Friendship Appreciation Day

(Maybe it's pre-exam week emotional discharge, or too much "free" time I was supposed to use to study some of the things that have been accumulating for half a semester that I haven't even begun to think about, but I find that I need to get this out.)

To all my friends, this one's for you.

**************

The media always portrays war in the same way. It's always chaos and confusion and lots of explosions everywhere, with gruesome sights of carnage and human brutality. A few movies focused specifically on the bond between comrades-in-arms, that bond that exceeds even brotherhood, in the sense that you're both out there risking your lives, and every day u spend at night back at base with your squad might be your last. It always shows battle in very rapid succession, in real-life speed. someone pulls a trigger, and just like that, some person dies. no time to move out of the way, twitch or even think. just die.

That is not always true.

Jack was down in the trench fighting side-by-side with his best friend Mark. When a soldier's fighting for his life, it's not common for him to brood on his childhood memories, but that is what Jack caught himself doing. War might be brutal, but it's nothing if not repetitive... when you've been in the trench for hours holding your position, it's surprising how much the whole process can become a routine. You choose your target, you aim and you shoot. You duck to reload, emerge again to fire bursts at the enemy to cover your squad while they reload, and then duck again to reload yourself. you occasionally toss a grenade or ask for a clip from the ammunition officer, and then fall back to the same routine. It's the routine that kills after a while, if you lose all sense of what you're doing and your reflexes get duller because subconsciously you start thinking that it's just another drill and nothing will actually hurt you and that you'll be through it in a minute.
But you can also fall into battle fever. All your senses are heightened, all your bullets seem to hit their marks, all your targets go down before they fire a single round. Things seem to move in slow motion.

All of this wasn't going through Jack's mind of course, but he had fallen into battle fever. His team Sergeant called him Private Flu because it was so easy for him to get battle fever. Mark thought it was so funny that he had it written in black marker on Jack's dog tag under his real name.
Jack ducked to reload, and then straightened up again to continue firing. In that instant, Mark looked at him, winked, and said:
"You're on fire today, private flu! You keeping count?"
"Twelve, and counting. are you ---"

Something happened. Everything stopped. The rhythmic sound of machine gun fire died out, and the cries of the dying and the wounded. Mark's smile froze on his face, and their conversation suddenly lost all its meaning. They say your life flashes before your eyes in that instant before you die. That was one of those moments. All Jack saw was the gunman looking down his gun's sights, aiming, and pulling the trigger. Then he was lost in times long gone.

It was his first day at elementary school. He was alone and afraid, with his eyes still wet, fresh from the crying fit he had just had because he just couldn't comprehend why his mother and father would abandon him. They assured him they would come pick him up on their way from work, but he still couldn't get why he had to go to school. Mrs Bright was standing in the middle of the yard, with many other kids his age gathered around her. Just as he approached, she started to leave, and the kids followed. So he did the same. Or he meant to, but he accidentally stepped on his untied shoe laces, stumbled, tried to regain his balance and fell. All the kids were laughing at him, that little boy who made a fool of himself on his first day, falling in the yard and spilling his lunch box's contents on the ground. All of them laughed. All but him. Mark offered his hand to him, helped him up and patted him on the shoulder. He was very big for his age, and wider than most kids were. he had friendly eyes and an easy smile.

All he said was: "Hi. My name is Mark. You wanna be friends?".


flash forward to middle school.

It was a rainy day. And cold. Everyone was huddled up in class, with the windows shut and the math teacher groaning on and on about square roots and fractions. It had been a brilliant summer day in the morning, so no one bothered to get any jackets with them. Only Jack's mom insisted that he get his jacket because he was always catching colds. Jenna was sitting in the desk on his left, shivering. She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, with big brown doe eyes and golden curls that cascaded elegantly past her shoulder and down her back. He had been crushing on her for years but hadn't had the chance to do anything about it because he was so shy around girls he liked. That was a very good chance for him.
So he took off his jacket, and went "pssst". she looked at him, with those pretty white teeth knocking together. She looked so innocent and vulnerable he wanted to hug her. He passed her the jacket, smiling. She gratefully took it, and mouthed a silent "Thank You". When the class was over, however, out of nowhere, Jim, the class bully, came and knocked him down. Jim yelled that he shouldn't be messing with his girlfriend and that he'd kill him if if he ever caught him sniffing around her again. Jenna hotly declared that Jim was not her boyfriend and that he should just get a life because she isn't gonna go out with him no matter what. Jim looked at Jack, and said "You're gonna pay for that, Jack-off.". He balled his hand into a fist, and was just gonna punch him when Mark appeared at Jim's shoulder. In the blink of an eye, Mark had Jim in a headlock and threatened to beat him up if he ever laid a hand on Jack.

fast forward to high school.

He had just broken up with Jenna. She'd been his girlfriend for four years now, but he caught her kissing a senior right outside class. He didn't say a word. He just looked her in the eyes, and said: "I hope his jacket fits you". And then she was out of his life. He'd been staying at home for days, hardly eating and brooding all day long. His girlfriend tried to reach him a million times, but he didn't bother picking up. He'd warned her how much he loved her and that any betrayal on her side would crush him, but that didn't stop her cheating on him. She deserved to suffer. Let her call, she wasn't getting a single word out of him ever again. That was how he thought of it. That was what he convinced himself of. Deep down inside he was very hurt, and he couldnt believe that she'd do such a thing to him. He wanted to beat the guy bloody and he wanted to yell at his girlfriend. He wanted to let her know how much he despised her. But he knew if he opened the door to his feelings she would have won. He wasn't gonna allow her to cause him a single tear or a second of weakness.
Still, it wasn't easy for him at all. He hadn't been going to school for days, and lost his will to live. He was sitting in his basement bedroom throwing darts at a teddy bear he'd owned when he was a baby, when Mark's face suddenly appeared in his window. He was lying flat on his belly, holding a pizza box and a couple of beers. How he'd gotten the beer was a mystery to him.

"Fancy a chat?" Mark said.
"Thanks dude, but i'm not in the mood." Jack replied.
"I'm lying down here till you are, then." Mark said.

Jack opened the window and his very large friend somehow jumped through to his bedroom.To this day, he still hadnt let Mark know how much that chat meant to him. He regretted never taking the time to tell his friend how much he appreciated his support. suddenly, "guys dont talk about their feelings" seemed like a very stupid reason not to.

Flash forward to college.

They were lying on their backs in the dorm room they were sharing. Jack was very glad that his best friend Mark had gotten accepted in the same university and he couldn't believe how much the pair of them had gotten through. It had been two years, but Jack had been single ever since he'd broken up with Jenna. Amazingly, she still called sometimes, but he never bothered to answer her. He was just gonna tell Mark that Jenna was calling again when someone knocked on the door. Mark had always been complaining loudly to everyone that would hear that Jack should get laid some time because he was a freshman in college and people would think he was a nerd. Of course, that helped circulate the fact and pretty soon people started calling him "Virgin Jack", which somehow got morphed over time to "Virjack". Mark had been getting drunk girls to pass by their dorm room for a whole semester now, but Jack always turned them down. This led Jack to think that this was just one of those chicks again. That was why he was so surprized when Jenna came through the door, holding a bottle of champagne. Mark told Jack that he needed to talk with her if he ever wanted to know the truth of what happened or to move on, slipped on his jacket and left the room.

Flash forward 10 years.

He was standing on the altar with Jenna standing right in front of him, looking so beautiful in her tiara. He couldn't believe he almost let her slip from his hands.. turns out that senior kissed her against her will and she'd been trying to tell him all along that he just walked in at the wrong time, that's all. It took her two hours that night to convince him, but he was convinced when she told him that she'd filed a case against that guy and that he was expelled from school because the dean had had several similar complaints from other girls. Mark was standing just behind Jenna, holding the rings and smiling from ear to ear. He'd been married for two years and his wife was pregnant, pretty far along the way too, by the looks of it. Jenna herself was one month pregnant, but they'd agreed that they didnt want their kid to live his life knowing that he's a bastard. Mark had been extremely helpful when Jack told him the news. Usually, guys freaked out when they learned that there were babies involved, but Mark was extremely supportive, and he's the one who suggested they get married in the first place. They'd been in love ever since middle school, and they were living together, and now they were having a baby. It wasnt such a dynamic change to get married, he'd reasoned. Mark even helped with the wedding preparations. He looked at him, winked, and mouthed: "you're on fire, Virjack".

Flash forward forty years.

Jack was sitting in his terrace, old and grey, with Jenna right beside him. the last of his three children had already gotten married three years ago. The house was his and Jenna's. He had been crying into her shoulder again. Every few days he would get these crying fits that reminded him of those crying fits he got at elementary school all those years ago when his parents dropped him off. Then he would remember Mark, look at the wedding photos with him and his wide grin, happy that his best friend had finally gotten married, and he'd cry again. he'd cry every single day around the same time in the morning when his parents had dropped him off that day, so long ago. Jenna would try and make it better, but she couldn't. she just couldn't. Mark had been his life's constant companion, his shield, his go-to guy, his safety net. Everytime he remembered how he died he cried.

flash back to present day.

Mark's smile was still frozen on his sweaty, dirty face. The enemy shooter's gun was still aimed at Mark's head. Although the gunman seemed to have pulled the trigger an hour ago, time seemed to slow down even more. He realised he couldn't bear sitting in his terrace when he was old and grey, regretting that day so long ago when he could have saved his best friend but didn't. Great power surged through his veins when he thought of all those times his best friend had his back. His best friend gave him courage, his best friend gave him strength. His best friend gave him enough speed to jump right in front of the bullets' path to save his best friend's life. The excruciating pain of bullets tearing through his bone and muscle didn't seem so bad. he slammed into Mark, falling on top of him, protecting him from the incoming deadly rain. The last thing Jack thought of was that wedding photo he'd taken next to Jenna and Mark.

Because you see, it doesn't have to be your own life at stake for you to care enough to stop time and do the impossible.


I would like to dedicate this blog post to all those people among my 700+ friends on facebook, those who would presume to call themselves my friends. and those who aren't on facebook as well. I'm speaking to each of you individually. What im emphasizing is that im not referring to you as a part of Mark, on the contrary. everyone of you is Mark. You see, we never get to tell our friends how much we appreciate the companionship and support. Mark is every single friend I ever met. Every acquaintance that made me laugh or smile when I most needed it is Mark. Mark is my primary school friends, my middle school friends, my high school friends, my college friends, all my friends. If you've ever helped draw a smile on my face, ever helped me through a tough spot, I dedicate this to you. no matter how insignificant you think your part was, you've helped make me who I am. I would list your name if I could, but it would take too long. I wouldn't be the man i am today without you. Through your support, help, reassurance, guidance and companionships, I became who I am. I cannot emphasize that enough. Thank you for all the laughs you gave me and all the times you've listened to me when i needed to vent. Thank you for being there. I would be your Jack if you ever need me.

All that I have to offer are two simple words. Two words to sum up my appreciation, devotion, and respect to you. Two simple words from a simple guy.

My friendship.

Of course, don't expect me to take a bullet for you if you made me smile. What the heck's the matter with you?
and I realise that "I can be your Jack if you ever need me" is a sex joke just waiting to happen. Should have chosen another name for my protagonist, huh?

Writer's Block

And there you have it. The dreaded writer's block. i have absolutely nothing to say. The horror.

Ironically, when I get a writer's block, that's usually when I'm most creative because I tend to think of new things to write. First, though, I need to answer a question that many of the readers must have asked themselves.. "does this guy have a life?"

I'm a Petroleum engineer, of Junior status, and I'm using my day off to write this. You think i have a life? Of course, I'm going out in a few hours to watch the new Harry Potter movie, but I still insist that my career choice has all but ended my social life. So its more of a grey area, really..

The weird thing about me is that sometimes I get into these really thoughtful moods and I drop whatever it is I'm doing and drift off, thinking. It's true, sometimes I'm studying, watching TV, heck sometimes I'm hanging out with friends, when I drift off and my eyes go out of focus. I'm not a prodigy, I'm not thinking up solutions for world hunger or trying to find out exactly what purpose a thong serves (what is the POINT?! It drives me crazy). I just like to think a lot. It's actually one of my favorite hobbies, like sometimes I can turn off my laptop, turn off the light in my room, close the door, lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, lost in weird fantasies at times, at others glorious battles, and of course I'm always the hero in all of these fantasies. For example, think of JD in scrubs. It's like that, only my fantasies aren't always funny. It kind of depends what kind of music I have playing on my iPod at the time.

How do I get to manage my alone time, my free time, my going out time, my gym time (doesn't exist) and my studying time is anyone's guess, but I get a lot of time to think on the way to and back from college. Once, I was so free that I calculated the time I will have spent on all the trips to and from university by the time I graduate. Turns out I will have spent 2 months (Without a calculator. I was so proud of myself). Is that not time enough to think?

But regardless, I think I can relate to JD in so many things... For one thing, my fantasies are stupid. I'm a rock/hard rock/soft metal kinda person, so this limits my fantasies somewhat. Here's a list of how it goes:

Metal: I'm a battle commander on the front lines and I get separated from my battalion. I'm in this trench on my own, and suddenly this random tank comes up and tries to run me over. Of course, in my head it keeps running me over an average of ten times before I have to imagine an air strike that takes out the tank, or a very well placed bullet that i fired that somehow went through the tank's barrel and ricocheted inside, killing the tank driver and causing him to bump the "self-destruct button". The tank blows up and I win the war, alone and glorious. Of course, sometimes I just realize that u cannot destroy a tank with a well placed shot even if u were today's robin hood, and I just imagine the tank away and think of something more manageable, like maybe a truck-load of soldiers. Nah, that's way too easy. A truck load of battle-hardened bear cavalry? Bingo. I'll just take them out with one grenade. And I still win the war, alone and victorious.

Hard Rock: I'm Surfing somewhere off the coast of Antarctica. Of course, in my fantasy I'm awesomely well-built (even more awesome than usual, that is), I'm wearing swim trunks and I don't even feel the cold. Suddenly, this monstrous wave threatens to crush me. Using my amazing all-terrain boots that even allow me to breathe in outer space and under water (James Bond had given them to me as a thank-you token when I'd saved his life two days back), I get on top of the wave and I don't die a painful, cold death. However, a blue whale chooses that instant to surface, and I get swallowed. Then there's huge splash, and when it settles i emerge again, riding the whale, without even a saddle, and taking him all the way back home for a light dinner.

