help, and he scribbled back: wAKE up!

And then I heard my phone ring, and Muaz was calling, telling me to wake up and come to uni.

Inauguration babble in the background

January 19, 2009

snowyYup, so I’m in Long Island now. The ferry ride yesterday ended up being way calmer than I expected and I only puked seventeen times! Hooray! And when we landed (or whatever the term is for when boats reach their destination), we were welcomed with extremely warm weather. As in, above-freezing temperatures! I rejoiced in the parking lot. With my homeless friend Steve. We smoked some crack together and sang around a bonfire of the good ol’ times before the recession. *reminisces* 

The drive to my grandma’s house was kind of horrible though. Because we were on a winding country road with inadequate street lighting, constantly on the lookout for psycho deer that could pop out of the forest at any given moment, completely unannounced and unwelcome. It was also snowing, and although it was only like six something in the evening, the place was deserted. There wasn’t a single car on the road. Not even those creepy snowplow guys. Which made the whole setting really eerie. Especially since the only working radio station* was playing like, acid jazz with weird, trippy, ambient noises thrown in. Super creepy. 

I still have a headache. Not the same one from yesterday, but a new one of slightly greater magnitude. Oh, AND, I woke up this morning with my hands and forearms killing me. Because of my mad shoveling skills, yo. Holla.

I think I’m going to make some coleslaw and prep myself for House. It’s coming on later, but I also need to shower and stalk people on facebook and do something about my headache first. Peace homies!

 

*No Bassam, I do not have an iPod or even an mp3 player. I’m simply not that rich cool.


%d bloggers like this: