Upon pondering on the topic for my 3rd blog post, I came to the decision that you, the readers, should develop a more understanding relationship with the person who's useless 'literature' you are spending your time reading. I thought maybe I could tell you what I like, celebrities I respect, and ones I don't in that Classic Ciceronian way that you have all grown to love.
I shall start with the obvious: Music.
Now, since I know you are reading this, Marie-Clare, I shall direct this straight at you. I, Cicero, officially proclaim the Beatles...OVERRATED!!!!!!
I will now give you, my faithful readers, time to scream, froth, and curse my loins to the deepest pit in hell for saying that. I shall now make the situation worse for a select few. I think even more so for Nirvana. While both these bands are good...in a sense...they both lack what I like to call "Wakablooie". Sure, the Beatles can entrance you with their sweet melodies and quaint phrases, and Nirvana may have Kurt Cobain (who's corpse is at constant threat from Sharona who may just get it into her head to one day pillage his grave), but where's the "Wakablooie"????? Where's that spark of pure musical magic that makes you want to scream as loud as you can, tear off all your clothes and do several nude runs around your suburb? I have a suggestion or two that can easily replace these two spot stealer's. Instead of the Cockroa... do excuse me, I mean Beatles, listen to Cat Stevens. His music is passionate and awesome AND his name has 'Cat' in it! Isn't that enough?!?! Just look up images of Kurt, and listen to either Metallica, Guns n Roses, or any other rock bad that is infinitely more talented.
Now I accept that I have may lost many people at this point, but I am resolute! Be not afeared, my criticism of everything you hold dear has ended, and now will merely be talking about things and people I love.
First off, everyone has this strange notion that old women do not the capacity to be awesome and/or attractive. I have, however, to mature ladies that disprove just that. Helen Mirren and Sigourney Weaver.
I.
Love.
Them.
So.
Freaking.
Much!!!!!!!
Needless to say, some find this strange, or perhaps slightly perverted, but I put this to you O yea of little faith. No one can kick Alien ass like Sigourney, and no one, and I mean no one can be 65 years old and still retain her sex appeal like Helen Mirren AS WELL AS starring in dozens of films including several awesome action movies. You may have also noticed that she will be starring in several new movies, including one alongside RUSSEL BRAND! But more importantly, the noble Dame will in fact be making an unprecedented dramatic move and will be playing HAMLET in an up and coming performance of the same. Anyone still questioning her raw awesomeness? Thought not.
As for Sigourney? 'Nuff said.
However, in the end, there can be only one beautiful lady to whom I shall all of my adoration. Only one who receives the honour of being stalked by me for the rest of her life. I just know it in my heart that Maggie Gyllenhaal is just waiting for me to reach the same age as her, because, see, Maggie, in all her infinite beauty and power is in fact able to stay at any age she wishes. She's just that awesome. Now before you all start thinking I'm weird because I am madly in love with these three women, two of them effectively senior citizens and the other already married with a child, I want to defend myself by mentioning the Marie-Clare is constantly stalking people and no-one thinks she's wei....
Never mind. Forget I mentioned it. Oh, and if you are interested as to why I have a collage of Maggie in my room, watch 'Stranger Than Fiction', and yes, it does have Will Ferrel BUT he is not a total, utter douchebag for the first time ever in his career, if you can call it even that. It is a fantastic film, and it has Maggie Gyllenhaal, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson AND Queen Latifah, who's totally black. That list is reason enough to watch the movie. But not only is my dearest dream of the silver screen a beautiful and talented actress, she is, wait for it, outrageously left wing AND blamed America for 9/11!!!!!!
Isn't that every man's dream? To meet a politically sound actress who also happens to be a physical mind-blower? I thought so.
As for me....Hmmm. I just suddenly realised this section could either turn into either a massive ego trip whereupon I could rant about all the wonderful things that make up my personality, or an epiphany about everything that sucks about me. Let's all hope for the latter shall we? It would be for more interesting.