OR

I'm rocking hard on stage with my band. Although I'm a rhythm guitarist, somehow in the fantasyI play solos so wicked that Slash, who's just a common fan in the crowds, faints from sheer awesomeness, and Carlos Santana asks me to sign his guitar. Halfway through the song, I smash my guitar to a zillion pieces, then decide to take over the drums. Then the bass. And the vocals. By the end of the song, I'm doing everything and everybody decides to dump truck-loads of cash on my head while I'm still rocking on stage. (No offence to any of my actual band members.. I'm just that awesome.)

Rock Or Sissy rock: Some sissy called Vandamme picks on my girlfriend. Enough said. He's worm food.


Ofc, sometimes I listen to other stuff. Here's a list of that too:

Rap: I'm the new hot white rapper on the streets, after I'd beat Eminem in a rap freestyle and he never recovered from it. I issue this official decree that all gangstas now have to speak normal English and shoot like normal people, without holding the gun sideways and wasting 12 clips to land one good shot. At the end of the song I get shot by some jealous old-school rapper, and the whole world remembers me as the white Tupac Shakur.

House/trance/techno: Just a quick note, I HATE those. Every now and then though, i feel the urge to hear the same tone repeated over and over and over and over and hear just that one word that they bothered to write to convince you that the song has words in it. Anyway, I just usually imagine being somewhere with a beach, with all the hot chicks gathering around me after I've saved James Bond from drowning.. I'm getting sick of saving that guy. (Of course, thats not a fantasy. It happens every time I go to a beach. True Story. James Bond is a wuss)

Depressed songs/blues: That happens to all guys, I'll bet. We just keep thinking of past relationships. Of course, in our heads we've made no mistakes whatsoever, we've been great, we've been everything any girl's ever dreamed of, but then she stabs us in the back. Literally. I stumble and fall over with the knife in my back, and then she realizes what she did. she cries her eyes out and then commits suicide, but then it turns out that I faked my death, stand up, look down at her and yell: "JK, LOLZ. YOU'RE DEAD, BIATCH!!!1111!1"

And she deserved it.

Happy/upbeat songs: I'm the head of a HUGE corporation, and I've got tons of cash. So much cash that I smoke cash, because I'm not in the mood to take the elevator down 180 floors to get my golden cigarettes from my locker. Ironically, I hate smoking.

These are just samples I thought of on the spot right now, having nothing better to do than to waste your time. My head has NOTHING better to do than to think up weird scenarios likes those. Bottom line is, thinking's fun. Try it. Statistics that I've just made up have shown  that it's very psychologically healthy to think. Sometimes the fantasies are so much fun that I HATE it when someone talks to me. There's always this annoying person on the bus who decides to ruin my fantasies by talking about stuff I don't care about. In my immediate fantasies, I kill him. Repeatedly. That's how much I enjoy my alone time.

I realize that I've written a lot for someone who had writer's block.. Sweet. looks like I've found a cure for writer's block.. just randomly blab and you'll find that you have stuff to say. Anyway, I'm getting really late and I really have to get ready to go to the Harry Potter movie. I love Harry Potter, did I ever say that?  Sometimes I'm harry potter in my fantasies. Except I don't keep fainting when I'm most needed and I'm actually GOOD at magic. Harry's too overrated, Ron and Hermione are the awesome ones.

Anyways, later.

GIRL

2014 Bondok's note: these are not my views on women or homosexuality, and are not meant to be offensive. This post is basically an ignorant joke written by a politically incorrect 18 year-old; please don't read too much into it or get offended. I would remove it, but I see this blog as a timeline of my character development over the years, and this was who I was back then... so I'd rather keep it for the sake of authenticity.

***********************

I've just come back from a few blissful days away from the clutches of the evil Mr. and Mrs. Bondok senior, and that's helped me put some things into perspective.

Since you're reading this post, you're probably human. I know it because it's either that or the only other viable explanation involving animals somehow developing the ability to read my blog, making me the first human alive to communicate with animals through random blogposts. While that would be totally awesome and probably make me very rich, I highly doubt it.

Now that we've proved that you're human, and wasted some sweet space in the blog post because I don't really have that much to say anyway, let's shed some light on some of the more peculiar human behaviors that we, as humans, don't get.

Being a guy, peculiar behavior can all be summed up in one four-lettered word that can keep us up at night or else give us weird nightmares. Sometimes at the same damn night. We, guys, have come to know that term as "G-I-R-L". There, I've said it. Yes, I'm very much aware of the fact that any GIRL reading this WILL seek revenge. For all practical purposes, I'll be hiding somewhere off the coast of China for the next few months.

Now, back to business. First of all, don't let them fool you, fellow guys. GIRL is an abbreviation that stands for everything mysterious about the world as we know it. Their shamans have labored in their secret laboratory dungeons in the deepest pits of the closest mall to your house as early as the 2nd century BC, concocting secret potions and evil spells that are only passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth and mouth only. Those who advertise those evil secrets are hence expelled from the GIRL organization and the GIRL shamans cast an evil spell that changes their anatomy but not their mental constitution or general behavior. We call them GAY. Yes, I know GIRLs have "let it slip" that GAY people are men who were born that way. Yeah, yeah, real clever. They're actually GIRL operatives who betrayed their kind.

Now that we've established the fact that GIRL is really an abbreviation, shouldn't we be trying to find out what it stands for?

WRONG.

Legend tells us that once upon a time, King Mandude Guybroson was crossing the vast desert with his noble escort. A vicious sandstorm, however, soon separated him from his companions. For three days and three nights, King Mandude Guybroson was lost, until he ran out of provisions. Before long, when he knew his end was near and his horse was too weary, he feasted upon its meat. That kept him going for another two days, after which there was still bleak hope of anyone finding him and he had already lost all of his power. As he'd settled down to die, he began to hallucinate. So intense were his hallucinations that he soon found out what the first two letters of GIRL meant. His body was found two days later. What does that tell us? That the GIRL shamans had cast a spell on him that he may never reveal the secrets to his court, or that he simply died because he spent five days in a sandstorm? Nobody knows the cause of death. A wise man once said: "If you ever understand how a GIRL thinks .... <blank>". Yes. He didn't finish the sentence because it's physically impossible. His brain shrunk and he spent his days thinking he was a light bulb. But enough horror stories. The morale is that some things are best left unknown, this among them. Mandude Guybroson's family labored tirelessly for generations to find out what the other two letters meant, that they might finally unravel the workings of a GIRL's mind, to no avail. Never let Mandude's sacrifice go to naught, fellow guys. Never let it be forgotten.

A man is very easily understood. He eats. He sleeps. He watches sports. And he does all these things when he actually wants to, without any underlying diabolical reasons. He says what comes to his mind and does not think the phrase "you look fat in those jeans" challenges him into any form of cat fight. All of this, the GIRL order has defied.

