Puerto Rican bridge

*Joel sings again*

Puerto Rican bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, Puerto Rican bridge is falling down, my fair baby.

Puerto Rico y el Mundo: un cuento ficticio

Puerto Rico es un cuento ficticio interesante y complejo, difícil de escribir. La verdad me encantaría escribirlo. Pero dada a mi brutalidad e ignorancia política, pues no lo haré, pero por otro lado pretenderé (por la misma brutalidad e ignoracia) postularme en algún futuro a legislador... (gobernador no, eso es mucho trabajo...). Anyway, el hecho de que coja este comentario y lo haga un chiste es porque la verdad es que sería cómico si en verdad fuese un cuento ficticio. También es cómico que el hielo de Groenlandia (aún no sé por qué es GREENland en inglés, si siempre ha sido blanco, pero ese es otro issue) está perdiendo su hielo por el calentamiento global y enfriará el mar entre otras cosas. De que los científicos en Noruega están preocupados porque no hay hielo por primera vez EVER en un sitio ahí que no me acuerdo. Y que otros están contentos porque no tendrán que gastar tanto en calefacción. Es cómico ver que cuando yo estaba en escuela superior me creía la teoría aquella de que un meteorito caería en Nueva York (cayó un avión) y que una guerra laaaarga comenzaría desde ahí... y miren. También me río, porque pequeñas cositas aparecen, las cuales uno, que es medio sensitivo a estos mecanismos creativos de "foreshadowing", las nota. Como: las discuciones de Venezuela con Estados Unidos, las intervenciones de Estados Unidos con paises suramericanos para que escojan personas del gobierno que a ellos les conviene. Que si Taiwán es parte de China y no un país aparte. Descubrieron un décimo planeta y los calendarios astrales se jodieron. Que si las islitas de Macedonia están siendo tragadas por el mar y aquí seguimos construyendo a tres pasos del arrecife de coral. Que el estatus está siendo decidido y la gente no se está siendo discutido/decidido sin la gente darse mucha cuenta, por lo que está sucediendo. Que si Acevedo Vilá está haciendo campaña publicitaria pa que el pueblo lo apoye. Que los otros no quieren firmar. Que si debieron botar unos cuantos con salarios altos...

Parece un chiste si fuese todo un cuento. Y me encantaría escribirlo. El mundo entero está cayéndose en cantos...

Pero o sea, a pesar de que hace unos días soñé un horrible sueño que nos pone a todos en estado fantasmagórico luego de una explosión, nadie se preocupe, que las predicciones de Nostradamus que creí en escuela superior decían que después de una guerra 33 años habrá una era larga de paz... Claro, después de cada huracán siempre queda la paz, ¿no?

(sorry, he querido escribir algo como esto hace tiempo, con ello no logro nada más que sacármelo...)

Electrocutions and OCD

For those who are "abbreviat-ically-impaired" (like me, stupid abbreviations), OCD stands for Obssssessssssive Compulssssive Dissssssorder.

Now to our post.

I think I have said that my trip to Las Vegas was hugeamongously awesome, and the subsequent trip to SanFra also, of course, but there was a unmistakably (I'm using weird adverbs today, sorry) interesting phenomenon that happened to me in Vegas.

But first, some backstory/background/context:

1. It was December when I was there, so, I had to use lots of layers of clothe; being from the tropics' makes even 70 degrees very cold. Although it wasn't nastily (adverbs) cold, I was ok, thanks to a pretty warm fleece (*please, read the word: "fleece" in emphasis on the combination of sounds "ee" a "s": fleeeessss*) (nevermind) (OCD'ed about sounds, I know...). Anyway, so, I had a fleeeessss (which reminded me of a sheep that my grandfather had, she was pretty cute, except when she would ram you for no reason... I was little then, so... her fur/hair was so tight and thick, just like the fleece, I guess that if I were a shepherd, and it were cold out, I would just sleep with a sheep embraced in my arms...) (so I digressed yet again). Again, I had that fleece, which kept me warm in the cold (and thankful that it was given to me), and actually kind of hot sometimes..., but anyway, the thing is that I had layers of clothing on, at least three. I don't remember the temperature, maybe around 40F?
2. The apartment I was staying (which had an awesome view on top of a hill (which also made it a little bit colder than the Strip)) (double parenthesis) had a very thick, cushiony, comfy, comfortable, contourable carpet (and all other adjectives with c). Not to leave out that ninety percent of the hotel floors have carpeted floors.

So, that ends the bit on backstory/background/context.

Now to the post.