I started life in a very traditional Cicero way. Pissing off everyone by deciding that I did in fact not want to stick my head out of my mother's 'eh-hemm', but instead decided that I would cause much annoyance to all involved by flipping upside down and forcing my mother to get a Caeserian, which is also a creepy coincidence as I have just realised....Weird.
But anyways, my early years can be summed up in my mother's touching words "Oh god...you were awful. Like, seriously sweetheart, we almost fostered you off." As I vainly search for a smile or glimmer of what she said being a joke, I wish to remind you, my dearest audience, that contrary to all evidence supplied as so far, my mother and I do share a very stable relationship as acquaintances, which is more than a boy can ask for. But honestly, I am constantly amazed at such a person who can afford to give so much time and so much loving towards the life that came her womb....my brother.
Ah dearest brother. For those who do not know him, I shall paint you a word picture:
1) Imagine me.
2) Make me shorter.
3) Remove my wiry hair and replace it with rich, flowing waves.
4) Remove all my dirty facial hair and simply add a modest and cute moustasche.
5) Tan my skin to a beautiful olive tan that can usually be normally attained after living in the Greek Isles for a decade or two.
6) Remove 90% of my body mass and add a rocking six pack, finely tuned biceps and pectorals to make the gods weep.
7) Obliterate any of my kookiness and warped sense of humor and add a personality that is charming, polite, but just the right level of emotional insecurity that Hollywood makes most of their movies about.
So, in the end, you should have ended up with someone that looks in fact, NOTHING LIKE ME WHATSOEVER. Nor does he share any personality traits, and yes, he has had many female relationships. He also calls his friends 'bro' and wears a hoodie with a beanie underneath and he listens to...excuse me, this is hard. He listens to...Bruno Mars, 50 Cent, Art vs. Science and that dick who sings that 'Dynamite' shit. He also hates everything that is good, such as Queen, Cat Stevens and Kiss. Now you may understand why I am conducting a series of investigations concerning the true whereabouts of my real brother. I do know I have a brother, as I was there when he came out which is not a memory you forget in a hurry, especially as a 3 year old. I simply believe there was a mix up at the hospital. My main fear is though that he has ended up in a household that has not properly educated in the ways of proper music and he may of recessed *deep shudder* hipsterness. Now I'm sorry I had to say it, and I apologise for all the damages that were caused after you threw yourself back from the monitor in utter horror. But think about it, what if he ends up like Indie-an. (Yes, this is a new nickname for him, if you can all figure it out. I did this for two reasons: Namely, I couldn't remember his real name, and I also really like this one, and I wanted to leave my mark on the blog world.) What if he listens to Radiohead...and likes it?!?!?!??! I will have failed in my duty as brother, and will be obligated to put him down, just as I will have to do for Indie-an someday.
I decided to ask my dad, who is infinitely nicer than mother in between his daily beatings. Oh don't get me wrong, he's a kind enough man when he isn't drunk...or sober. Anywhoolzebees, to the matter of my dad and his memories of my early days on the planet Earth, or as I like to call it, "Ciceronia Prime". As I ask, his eyes fade into the middle distance, and after eventually rousing, he leans over the table and proceeds to give a fatherly slap to the face. He then calmly lifts his shirt to, once again, show me the horrific scar along his back that I gave him after pouring scalding coffee down his shirt when I was but a wee lad. Every now and then I get one of those slaps, but he really means well. Well, either that or he hates me. But probably the first thing. Or not. Who cares anyway? Not me.
I shall divulge momentarily to give an example of my rock solid self-confidence. I was just re-reading Leslie's blog and for the the first time, I noticed that I was in fact mentioned in one post last year. On my first quick read of it, I originally thought the fair Doctor was in fact, insulting me. Now as I said, the esteem I hold for myself is sky high, and I reacted to the post in a matter that would do that confidence proud:
OH GOD NOBODY LOVES ME!!!! I TRY SO FREAKIN HARD BUT EVERYONE STILL HATES MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
However, after a second glance (well third actually, as it's quite hard to read through tear-soaked eyes) I realised it was in fact mainly indifferent but fading towards a compliment. I took the chance to have a laugh at myself and put the bottle of sleeping pills down. I can be a little dramatic sometimes, as anyone who was at my house for the little 'get together' a couple of months back. I can't mention who they were, namely because I don't know their nicknames, if they even have them. But please don't find out and ask them. Please. Really, it was embarrassing. Basically it involves me, a little too much alcohol, and a lot of pathetic crying. That should be enough to satisfy your curiosity. Or stimulate it even more.
