It has been a while since I have posted here but I was trying to collect all of my thoughts, ball it into one great idea and then slam it in on this page like a rolling down a bowling ball knocking all the pins down. Soon you'll see that that great ball of ideas is nothing but the loud representation of the author with a column named Zero Level Omniscience.
I remembered when I was in grade school, there was always a man in outside the campus who would bring every whatchamacallit things and sell them to kids for an unreasonable price. Gullibility seems to be inherent to kids without the aid of their parents. While the latter would appear immune to sales talk and coercion that only works on kids, gullibility visits them every now and then when they hear squalls and cries from the main arbiter that ties them and the whatchamacallit vendor.
In more ways that one, I have seen the angel of salesmanship whenever I frequent the gates of our campus back in the years of shorts-for-uniforms, only to find out later after staying in school for a few more years, that angels coming down from heaven, that are neither Gabriel, Michael and Raphael must be fallen angels--and I have fallen into their trap. *sigh*
Moving on, or in this case going back to those years, upon getting a message from the (then) angel of salesmanship, I have decided to buy this device that stings your finger with a sudden jolt of electricity when you press the button. It was worth Php 2.00 but hey, I was a student back then and it wasn't those times where "baon" would translate to money.
Anyway, hard earned money (meaning money that was raised from constantly looking down while walking) allowed me to satisfy myself with this piece of junk. But hey, a kid's got to love what he bought with his sweat and blood(?)!
You know, the funny thing with this toy is that at first when you know what it does, you feel like not experiencing it first hand, but once you test it, you feel like you don't want to end it. You just want to keep on pressing that button, feeling that sensation that brings euphoria, psychological in manner (whatever the vehicle is). Kind of like when you play with beetles. At first, you gross out when it's spiky legs comes in contact with you but when you get the hang of it, you don't want to let go of it till it dies. But then it still dies, and that stupid button-driven-small-taser-device gets dull and the jolt becomes no more than a prick. At any rate, the discomfort brought by these two ends--but in two different ways.
I remembered when I was in grade school, there was always a man in outside the campus who would bring every whatchamacallit things and sell them to kids for an unreasonable price. Gullibility seems to be inherent to kids without the aid of their parents. While the latter would appear immune to sales talk and coercion that only works on kids, gullibility visits them every now and then when they hear squalls and cries from the main arbiter that ties them and the whatchamacallit vendor.
In more ways that one, I have seen the angel of salesmanship whenever I frequent the gates of our campus back in the years of shorts-for-uniforms, only to find out later after staying in school for a few more years, that angels coming down from heaven, that are neither Gabriel, Michael and Raphael must be fallen angels--and I have fallen into their trap. *sigh*
Moving on, or in this case going back to those years, upon getting a message from the (then) angel of salesmanship, I have decided to buy this device that stings your finger with a sudden jolt of electricity when you press the button. It was worth Php 2.00 but hey, I was a student back then and it wasn't those times where "baon" would translate to money.
Anyway, hard earned money (meaning money that was raised from constantly looking down while walking) allowed me to satisfy myself with this piece of junk. But hey, a kid's got to love what he bought with his sweat and blood(?)!
You know, the funny thing with this toy is that at first when you know what it does, you feel like not experiencing it first hand, but once you test it, you feel like you don't want to end it. You just want to keep on pressing that button, feeling that sensation that brings euphoria, psychological in manner (whatever the vehicle is). Kind of like when you play with beetles. At first, you gross out when it's spiky legs comes in contact with you but when you get the hang of it, you don't want to let go of it till it dies. But then it still dies, and that stupid button-driven-small-taser-device gets dull and the jolt becomes no more than a prick. At any rate, the discomfort brought by these two ends--but in two different ways.
There are many ways for a beetle to die.
- Don't feed it
- Give it to the birds
- Pretend it's a Walking Stick (the insect)
- Mother makes a stew out of it
- The Natural Death
For an induced death, refer to the first four on the list. These are sure ways of removing that awkward feeling that you get from those horrible spiky legs.
Natural death comes to beetles when the owner decided to endure the awkward feeling. But eventually he becomes liberated from that.
Now, the mini-taser is an object that could be destroyed in a few ways:
- Place it on the train tracks
- Feed it the dog
- Pound it with a hammer
- Press and press the button till friction bears fruition and μ becomes negligible
- Press and press till the body becomes accustomed to the damn jolt
There are lots of awkward situations that we encounter. Majority of these awkward encounters entails us to distantly escape or hastily end it. It maybe in the form of a slow and grueling escape or have your Mom do it for you in the kitchen. Nevertheless, you would still try to kill the beetle.
A minority shares the same fate as the mini-taser in the sense that we try to cope up with the awkward jolt and press the button continuously till μ becomes so small that we don't even feel anything anymore. We know, in our minds that the awkward feeling is there but, as we keep on pressing the button, we acknowledge the fact that we can't get away from that feeling and as we perpetually press on the damned button, oblivious of blisters and callouses, we are fully geared to face it--helmets on.
So let me go on ahead and roll the ball down the alley. It'd probably be too small to even down one pin.
*Aaaargh!* Gutter!!
A minority shares the same fate as the mini-taser in the sense that we try to cope up with the awkward jolt and press the button continuously till μ becomes so small that we don't even feel anything anymore. We know, in our minds that the awkward feeling is there but, as we keep on pressing the button, we acknowledge the fact that we can't get away from that feeling and as we perpetually press on the damned button, oblivious of blisters and callouses, we are fully geared to face it--helmets on.
So let me go on ahead and roll the ball down the alley. It'd probably be too small to even down one pin.
*Aaaargh!* Gutter!!
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