GIRLs tend to eat "low fat" candy to stay fit, but somehow manage to overlook the tons of ice cream they consume at home while watching Grey's Anatomy. They tend to carry evil concoctions of GIRL wizardry on their shoulders, namely "purses", in which they carry devices unknown to man, possibly weapons, torture devices and GIRL handbooks written by the supreme high GIRL to govern a GIRL's lifestyle and ethical behavior. They tend to spend hours at a time at their personal house of worship, the pretend "GIRL's bathroom". They would have us believe that they're bathrooms, but the real reasons for such establishments are taking pictures with fellow GIRLs in the bathroom mirror, a timeless bonding technique between GIRLs, or else offering sacrificial Burberry merchandise to appease the wrath of the GIRL Goddess  Shoppingar. They insist on changing their exterior skins on all possible occasions, spending most of their lives in "malls" shopping for new skins. Their most valued skill, most feared to man and beast alike, however, is their dialect.

You see, GIRLs have mastered the technique of saying one thing and meaning the complete opposite. No, that's not it. OK, GIRLs have mastered the art of saying one thing and meaning something else in their head that no one else has any idea what it might be. No, that's not it either. Hmmm.... OK. They've mastered the art of saying one thing and meaning whatever answer it is that you were not expecting. Yeah, that's it. With GIRLs, expect the unexpected. Unless the unexpected is expected, then you expect the expected. But if you expect the unexpected it becomes expected, and if you expect the expected it becomes expected. So then you must go back to expecting the unexpected.

 There. That's how a GIRL thinks. See how much it hurts? GIRL test: Does the previous sentence completely make sense to you? Does your head not hurt? Congratulations, you ARE a GIRL.

In a GIRL's initiation ceremony, in their ancestral headquarters where no man dare enter (the lingerie shop), a GIRL is presented with a guy doll. Whichever cadette stares at her mummy for prolonged periods and manages to dislocate some of its facial features with sheer will-power is granted the rank of GIRL initiate. They then go through a strict regiment of shopping, diet and gossip for ten days and ten nights until they are deemed ready for the second test. For the second test, a poor guy captured from the numerous mall raids organized by the GIRL foundation is tied to a chair. Each GIRL is to then try and fix an image in her head. Then she is to try and communicate it to the the guy. That much is easy, everyone passes that stage. The initiates are then ushered into a room where they determine the strongest through cat-fights and pillow-fights  Whoever survives the carnage is then required to spend a week speaking all the words backwards

(example >>> elpmaxe), all the better to confuse the guy. If the guy is able to understand a single word, the girl undergoes another week of verbal training until she gets it right. When the feat is done, then and only then, is a GIRL presented with her very own GIRL handbook and allowed to pass on the order's teachings to her GIRL offspring.

By no means is that the end of their tiresome journey. Oh, no. GIRLs then spend months and months practicing such evil methods of vile trickery as:

1- Crying on cue.

2- "Puppy-face"ing.

3- Playing hard to get.    (Among their worst)

4- Pretending to be inferior to guys when it comes to physical prowess.

5- Blushing. EVIIIIL.

6- Giggling.

7- Their mysterious equivalent to flirting.

Much like the martial arts system, GIRLs receive symbolic representations of rank. With GIRLs, however, they receive shoes. The more shoes a GIRL has, the higher the rank. GIRLs have been known to judge a person's character by their shoes for that particular reason.

All of that is what advanced guy studies on captured GIRL operatives have told us. We have pitiful knowledge of their sacred rituals, however, and their ceremonies. We have barely grazed the surface, I fear. We are lucky to know even this much, given that all of this knowledge was extracted from half-crazed guys rescued from "malls". The inhumanity.

To all guys out there, under NO circumstances should you let GIRL operatives capture you. They mean to use you to perform their studies on guy-kind (for some reason they find us equally intriguing) and they will use you to refine their techniques and train the new initiates. You have been warned. Should you get ANY closer to finding out what the remaining letters of GIRL mean, immediately proceed to the closest football pitch where guy scientists may try and extract it from your addled brains in a desperate attempt to save your sanity. Under NO circumstances are you to try to unravel them on your own.

I would like to dedicate this blog post to King Mandude and to all guys, single or captured. There IS still hope. Be on your watch. Stay single, and deliver what knowledge you know to fellow guys. We need all the advice we can get.

May God have mercy on our souls.

GIRLs.. I have risked my well-being to give this knowledge to fellow guys. I have done my duty. You would have done the same.

Be merciful.

<if you were in any way offended, kindly get over it>

Different Perspectives

Jake was standing on a ledge on his eighth floor balcony.  He glanced down at the vast emptiness below him.

It's always said that a man's whole life flashes before his eyes in those few moments before he enters the never-ending darkness that we've come to know as death.

It's not true. Only the important bits do.

As Jake glanced down again, his mind wandered. One second, he was standing there on his balcony, blinded by tears, oblivious to worldly concerns, resolved to do what he thought he had to do, almost at peace. The next, he was thinking of the headlines of his life...

The first thing he thought of was his family. It'd been years since he last spoke to his father. They'd been fighting so much over the past few years that Jake stopped showing up at his parents' place for Thanksgivings and Christmas. He was always telling him what to do and Jake was getting sick and tired of being told by his own dad that he'd thought his son would be married with a decent job and a couple of kids by the time he was thirty. He was sick of constantly being compared to his older brother, his parents' little pet. He was a brain surgeon, constantly gaining good-will, who had his own clinic and was already working on several postgraduate studies by the time he was 35.  How could Jake hope to compare with that, given that he'd dropped out of high school thinking that his band still had a chance, then when he realized that it really didn't, he took a part-time job tending a bar and now it was his 28th birthday and he hadn't achieved anything with his life? His brother hadn't even bothered to call him for years except to boast that he now had a second son with his wife Jenna and to fill him in on the various achievements he'd been making. His mother was the only one who still called him, although she too brought up the issue of his life and his marriage eventually. No one understood him.

 Jake wondered what his family would think if they saw them there, about to end his own life. "They'd probably start thinking how wrong they were and remember what a nice son I'd been" He thought bitterly. Somehow he'd gone from being his parents' favorite to being the loser. They didn't know about all the times he nearly went to blows with his brother when he ate the last bit of chocolate cake in the fridge when Mom still hadn't had a chance to taste it, or the times that he would cancel plans with his girlfriend to spend some quality time with his dad, without telling him about it, having a few beers and watching the Knicks game on TV. All they saw was a bartender who was almost thirty, with commitment issues and a girlfriend they hated, as opposed to a brilliant 35 year old surgeon who had his own patented surgery tool. They saw two beautiful grandchildren who filled their house with the sound of laughter when they went to visit for Christmas. So much laughter that their other loser son was forgotten. Life was so unfair.

A gust of wind rippled his coat, bringing him back to his real whereabouts.

Then, he started thinking of his girlfriend. They'd been together ever since high school, with the difference being that she'd actually continued her education and graduated from college with a bachelor in management. She worked in a bank, and was very close to getting her first managerial position. How did it come down to this? He remembered one night when they were still just a few weeks into their relationship, as they lay beside each other on the grass in his backyard, staring at the stars. He smiled in spite of himself as he remembered how a grasshopper the size of his finger had hopped in her hair, and how she'd screamed as though on fire and ran around, running her hands through her hair, shrieking with disgust. Loretta was always afraid of bugs. It took him close to an hour to calm her down again and convince her to lay back in the grass and relax. After a while when she was back to normal, she'd kissed him and made him promise he would never leave her, and dozed off 5 minutes later in his arms. He took off his jacket as gently as possible in order not to wake her, and covered her so she wouldn't get cold. Only then had he allowed himself to sleep. It was the most romantic night of his life...How had it come from this, to her screaming in his face that she never'd wanted to see him again? She'd claimed that he was a failure, that she'd been waiting for so long for him to get a grip on himself and actually get a decent job with normal working hours and a desk so she could know that this was going somewhere and that they could actually get married one day. That was when he freaked out due to his commitment issues, and they had a shouting match ending with her breaking up with him and him storming out of her place. He hoped she would cry her eyes out when she realized he was dead. That was just one night ago. She would probably go mad with grief, and she deserved it. He'd promised to never leave her, but he kept the promise. She left him.

