Thursday, 14 August 2014

Why are other people’s monkeys in MY circus?

Considering my blogging is nowhere near being a paid profession (no wait…If I was paid to blog I probably would've been sacked ages ago – not cause my blogging sucks hairy balls but for mere lack of). Now, where was I? Oh yes, giving my very lucid excuse for not jotting down every ‘effed up’ thing that’s happened to me in the past couple of months. And yes, I said effed up. Get over it!

See, it’s kinda hard to blog or even have good experiences when you’re too busy trying to sort out everyone else’s outlandish lives. I find myself asking questions like, when did I become the minister of bloody home affairs? (whoever he/she is these days). Or even become Pravin Gordhan? Who the hec said I needed other people’s monkeys in my circus?

I have a circus you know, a big one – with monkeys and tigers and bears, and with all these imaginable beasts under one big top, its bound to smell like serious poop!

Being the ringmaster isn’t always a bad thing though, as I get to be silly and drunk with my monkeys, get challenged and bitten by the tigers and snuggle up to the bears. The way I see it, each element of my circus makes me who I am. Suppose revealing what goes on in it will explain a whole lot about yours truly.

Watch this space…

xxx

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