Damn.
Another point I feel we should address is this....I want a prize, and there is a reason for it. Throughout three whole blog posts, I have probably sworn once or twice. If you know me at all, you'll understand what a difficult challenge this is for me. Usually, I make sailor's blush, babies cry, and Gordon Ramsay say "Whoa dude...Maybe you should, y'know, tone it down a little..." I feel as if I deserve some reward for not spouting my usual filth that consists mainly of dead babies, dead mexicans, rape, and other unmentionables. To commemorate this, I am creating the daily award for "Person Who Usually Swears Like God Would If He Actually Had A Good Look At What Is Happening In Africa Or, Like, Other Bad Places, Or Heidi Montag's Face, But Has Not Sworn In Ages And Blasphemy Doesn't Count." Or in shortened terms, the "P.W.U.S.L.G.W.I.H.A.H.A.G.L.A.W.I.H.I.A.O.L.O.B.P.O.H.M.F.B.H.N.S.I.A.A.B.D.C.". Needless to say, I'll probably win this every day.
I shall leave you with a link that should ease my passing. Please take some time to read it, as it is the inspiration for many of my jokes that you hear on a regular basis, so I figured you reading them now is just cutting out the middle man and means everyone has to do less work: I don't have to tell the jokes, and you don't have to listen to them. I'm fairly certain Wayne-Oh (another nickname!) already does, and as the 11th, less famous Commandment states "Do as Wayne-Oh does, and you will be rewarded with booze, hot chicks, and lots of money."
Enjoy!
http://leasticoulddo.com/
Cicero and Caesar
Thursday 21 April 2011
Monday 11 April 2011
Mental Diarrhea (No Actual Diarrhea in Post)
As we draw to the end of Term 1 of Senior school, I lapsed into a reflective mood and began to reminisce of another time, or, dare I repeat the cliche, the good old days. (Eww...that felt gross) I remembered my first day at our noble school, that first time I sat down for Tutor group. I'll never forget that wonderfully judgemental gaze received from a certain Jim Hawkins as I sat next to him with an expression that seemed to scream "NEW KID!!!!! WHO'S FAT!!!!!! AND SMELLS KINDA WEIRD!!!!!!" I knew it was a relationship that was bound to flourish into glorious friendship between he and I. Of course, Caesar and I had not met yet, and would not until camp, whereupon we both realised that we knew the lyrics to the web-song "The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny". If you've never seen it, here is the link, do it, and will consider not hunting you down in my Aragorn outfit and slaughter you like the filthy orc you are: http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/showdown
Moving on, Caesar and I immediately formed a strong bond, which is to say that I formed a bond with him. I learned many years later that his first thought was in fact along the lines of "The f**k?!? This other fat kid is stealing my spotlight!!! And he keeps getting the lines wrong!!!!"
But in all seriousness, we did become friends. It's such a strange thought that other kids looked at us and thought "Wow, there go Cicero and Caesar, those guys are cool, not really that weird. I respect them." I honestly don't think anyone saw what was going to happen; the sick, twisted pair of feared psychopaths that would plague our beautiful school. But it did. Now suck it up.
Pussies.
One of the brilliant things about looking back is that you can laugh at some of things that you once considered tragedies. Such as an event that happened not two weeks ago. As I am sure many of you know, I was in possession of some impressive sideburns that reached my jaw-line. I was told by a certain lady that I had to shave them, but because I had a certain bad-boy reputation to protect, I chose not to. I naively arrived at school feeling like Legolas after he downed an Oliphant all by himself. (Note: I hate Legolas, but love Gimli. If you don't know these people SHARONA!!!! Then you are banned from this blog until you find out.) I was walking with my classic gangster swagger into my last period of the day when I felt someone grab my arm from behind. Thinking this one of my many annoying friends pulling a silly prank, I proceeded to do what any other reasonable person would have done in the same situation: I began to shout obscenities at the person without looking, as well as jerking my held arm back and forth so I was elbowing the person behind me. This went on for 10 or so seconds until I looked up and into the eyes of a nearby teacher whose eyes were wide. His mouth was open and he was shaking his head back and forth voraciously. I turned and saw the face of my extremely beautiful and smart year coordinator, the same who had told me off for my unshaven hair-pieces.