The day was crazy silent. It was raining, and dark.. the cloud cover was unbroken even by the tiniest rays of sunlight, and it was eerily silent... The silence of a graveyard at three am when there were no visitors except hobos who had nowhere else to be. His phone was ringing. He started laughing hysterically.. how ironically insignificant a phone-call could be when you were about to cast your life away. Just out of curiosity, he got out his phone to see who it was. It was his best friend Sam. He flung his phone away in anger. Life wasn't fair. Dimly, he heard the sound of his phone crashing into a million tiny pieces on the ground below.

Sam was also his friend since high school. like Loretta, he also had a flourishing career as a real estate agent, due to the fact that he'd actually gone through with his education. He recalled bitterly the huge fight they'd had a week ago. His whole life was falling apart, with all those close to him turning against him. Everyone claimed they cared about him, but they kept fighting with him over his career. Sam was no different. The conversation had started innocently as Sam told him about the promotion he'd recently gotten, and Jake congratulated him. before long, Sam was already offering him a job and promising that he could rise very high in this field because all it took was some logic and a bit of experience with business. When Jake replied jokingly that his bar-tending job got him to meet drunken hot chicks on a daily basis, willing to sleep with him more often than not, Sam snapped. He said that Jake was not a responsible human being, that his life was wasting away and that he had achieved virtually nothing since his high school days.Sam had actually been the vocalist in their band, but when they broke up the band after they'd realized that it was a futile effort, he'd went ahead and looked for a job "like a man", he said. He said that it was about time he took control of his life and stopped being so passive. Jake punched him in the face and walked away. That was the first time he'd called since.. Jake suspected that he was the one who'd turned his girlfriend against him. Sam was the older brother he'd always wished for, rather than that inflate-a-head brother he had who gloated with every breath he took. Oh, the number of times they pulled all-nighters working on their music and practicing relentlessly. All the nights they got crazy drunk and woke up in another county. All the times they broke the speed limit and gotten arrested, only to be bailed out by one of their two other best friends, Lisa and Carine. All the times all four of them woke up in the same bed, having no idea how they got there, and all the times he'd tested Sam on stuff he didn't understand at all before one of his big exams. Life wasn't fair.

And suddenly, a cloud moved and the sun shone bright. Just like that, the spell was broken.

He remembered the day that his dad had taken him fishing when he was six. His dad had caught a beautiful orange Angler fish, and Jake was reduced to tears because he couldn't understand why his dad's taken this creature's life without even intending to eat it. That day, his dad calmed him down and promised he would never go fishing again. And he'd kept his promise to that day.
He remembered the time he got a very bad case of the flu, and his mom stayed up with him all night, sleepless with anxiety. When he'd told her how uncomfortable he was, she started reading him his favorite Harry Potter book. She had to read through 50 pages before he went to sleep, although she hated the series to begin with.

He remembered that one time when he went back home at dawn after a particularly long shift at the bar. it was the dawn of his birthday, but seeing as his biological clock was messed up and he slept at day and woke  up at night, he hadn't realized it was his birthday. He'd gone home to find all of his family, his brother, Sam, Lisa and Carine and all of their other friends at his place, throwing him a surprise party even though by all rights they should have been asleep to be able to wake up for their jobs tomorrow. He'd been amazed at the trouble they'd gone through to give him their support on his birthday at such an ungodly hour. That night, Loretta had actually bought him a car. A used, second-hand car, but a car nevertheless, because he was always complaining of the long walks back home from the bar every night.

 Maybe dad fought with him because he couldn't stand to see him waste his life when he had so much potential. Maybe he'd wanted to see him have his own kids and hold them in his arms and play with them in his last days. Maybe his mom's only dream was to make sure her youngest son would live a better life than her own and at a better social standard. Even his brother, maybe he'd called him not to boast, but to try and urge him to let him help Jake find a job. Maybe Loretta wanted to see him in a safe job because she cared about him and wanted to get married to him and raise his kids some day. Maybe Sam wanted to see his best friend do exactly that, and see his own kids grow up to be Jake's kids best friends and maybe one day the two old couples would spend their days in the terrace playing bridge.

And then the cloud was back, plunging the world again into the darkness of the crypts.

He took one foot off the ledge. And he jumped.

But in which direction? Into the cold blackness under his feet, or back into his balcony so he would get himself warm and start calling the people that mattered, to make amends?

Let's leave that to your imagination.

Down with Lord Blackberry.

This Blog post is a tribute to yet another Blackberry victim, and one of my best friends. I dedicate this to all other Blackberry-opposers out there. There is still hope.

Note: I've glorified myself in this note because, well, I'm the writer. Everyone else is of lower stature than I am. And I'm also married to Lady Megan Fox, who idolizes me but i get bored of her after a while.

My train of thought was interrupted as a runner from Sir Awsomeness cried out:


- "My Lord!"


I turned around to face a panting young squire, his face flushed from running up the stairs to the battlements.


* "What is it, boy?"
- "Sir Awesomeness says the catapults you've ordered repaired are finished, my Lord. He said 5 of them are battle-ready, and the sortie you've commanded to get ready is already armored and mounted. They await your command."
* "Fetch me Sir Awesomeness. Tell him to bring all my knights and lords. We have no time"
- "At once, my Lord!"

It looked bleak.

It was the 7th month of siege on Nokia castle, and things did not look any better. Lord Samsung had not answered my pleas for help, preferring to guard his own castle, and Lord LG decided that "Life's Good". Too good to throw away for honor. My granaries were almost empty, and soon we'd be reduced to eating cats, mice and boot leather.

But I would not yield.

Lord Blackberry had been spreading terror across the realm, his Knights and Lords wreaking havoc, especially Lord Consumerism and Lord I-buy-anything-that-makes-people-think-i'm-cool, setting afire what they could not BBM. The realm bled, and soon the opposers found themselves vastly outnumbered as Lord Blackberry captured more castles and put their people to the sword. After the disaster at Ericsson's Holdfast, Lords preferred to swear alleigance to Lord Blackberry and yield, rather than fight and have their castles torched. Soon, Lord Blackberry had most of the realm's might behind him, and it seemed that the cause was lost, now that all the Lords have yielded.

All but me.

I, the one they call Lord Bondok, had always been a Nokia champion, but I was also an Apple sympathizer. I'd seen this happen. I'd sent ravens to all corners of the realm, warning the Lords of this danger and urging them to gather a mighty army to crush Blackberry and his minions before he caused any damage.

If only they'd heeded my warning. One by one, the highborn lords either yielded or were overrun by him who calls himself Blackberry, and the Bondok lands became the last refuge for all the free people. But it was all too good to last... Lord Blackberry gathered his massive hundred thousand-strong army, and set about beseiging my castle, and humanity's last sliver of hope. Which brings us back to today.