So, in Vegas I developed OCD. Yes. How? Well, everything I touched shocked me. No, no. Not shocked me as in: "WoW that's frutal" (I say frutal instead of brutal, and brutal is a good thing if said in an excited way) (frutal just sounds fruity...) (I think I've said that before)... I got shocked as in electrocuted, (weird adverb coming) statically shocked. Yes. I open the car doors, TZZzz, Ow! I open the metal doors to get in the hotels, tzzzZ, Ow, mutherfucka. Joel touches the stairs hand rail, ttzZzzz, goddangit! Everytime. Everything that had a door or a handle, or something made for your hands to grab, Joel got zapped! Hard! And no, it was not my imagination. You could hear the electricity colliding with my fingertips. And sometimes afterwards I would feel my arm or my fingers very weak, as if they were flying, as if their soul was parting from their bodies... they died for some seconds, everytime, with every door or handle.

So, I developed OCD as a mean of selfprotection. I was afraid that the other Joel (not me, the other) (and not the other Joel who is me, the other Joel that lives in Vegas, and who is a real person)... I was afraid that he was going to find me in some corner, stuck onto a handrail electrocuted, with my hairs standing straight up, and a prickle of smoke flying from my charred eyeballs. So, I would tapped all handles, doorknobs and handrails, before grabbing them, and even then I got zapped. Bastard! So, then I just told him to open every door. It would had seem onerous, but hey, he probably had more grounding with the center of the earth than I had, because he didn't get shocked (well, maybe once or twice... I think), aaand he wasn't afraid of doors and handles, I on the other hand, was never the same afterwards. Doorknobs and handlebars are my enemies now. Although I have yet to get shocked here in Puerto Rico (maybe i'm closer to the center of the earth here, or I dont know, there something in the air that functions as insulation...). But yes, I still nervously tap all doors and handles, not all tho, but some. So I have never recuperated.

On the other hand, I guess it is an interesting thing to have a manic-obssssesssive thing like that, makes for good non-interesting, uninteresting, overinteresting little stories like this one.

So, I attributed the whole zap to carpets and clothing, and constant fucking friction. Who invented friction, and who made it make electricity and heat? Damn them. Damn all of those geniuses...

I should (shall) visit Las Vegas in summer and walk almost naked. So that no carpets or clothing can get in the way. But then again, I wouldn't, what if electricity traveled through fabric? No shoes? Don't think so. I rather keep my life, covered and hot and electricity-free.

Rambling. Ranting. I must go. I am going a bit unbearably incomprehensible. (adverbs)

Goodbay. (Goodbay? hmm, I wonder if that bay exists)...

goodbye. (no one says badbye... not even people who hate each other... why? Deep down we all want to live in peace... hmm, random thought).

Si la gente no hablara de más

Si la gente no hablara de más

¿Cuántas cosas no serían diferentes?

Hornyyy

*Joel sings*

Hornyyy, I am so hornyyy... I want somebodyyyy to fuck on my ooowwwn...

: /

My bother watches the TV Guide Channel... when there's nothing else on tv... I wonder if that's good or bad.

Disgustingly Repugnant, Repulsive Stagnancy of Scatology

WARNING:
The following post is preTTy disturbing, or just plain disgusting.


Doesn't it bother you that, when you get a bad stomach cramp, you fly to the bathroom and barely have time to take off your pants, and as soon as your butt touches the toilet everything from your insides just spills out almost involuntarily? But even worst... Doesn't it bother you that after enduring the pain of racing your car through the street, slam open the door of your house, and fly to the toilet, what you shit is a lond of liquidy crap? That, had another second past before you got to the toilet, you wouldn't have stood a change against your own feces? Doesn't it bother you how horrible would have been to have all that brown stinky, gooey watery shit all over your pants, on the seat of your car? You would never drive it again. You think. But, even worser... doesn't it bother you that when you are sitting there on the toilet, all the nasty shit splashes nasty goop up towards your butt, and you can't help it because it is coming out involuntarily (now it is)? Doesn't it bother you that it feels like you're pissing through your asshole? That it sounds hideously horrendous, hugeamongously unatural; as if you were giving birth to an alien, your water broke, and the alien is these chunky little pieces of shit floating around stained, contaminated water (which was once clear) of your toilet. Now... Doesn't it bother you that now you don't only have to wipe you soiled ass, but also your hole butt. And if you are nasty enough (or curious enough) to look at the toilet paper, you see light-brown stains on it, which surely smell like rotten eggs. Doesn't it bother you that your diarrhea, doesn't just affects you, emotionally and internally? That it also affects your butt, your nose, your eyes, the seat of your car, the door of your house, and God help the ones in cars you cut in the street, who might have died in a car crash because of your shit? Yes. Diarrhea is bad. Very bad. Wipe your ass after it, flush the toilet thrice, wipe the bottom of your toilet seat, seriously, check it... And if the mess on your butt is too much, just give up, and take a shower. OK! It will all be better afterwards.

Orgías de Talento

Days

Ya sé. No he escrito nada en cuarenta días. Es que la inspiración se me está saliendo para otros lados, para otros cuentos. Ya pronto escribiré algo por aquí.

For the Spanish-cally impared: www.freetranslations.com