The next 10 minutes are hardly worth repeating, since I, the hero of this tale, am abused and insulted, and since I know none of you want to read about that, I will simply say this: It sucked. It really, really did. Imagine a very angry (but beautiful and smart) animal snarling in your face for a seemingly infinite amount of time. Of course, while I didn't say anything that would worsen the situation, be assured that I had a large repertoire of sharp and witty responses quite ready to be employed. However, since the situation demanded it, I simply put on my best impression of a scared teenager by apologising profusely, sweating, whimpering and wetting my pants a little.
What can I say? I'm a good actor.
I'd also like to take this time to look back at some of our year's more memorable times, such as Year 9 Camp. Many people arrived back from Camp with heavy hearts, sad to leave just as they had begun to form new and wonderful relationships with people they had hardly met before. I admit, I did shed a tear or two after getting off the bus back in Canberra....but mine was not of sadness, but of pure and unrelenting joy. Those 10 days were some of the worst in my entire life, forced to spend my valuable time stuck in a god-forsaken hell hole in the bush. On the first day, I was bitten by a bull ant whilst collecting firewood. However, since the gods have such a sense of humor, they decided that being bitten by a gigantic ant and having to report to the camp instructor for appropriate medical treatment in front of all the girls, said girls were also discussing 'issues of the feminine nature'. As you can probably guess, this was pretty awkward for both parties, but mainly for me, who had just wandered into a crowd of pubescent females talking about how to deal with problems that may arise on camp. Keep in mind this was on the 1ST DAY! Things did not improve over the course of my camp time. On the third day, I developed a very nasty rash in a very private place, which made my every step a living hell, which was an issue, since the main point of Camp was to walk as much as we could each day. Oh, also, it sucks double when you're up a mountain with a pack that's heavier than the suggested limit because some of the girls in the group need a break. I don't want to complain, or you know, insult anyone, but I hope you all die screaming. And not in a good way. You seedy bastards. The chafing situation became worse when I finally decided to tell our female camp instructor who had to make a note of it in her notebook. She was also a slow writer who mumbled when she wrote, so I was entreated to this performance of this stranger softly talking to herself about my nether regions and their horrendous skin defect. Aside from these specific examples, the food sucked, I lost an unhealthy amount of blood to mosquitoes AND I lost my epilepsy medication on the second day, leaving me with 8 blissful days of wondering whether or not I was going to lapse into a fit. Like I said, people loved Camp, just not me.
Another time in our year's tumultuous history would have to be the Semi-Formal. While nothing amazingly outrageous happened, it was still quite enjoyable; no one died, there were no fire fights, or wizard duels, which did make the evening a little boring at times. That what makes it such an important time...because we did not make total ASSES of ourselves. Throughout out time at the school, our year has been infamous. In YEAR 7, I was told by a teacher that our year would never pass Year 8. We have the highest expulsion and suspension rate of any year, and in every major event for the past 4-5 years we have managed to disappoint our teachers and destroy the reputation of our school. Some people may think this is a bad thing, but encourage us to embrace that as much as we can, because the worse people think you are, the more you get rewarded for doing something good. A classic example is that of the boy who never makes his bed, until one day he randomly decides to do so, and is given more allowance that week, even though the goody-two-shoes nerd next door is punished when he DOESN'T make his bed! Let's not make our bed's, and make the school HATE us, and get it to a point that when we decide not to do the wrong thing for once, the school loves and rewards us. Screw trying to be the bikies dressed in a Tuxedo, let's see if they can expel AN ENTIRE YEAR! Let's go down in history, ladies and gentlemen, let us be legends.