I gazed over the ramparts at the vast army encamped outside my gates. I watched as the enemy soldiers practiced with sword, shield and spear, as the high lords feasted outside my gates while my garrison grew hungry.  They didn't even bother to post sentry officers or spies. They must have thought the war was all but won. What few archers I still had loosed pitiful volleys of arrows that fell too short of the enemy's camp. Their archers were fletching arrows, not bothering to fire back, and their engineers were building siege equipment out of the lumber the soldiers provided by cutting down the Hazelnut forest- trees. I'd played in those forests many a night as a child, playing at war with my younger brother. Then the grief washed over me once more, threatening to overcome my defenses and show how weary I'd grown since the loss of my brother; he had died leading a charge one week ago. "But I must be strong" I thought. "The garrison must not know how weak I truly am."

I realized my lords would have arrived by then, so I decended the stairs to the yard. I walked through the outer gates to the inner courtyard, where I'd learned to ride my first horse. Only now there were five catapults, with three others under construction. Good. My men were making good time. Everywhere around the castle there were signs of war, our dead piled in wagons because I did not have the man-power to spare for burying them. But it would have to be done soon... It would not do to have another plague outbreak. "Perhaps I can command some of the garrison I left in the keep guarding Lady Fox to come down here and get to work" I wondered absent-mindedly.

There was a company of about a hundred men assembled among the catapults, mounted on their warhorses. Those were all the men I could spare from manning the walls.  Too few.

I glimpsed many of my childhood friends, among them Lord Alaa. He was mounted on his armored red destrier, clad in plate armor and a plumed steel helmet with an open visor. He winked at me, but I was not in the mood for exchanging pleasantries. 

- "Sir Awesomeness, have you chosen your company yet?"

* "Aye, sir." He replied. "Company, FORWARD!"

Twenty knights rode forward. No Lords wanted any part of the carnage.

- "Alright, Sir. You have your orders: you exit through the postern gate, and go around the enemy camp. You will carry no torches so the enemy will not know of your arrival. You are to steal through the enemy lines however way you can, and destroy the siege engines, and kill their lumberers. Then You should fall back to the castle with all possible haste. This should buy us some time till King Apple gathers his host from the north and comes to relieve us. Do you understand?"

*"Yes, sire."

-"Good. May God look down on you with favor, and ---"

That was when Alaa spoke.

*"My Lord, I would claim the honor of leading this sortie out myself"

It was as bad as any slap to the face. Damn you, Alaa. not in front of the other lords where I can't refuse you. Damn you to hell.

- "Lord Alaa, you are much needed in the castle to oversee its defenses"

* "I think the defenses will be just as good minus one lord, my liege"

He though it was a game. A joke. Damn him, Damn him, Damn him.

- "Your men need you to lend them your courage as they man the walls"

* "They've had me for seven months and they don't seem to be fighting any better, my lord."

I stared him down, fuming. For the sake of all the times we've played together in the Hazelnut forest in our youth, step down you proud fool... He stared back defiantly, with an insolent grin. I could not openly refuse him and shame him in front of the men, and I could hardly ask him to reconsider or it would sow doubt in my knights' hearts. I was trapped.

* "I would lead the sortie or lay down my arms. Let me out or hang me for a traitor, this is my final choice." He said, lowering his visor.

Damn him. He knew me too well. Another firmer liege lord might have declared him insolent and hanged him, but I grew up with the man. It was a damned suicide mission, everyone knew. Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU.


-"Very well, my lord. Sir Awesomeness, You and your party are under the command of Lord Alaa. Do your best to defend him in battle. Leave now."


I turned around to my other notables.


- "I would go walk the walls and watch. Feel free to accompany me if you wish."


Without waiting for a reply, I left. Within five minutes I was already at the same spot on the battlements, dimly aware of the sound the portcullis made as they were raised, and the canter of hooves as the company rode out.


Damn him. He  had always been careless and headstrong, even when we were children. I should have denied him. Better look like a child than look like an adult with his guts spilling out. He knew the odds,  however. That was our last chance. I would lead them out myself, only if I fell, I was not sure my lords bannermen would still hold the castle. Might be they would yield. Might be they would not. But I would NOT have my childhood home defiled by a Blackberry, and that is why I needed to stay behind.


I watched the sortie ride out of the back of the castle, turn completely around the castle and ride to the north. From up here, it seemed like they were crawling rather than galloping at full speed. It was a gaunt thing indeed, having to wait so long for something that would decide whether your childhood friend would live or die.


And not a moment too soon, they crossed the bridge into enemy territory. It was such a bold move that none of the enemies saw it coming, judging by the fact that no war horns were sounded. Lord Blackberry would pay for being too proud to post his own guards. I stood there for what seemed like hours, and nothing seemed to have happened. They should have been back by now.

A war horn was suddenly sounded, loud as all of hell's demons yelling in unison for human blood. The enemy camp was stirring, men-at-arms reaching for their weapons and squires running to dress their knights for battle. If only they knew  there were only twenty enemies.. Then I glimpsed no more than nine horses riding at full gallop away from the enemy camp. I allowed myself a smile.. maybe there still was some hope after all. Now that they were exposed, there was no need to go around the castle, so they rode directly south towards the northern wall. I watched helplessly as one of them was shot down by an arrow, while another's horse suddenly stumbled and fell, screaming -perhaps it was shot too. But as long as Alaa's banner was up I remained hopeful.  If Sir Awesomeness was still alive and carrying Alaa's banner, no harm had befell them.


Lord Alaa was directly in front of the castle gate now. His horse reared, and he shook his sword towards the heavens. He looked at my rough location, and I could see him smile even through his visor, the darkness and the long distance between us... but something was wrong.. He turned around, and I saw an arrow sticking out of his back. And he fell.


I forgot all about the cause. I was no longer Lord Bondok, but tiny little Mahmoud, alone and afraid under the bed sheets as thunder boomed and lightning flashed outside my window. Alaa was one of life's constants. He couldn't die, no more than a frightened little boy could stop lightning. He couldn't.


The next thing I was aware of was me mounting my armored warhorse, and yelling at my squire to get me ready within the minute. All my knights and lords were spilling out into the yard.. My rage must have been a fearsome thing. I was fit for battle within five minutes.


* "My Lord, why are you donning your armor?"

I turned around to face Lord Siemens's son and heir, who was barely fourteen.


- "I've just watched Lord Alaa fall. I will not give a speech. I go out to fight, probably to die. Whoever wishes to join me may come. The rest will hold this castle. I will come back to haunt every one of your sorry arses if you yield the castle. Bondok lands will NEVER belong to a Blackberry. NEVER!"


With that, I wheeled my horse around and rode to the castle gates. the guards raised the portcullis of their own accord. I glanced back, and they were all following me. All my Knights and Lords. All my men, even the archers were mounted and carried swords, maces and even pitchforks. It hardly mattered. They followed me to their deaths, but I hardly cared. The men in my keep could hold it for another six months, its surrounding walls too thick for any siege engine. My battle-ready catapults would fire at the enemy camp and kill hundreds, maybe thousands. Lord Blackberry did not know I had catapults especially built after he'd destroyed all of the ones on my towers, and again, his arrogance would cost him. King Apple would have ample time to rescue my seven-month pregnant wife (of course she was) and my unborn son will take my place as lord of Nokia. All I cared about was revenge.


