Let's Connect

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/