As I sit here, writing this for the only one or two people who actually read it, I am, or perhaps more appropriately, was, easting a delicious casadilla, a Mexican dish. The reason I say was, is because I have just spilt it down my lap and all over my $200 hoodie from America. Now, immediately, some questions spring to mind:
1) Why are you eating while typing this blog?
2) Why are you doing that with a $200 hoodie on?
3) Why weren't you more careful?
4) Why are you wearing a hoodie at all? Who are you trying to impress you pretentious twat? I bet you think you're pretty cool don't you, you.....
Aside from the third, all very good questions. The answer to the first is simple: I was hungry. Anyone who knows anything about me should know that, if you don't, the you're a bit of an idiot aren't you? Idiot face smelly poo. But I digress, and while the odour of your feces is important as is the intelligence of your face, I must return to answering your questions. The hoodie: I was wearing it because it is a) Very warm, and b) Very snappy and increases my already sky high sex appeal. Why wasn't I more careful? Umm... because I eat very fast without care for my personal health and the safety of those around me? Maybe? Or it could just be that I'm really fat and wasn't paying attention.
The next big question that may have occurred to you is this:
4) Hey Cicero....have you cleaned up the food, or have you, y'know, just sat there....? (Note: Yes, I re-used '4' as a question number, because your last number 4 was a little immature and I'll ask that only serious questions are asked in the future thank you very much)
The honest and frank answer to that, is no, there is still food everywhere. Am I vainly attempting to heap the food back onto my plate, hoping to save what looks like a hopeless situation? Maybe. Was I in fact succeeding...until it all fell of again onto my feet! GODDAMN IT THIS STUPID CRAP!!!!!
Nevertheless, this entire situation simply proves to you, my few and dedicated readers, how desperate I am to keep you hooked, as I just wrote a whole passage of bloggage with a big lump of cooling meat on my crotch. Surely this is ample information to spread this to all your friends, or if you're female, to offer yourself unto me. Please.
And so ends this blog post. Please send all complaints, compliments and naked pictures of yourselves (again, females please) to our e-mail which can be seen in either our contact information, or more easily, on our first post.
Written by Cicero
Moving on, Caesar and I immediately formed a strong bond, which is to say that I formed a bond with him. I learned many years later that his first thought was in fact along the lines of "The f**k?!? This other fat kid is stealing my spotlight!!! And he keeps getting the lines wrong!!!!"
But in all seriousness, we did become friends. It's such a strange thought that other kids looked at us and thought "Wow, there go Cicero and Caesar, those guys are cool, not really that weird. I respect them." I honestly don't think anyone saw what was going to happen; the sick, twisted pair of feared psychopaths that would plague our beautiful school. But it did. Now suck it up.
Pussies.
One of the brilliant things about looking back is that you can laugh at some of things that you once considered tragedies. Such as an event that happened not two weeks ago. As I am sure many of you know, I was in possession of some impressive sideburns that reached my jaw-line. I was told by a certain lady that I had to shave them, but because I had a certain bad-boy reputation to protect, I chose not to. I naively arrived at school feeling like Legolas after he downed an Oliphant all by himself. (Note: I hate Legolas, but love Gimli. If you don't know these people SHARONA!!!! Then you are banned from this blog until you find out.) I was walking with my classic gangster swagger into my last period of the day when I felt someone grab my arm from behind. Thinking this one of my many annoying friends pulling a silly prank, I proceeded to do what any other reasonable person would have done in the same situation: I began to shout obscenities at the person without looking, as well as jerking my held arm back and forth so I was elbowing the person behind me. This went on for 10 or so seconds until I looked up and into the eyes of a nearby teacher whose eyes were wide. His mouth was open and he was shaking his head back and forth voraciously. I turned and saw the face of my extremely beautiful and smart year coordinator, the same who had told me off for my unshaven hair-pieces.