I led them to the north gate. War horns were blowing everywhere, threatening to shatter the skies with their loud bellows. I kicked my horse savagely in the belly, and as it reared on the drawbridge, a sudden gust of wind lifted my cloak and rippled my hair and for a second, I felt like a hero. I gazed up at the skies, bellowing a loud defiant scream, louder than any war horn.


And I led my men to our doom, racing towards the spot where my six remaining knights were already forming a line against the approaching Blackberry cavalry. We all rode to our deaths, but we would sooner die than join the likes of Lord Blackberry.


I WILL NOT YIELD.

********************************************************************************

Oh, the irony. I write this comment 4 years later, when House Nokia had been completely extinguished, but more surprisingly, I've had to join Blackberry's ranks myself (company phone, don't judge me)... just when the fortunes of Blackberry turned, and Lord Apple emerged as the true menace to all the land's free peoples. Also Lord Samsung, but their rivalry is better discussed at length at another time.

Unrealistic Childhood Crap

Bit of advice: it's a long read, but you should read it all in one go for best effect.

Now, we all had our dreams and fantasies as children. Typically you'd ask a little boy what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he'd say he wanted to be a policeman. You'd ask a little girl, she'd say she wanted to be a doctor.

But not me. Oh, no. I wanted to be a paleontologist.
And here's the kicker..
that's not a joke.

I wasn't pampered as a kid. My parents spoiled me AFTER I reached adulthood. In stark contrast, my  childhood was ghetto. I used to spend my days playing around with janitors' kids in a nursery right in front of our first story hut back at Siko Siko village.. damn it, I was THIS close to selling this..

Alright, alright... How about this:

I had to shepherd my dad's sheep herds in Sinai and he didn't have money to buy a shepherd dog to help me, and I was the actual kid who cried out "wolf" but people keep forgetting that I didn't have a dog to ward them off and the wolves really did keep eating my sheep bit by bit till they dwindled and dad made up this totally lame-ass story to cover up my failure?

Nope. Doesn't work either.

No, seriously, as a kid I didn't have that many toys to play with and my only playmate was my unwilling sister. When she was a baby, I made sure to show her that even though she could come along with her little fingers and small socks and swollen baby cheeks, I was still Sheriff of Bedroom town, Bondok county, Texas. After years of eye-poking, pesticide-spraying, punching, toy-disposal and other forms of Bondok justice, she knew who was boss. When I suggested we play with my Batman action figures, she knew who had to be Robin. When I wanted a girl for my Batman, she had to give me her best doll, or else. I was bad-ass like that...

So yeah, my toys weren't always new and I had to improvise a lot. Now don't get me wrong, this isn't the True Hollywood Success Story, we did have Batmobiles and stuff, but if you're at home for a 3-month holiday where you play the same geeky game everyday with your sister who wants to go groom her stupid dolls, you have to be creative to spice it up, you know? For example, I had this small red Jaguar model car I'd bought on my first trip to London, and I just HAD to find a way to make batman the action figure fit in there. Dilemma, right? Wrong. By ingeniously merging the worlds of Pokemon and bored kid at home with nothing to do, I was able to create the great shape-shifting Batman! Now he could evolve (at will) into one of the little Lego men I had and then he could drive the Jag... Inspired much? I know.

Also, Batman's girl had to be abducted by aliens at least twice a week; kidnapped by evil Plasticine enemies especially engineered by yours truly to look as hideous as can be and have patches of their faces missing (sometimes they didn't have any features); she had to drown on a daily basis or to faint somewhere where Batman can't find her and has to look for her the whole day (that was when we couldn't find the doll in real life and  had to find some way to patch it up). She basically existed to be the stereotypical damsel in distress.

It's safe to say that my imagination was.. fertile. I actually believed the babies-are-delivered-by-storks story, that clouds were made of cotton, that the moon was made of cheese. Also, I thought people in old movies were ACTUALLY black and white, and my personal favorite; that people liked their breath condensing in front of their faces in winter so much that when the summer came along, they just had to smoke cigarettes so they can play with the pretty fumes. My theory failed to explain why they smoke more in winter though.

Now, I know all of this is irrelevant to why I wanted to be a paleontologist,  but did you think a kid whose head was so messed up was going to give you a nice little "I want to be a policeman when I grow up?"
 He-yell no.
Of course, back then I used the term "dinosaur scientist" instead of paleontologist.

Needless to say, my parents' reaction to my imagination was amusing. Mom resorted to giving me nightmares by telling me stories of Armageddon and Gog and Magog for bedtime stories (Seriously. Not kidding). She also told me that  Santa didn't exist and that tooth fairies were a lot hairier than I'd made them out to be and they went by the name "Magdy Rezk Bondok", who replaced my teeth with 10-pound bills while I slept. Dad, however, went right to the point. He told me "dinosaur scientists" eat dust and die hungry. So then I wanted to be an astronomer, and he told me to drill some air holes in my skull because apparently my brain wasn't sufficiently ventilated and was therefore overheating.

I love my parents. It's a wonder I didn't grow up to be a cynical atheist, though.

It might not look like I have much of a point and that I'm just firing away random funny facts about my childhood, but all of this was leading up to a point;

Could it be that I'm in Petroleum Engineering because it's the closest Engineering major to Geology and that maybe, even once every 12 Petroleum courses, the word fossil turns up and I can get lost in moments of forgotten childhood? I think so. We all have our little dreams and hopes as kids that we let go of gradually as we grow up and lose our innocence. We all try as hard as we can to hold on to that little bit of who we were as children, innocent and care-free and ignorant of the real challenges and requirements of materialistic life. Even though this blog entry is called "Unrealistic Childhood Crap", I think each and every one of us holds on to a little bit of their childhood when they grow up, if not consciously then at least at some subconscious level. Even if it means majoring in a field that's close enough to the magical world of dinosaurs to allow you to face that little child in you and tell him:

 "Well done, kid. You're a dinosaur scientist".

The Bondok blog Pilot

22-year-old-author's note: WOW that was a long time ago.
_________________________________________________________
WARNING: Not for children under the age of 78. side effects may include laughing, gagging, both, crying, sleeping, both, extreme boredom in some rare cases, and aching eyes because its a L-O-O-O-O-N-G read. You might need to bookmark it and come back later. Just sayin'.

So, where to begin?

I guess it all started that one fateful day (today, 10 minutes ago) when Aly El Salmy suggested on my Facebook wall to stop raping everyone's news feeds and actually start my own blog. Neglecting the fact that I am in fact proving that I DO have way too much free time and nothing better to do on a fine day-off than to  translate my own brainwaves to words than no one will read anyway, let's skip right to the point. What's with the surname?

Oh, dear God, if i had a glucose molecule for every time someone made an oh-so-funny joke about my surname iI'd be a diabetic and probably in a coma brought about by hyperglycemia. I'm sure everyone knows the classics, but why don't I shed some light on the life of a guy who gets random people he's never seen in his life asking if his name really is, in fact, a delicacy that sells for 70 pounds/Kg in Egypt?

Here are the classics, I'm sure everyone's heard them before:

*Bondok, fein Mickey??

*Bondok howa dah esmak el 7a2ee2y?

*Marra wa7ed kal bondok mickey z3el menno.