The next 10 minutes are hardly worth repeating, since I, the hero of this tale, am abused and insulted, and since I know none of you want to read about that, I will simply say this: It sucked. It really, really did. Imagine a very angry (but beautiful and smart) animal snarling in your face for a seemingly infinite amount of time. Of course, while I didn't say anything that would worsen the situation, be assured that I had a large repertoire of sharp and witty responses quite ready to be employed. However, since the situation demanded it, I simply put on my best impression of a scared teenager by apologising profusely, sweating, whimpering and wetting my pants a little.
What can I say? I'm a good actor.
I'd also like to take this time to look back at some of our year's more memorable times, such as Year 9 Camp. Many people arrived back from Camp with heavy hearts, sad to leave just as they had begun to form new and wonderful relationships with people they had hardly met before. I admit, I did shed a tear or two after getting off the bus back in Canberra....but mine was not of sadness, but of pure and unrelenting joy. Those 10 days were some of the worst in my entire life, forced to spend my valuable time stuck in a god-forsaken hell hole in the bush. On the first day, I was bitten by a bull ant whilst collecting firewood. However, since the gods have such a sense of humor, they decided that being bitten by a gigantic ant and having to report to the camp instructor for appropriate medical treatment in front of all the girls, said girls were also discussing 'issues of the feminine nature'. As you can probably guess, this was pretty awkward for both parties, but mainly for me, who had just wandered into a crowd of pubescent females talking about how to deal with problems that may arise on camp. Keep in mind this was on the 1ST DAY! Things did not improve over the course of my camp time. On the third day, I developed a very nasty rash in a very private place, which made my every step a living hell, which was an issue, since the main point of Camp was to walk as much as we could each day. Oh, also, it sucks double when you're up a mountain with a pack that's heavier than the suggested limit because some of the girls in the group need a break. I don't want to complain, or you know, insult anyone, but I hope you all die screaming. And not in a good way. You seedy bastards. The chafing situation became worse when I finally decided to tell our female camp instructor who had to make a note of it in her notebook. She was also a slow writer who mumbled when she wrote, so I was entreated to this performance of this stranger softly talking to herself about my nether regions and their horrendous skin defect. Aside from these specific examples, the food sucked, I lost an unhealthy amount of blood to mosquitoes AND I lost my epilepsy medication on the second day, leaving me with 8 blissful days of wondering whether or not I was going to lapse into a fit. Like I said, people loved Camp, just not me.
Another time in our year's tumultuous history would have to be the Semi-Formal. While nothing amazingly outrageous happened, it was still quite enjoyable; no one died, there were no fire fights, or wizard duels, which did make the evening a little boring at times. That what makes it such an important time...because we did not make total ASSES of ourselves. Throughout out time at the school, our year has been infamous. In YEAR 7, I was told by a teacher that our year would never pass Year 8. We have the highest expulsion and suspension rate of any year, and in every major event for the past 4-5 years we have managed to disappoint our teachers and destroy the reputation of our school. Some people may think this is a bad thing, but encourage us to embrace that as much as we can, because the worse people think you are, the more you get rewarded for doing something good. A classic example is that of the boy who never makes his bed, until one day he randomly decides to do so, and is given more allowance that week, even though the goody-two-shoes nerd next door is punished when he DOESN'T make his bed! Let's not make our bed's, and make the school HATE us, and get it to a point that when we decide not to do the wrong thing for once, the school loves and rewards us. Screw trying to be the bikies dressed in a Tuxedo, let's see if they can expel AN ENTIRE YEAR! Let's go down in history, ladies and gentlemen, let us be legends.
As I sit here, writing this for the only one or two people who actually read it, I am, or perhaps more appropriately, was, easting a delicious casadilla, a Mexican dish. The reason I say was, is because I have just spilt it down my lap and all over my $200 hoodie from America. Now, immediately, some questions spring to mind:
1) Why are you eating while typing this blog?
2) Why are you doing that with a $200 hoodie on?
3) Why weren't you more careful?
4) Why are you wearing a hoodie at all? Who are you trying to impress you pretentious twat? I bet you think you're pretty cool don't you, you.....