*Yo, Hazelnut!

*Yo, Nutman!

*Yo Nutcase!

*Yo N-man!

*Yo Nutjob!

*Hey, Goofy!

*Dude if u call your son James, he'd be James Bondok. Not many people are that lucky.

*Dude, you're nuts. as in crazy, get it? (if u R-E-E-E-A-L-L-Y focus, you can just about hear my eyes roll)

*Dude is your family-name nuts because you're compensating? Or are you all overly proud of your manhoods?

And, of course, my all-time favorite:

*Wanna sign up for Idungiveacrap club?

-Sure.

*what's your name?

-Mahmoud Bondok.

* Hahahahah. no seriously, whats your name?

Now don't get me wrong, I'm very proud of my name and how unique it is. It's just that I don't even like the taste of hazelnuts. Now, if I was called Mahmoud Chocolate at least i'd get teased for something I don't actually gag on. Seriously, sometimes I consider not having kids to stop the Bondok spawn in its tracks. Humanity has no chance, otherwise..

It's frustrating how everything about me is funny: my Hotmail email "ma7moud_ew3a_weshak_no_comment@hotmail.com" you'd think i was 3 when i made that email. I was actually 14. No wonder i was picked on at school. But even my college email is mahmoudbondo@aucegypt.edu because the email has to be 12 characters and my mahmoudbondok is 13 (you've just counted, haven't you?). Obviously my name is funny, my phone number is 0107777272 so you sometimes lose count of the 7's while dialing my number and you have to start all over again, not to mention the number of prank calls I receive. I don't answer strange phone numbers anymore. And taxi driver seem to have made it their own personal mission to give me funny statuses on Facebook. True story. I also look like a oh-so-Egyptian tabba3 on my National ID picture (there is unfortunately no way to translate that into English. Trust me, I've tried.) and a Nubian vampire on my University ID. Anyway, moving on..

So after the overwhelming number of jokes that I've already used to bombard the unlucky few who bothered to bring up this window and read what I had to say, you must either be thinking "that guy's funny" or "oh god please make him stop he's so lame I want to deactivate my Facebook account which brought this evil upon my head and raise a giant mob and raze his house to the ground".

Still, I think introductions are in order. I'm Mahmoud Bondok, and ever since I was a little kid I thought my family name was just a joke that wasn't funny anymore after dad had told it to me for over 8 years. Seriously, I personally didn't believe it. It wasn't until i read the name on my national ID that I accepted the fact that my social life would never be the same. I was usually made fun of at primary and middle school, and not because of my family name. It was at high school that I learned that being funny really is a good defense mechanism, which is why I look up to Chandler Bing. I've also recently noticed that I copy the behavior of the people I hang out with so i don't feel like the outcast I was before high school. It's involuntary, though, and it works, so sue me. Oh, and boo-hoo and what not.

So, what now? I'm out of things to say. I know the blog post is going in random directions all over the place and there's no chronological order, but I just write whatever comes to mind, and I'm random, so...

 I'm currently in the first stages of a really really bad cold, and I'm in that good-old white-trash phase where I don't eat or sleep and just spend all day watching random shows and neglecting my academics (Hi, Mahmoud Bondok, nice to meet you). God, I'd missed white trash phase. Long time, no see, bro.

So yeah, I've got to go watch some episodes of scrubs to fill my bored sick life and prevent my embarrassingly awkward honesty from ruining everyone's Tuesday with tales of betrayals and backstabbing hoes. True story. Meanwhile, here's a note I posted a while back that I'd written in a maths class, since I'm not in the mood to think up new jokes. God, how is it that Elliot's so hot?

PS: for some reason the short story is written in grey so just highlight it with your mouse and it'll be easier to read.

and i just realized that W-A-A-A-A-Y back there, I gave all my account info to everyone. you'd think I'd edit that, but meh.

THE VETERAN SOLDIER

Mayhem. Chaos. Shells raining down on positions like...like...rain falling on a thing.. People screaming their lungs out. That's the image that comes to your mind when you read the title, right? Wrong. It was more like this: 

"Hey, lefty, pass me the caviar, man, I'm sick of lobster! you'd think they'd feed us better shit in this place, but nooooo, it's always sea food, sea food, sea food! bah!" 

"Quit whinin', Danny, it's all we've got! I mean sure, we'd all love a bit o' hamburger or hot dog,  but we can't even dream of affording them. We'll just have to make do with the sea food, however disgusting it might be. Here's the caviar" Said lefty, passing him a golden platter filled with Caviar. 

Danny took a long look at the caviar, then he threw it out of the window. They heard a muffled thud and someone swearing. Lefty scowled at him. 

"You asshole, it's bad enough to eat this shit without you throwin' it out the window at the sentry officer! He's especially sore after yesterday's calamari soup. I mean, put yourself in the guy's shoes, what would u do if you'd head a dreadful dinner yesterday and some idiot decided to throw some fish eggs at you today? Calm yo ass down, man, have a pina colada!" 

"Goddamn it, Lefty, I'm sick of pina coladas and caviar and steaks and grilled vegetables and LOBSTER! I want some real food!" 

"OK, point taken, we're stationed in just about the worst place in Paradaisia, but it aint that bad once you get used to the food. I know, there's too much green and not nearly enough yellow in the scenery, and i know the women in bikinis all day long by the beach are getting on your nerves, we only get 5 days off a week, and we only get three hours free on our working days, and we stay at this goddamn lounge with the Playstation 3 and we party all day and most of the night, but that's how it is with all of us! Don't you think we ALL want to leave this shitty place and go chill somewhere with more explosions and less playboys? But we gotta accept it, this is where the fuckin' commanding officer decided to send us, and we're gonna be stuck here for a long time, bruddah! Accept it n move on, already! Dammit! And the blond girl hasn't been satisfying you lately, but she's had a dysfunction, give her a break! (yeah, the dream was getting weird) I mean, we men are lucky that we get no dysfunctions and our sexual activity isn't hampered by anything, but these girls aren't as lucky as we are, and its embarrassing enough for her without you complaining all the time! You should...... AMN IT! YES, I SAID YES! I NEED A FUCKIN' MEDIC HERE RIGHT NOW! DAN.... talk to her, maybe she can overcome her embarrassment and take some blue pills, if you catch my drift, then she will... NY IS DOWN! REPEAT, DANNY IS DOWN! DON'T U FUCKIN' GIMME THAT SHIT, HE'S DYING HERE AND I CANT SAVE HIM! HE'S MUTTERING ABOUT CAVIAR AND VIAGRA! I NEED A MEDIC NOW!... and she can get back to.... STAY WITH ME, DANNY! STAY WITH ME, DAMMIT!.... enjoying your... HE'S COMIN' ROUND! I don't think we'll lose him, but keep pressure on that wound and move him somewhere with less explosions. MOVE IT!... nights with her ........AND GIVE HIM SOME MORPHINE OR WHATEVER THE HELL YOU CAN GIVE HIM, OR JUST KNOCK HIM OUT WITH THE BUTT OF YOUR GUN, I CANT STAND HIS MUTTERINGS ABOUT PARADAISIA AND BLOND GIRLS! .... and maybe you'll <sharp pain, lefty disappears, all goes blank> 

Yes, well... it is pretty much like you pictured it in the beginning... 

To be continued...