Aside from the third, all very good questions. The answer to the first is simple: I was hungry. Anyone who knows anything about me should know that, if you don't, the you're a bit of an idiot aren't you? Idiot face smelly poo. But I digress, and while the odour of your feces is important as is the intelligence of your face, I must return to answering your questions. The hoodie: I was wearing it because it is a) Very warm, and b) Very snappy and increases my already sky high sex appeal. Why wasn't I more careful? Umm... because I eat very fast without care for my personal health and the safety of those around me? Maybe? Or it could just be that I'm really fat and wasn't paying attention.
The next big question that may have occurred to you is this:
4) Hey Cicero....have you cleaned up the food, or have you, y'know, just sat there....? (Note: Yes, I re-used '4' as a question number, because your last number 4 was a little immature and I'll ask that only serious questions are asked in the future thank you very much)
The honest and frank answer to that, is no, there is still food everywhere. Am I vainly attempting to heap the food back onto my plate, hoping to save what looks like a hopeless situation? Maybe. Was I in fact succeeding...until it all fell of again onto my feet! GODDAMN IT THIS STUPID CRAP!!!!!
Nevertheless, this entire situation simply proves to you, my few and dedicated readers, how desperate I am to keep you hooked, as I just wrote a whole passage of bloggage with a big lump of cooling meat on my crotch. Surely this is ample information to spread this to all your friends, or if you're female, to offer yourself unto me. Please.
And so ends this blog post. Please send all complaints, compliments and naked pictures of yourselves (again, females please) to our e-mail which can be seen in either our contact information, or more easily, on our first post.
Written by Cicero
Friday 8 April 2011
A Warm Welcome
Salutations, and welcome to The Orator and the Emperor, a blog that merely consists of commentary of stuff that happens on an everyday basis, as well as things that may have happened in an alternate reality that are far more interesting.
Basically we are trying to rectify the simple problem which that although many wonderful things happen on a regular basis, people continue to bitch and moan about how much stuff sucks.
We hate these people. They are boring and have no place in this blog, unless they are being insulted, so beware Sharona.
Which reminds me. I must certainly give much credit and acknowledgement to the esteemed Dr. Leslie M Harper, who was a brilliant inspiration to begin this online adventure. I will continue to use the same names as she does in order to avoid confusion and panic, which would undoubtedly spread around the world in a matter of minutes causing chaos and bloody murder eventually tearing a hole in space-time continuum...um...umum.
Depending on who you are, we value your feedback. If you feel we have said something innappropriate or crude, feel free to type an angry e-mail and send it to ciceroandcaesar@hotmail.com. We will take your comments and consider them seriously. Unless you are bitching just for the sake of bitching. Or if we don't like you. Or if you have bad grammar. Or if you're one of those people who licks their finger before they turn a page. That's really, really annoying. Please don't.
And the stage is set, the crowd rises expectantly in their seats, the fat kid in the first row drops his hot-dog in raw excitement, Jesus pops back from heaven to see what the fuss is all about then immediately shuts up and sits down.........
And the show begins.
Written by Cicero
Basically we are trying to rectify the simple problem which that although many wonderful things happen on a regular basis, people continue to bitch and moan about how much stuff sucks.
We hate these people. They are boring and have no place in this blog, unless they are being insulted, so beware Sharona.
Which reminds me. I must certainly give much credit and acknowledgement to the esteemed Dr. Leslie M Harper, who was a brilliant inspiration to begin this online adventure. I will continue to use the same names as she does in order to avoid confusion and panic, which would undoubtedly spread around the world in a matter of minutes causing chaos and bloody murder eventually tearing a hole in space-time continuum...um...umum.
Depending on who you are, we value your feedback. If you feel we have said something innappropriate or crude, feel free to type an angry e-mail and send it to ciceroandcaesar@hotmail.com. We will take your comments and consider them seriously. Unless you are bitching just for the sake of bitching. Or if we don't like you. Or if you have bad grammar. Or if you're one of those people who licks their finger before they turn a page. That's really, really annoying. Please don't.
And the stage is set, the crowd rises expectantly in their seats, the fat kid in the first row drops his hot-dog in raw excitement, Jesus pops back from heaven to see what the fuss is all about then immediately shuts up and sits down.........
And the show begins.
Written by Cicero
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)