What do you get when you cross a donkey with an onion?



an ass which makes you cry.

Well, he asked. Nah:


A cold, wet sort of Magic.


Weather's lovely.

Had the fuck-off heaviest spate of rain just now. Not the usual half hearted oh-all-right-here's-some kind of affair, no. Someone up there was really laying this one on thick.

It started with a distinct, unusual chill, which I appreciated immensely. The heat here in Teh Cubicle (Room. Which is the size of rich people's wardrobes.) is so bad I sometimes just give up trying to do things, close my eyes, and surrender.

Then, the periodic rolls of thunder, irregular but persistent. Deep, lengthy, rumbling growls of bass; the type you both hear and feel.

The rain then began, but instead of the usual bucket-in-your-face approach as storms here are wont, it...crept. An indistinct rustle at first, making you second-guess yourself, both hopeful and suspicious. Teasingly, it grew from whisper to audible patter, then loud, wet splats. Finally, almost as if it realized no one could do fuck-all about it, it burst into full glory, the water gaining a joyous, defiant sort of voice from the relentless assault of water on various surfaces, so fast and thick as to obscure the next block in a white sheen.

Lovely. I really like this particular type of storm, these periods of intense rain with no irritatingly loud, boastful thundering. Loud yet at the same time quiet; the roar of rain slowly becoming a sort of endearing prescence that encompasses, enfolds everything else. Undeniable force and energy somehow become a queerly serene thing, and you can focus on either on its own merit, or deliciously linger in the middleground possible only here, wonderful each and every time.

Or, for total immersion (Pun, uh, ambiguous), run out and stand in classic silver-screen cliche, face to the heavens. Let it envelope you, initial individual ticklish trickles none-too-gradually losing themselves in the enormity of the affair, as the sweet, sweet rain wraps you head to toe, plastering hair to scalp, clothes to skin, blurring, then almost obscuring vision. In gleeful darkness, feel the rain, its wet embrace tracing your every contour, dripping off your chin, earlobes, fingertips. And know an indescribable, quiet joy.

Nah, didn't do it. Would be mighty weird, standing between two blocks of flats like that. Plus, the cheebye street lamps and such detract from the romanticism of it all. The proper place for this is by the sea, where in addition to the rain, you can hear the laughter of the sea in the storm, and where the wind properly whips the rain into scintillating sheets. The air has a distinct, crisper quality, and the sheer expanse of open sky just completes a truly magnific experience.

Been some time since the last I did that. Maybe I should make a point to go again. The whole feeling like a jackass afterwards; a very wet, soggy jackass, is kinda detrimental though. Plus, it'll be in East Coast. Other side of damned island.

But y'know, I think that quiet, indescribable joy was well worth it.

-Drake

Condoms make the world go round.

Why did kamikazi pilots wear seat belts?

Morning after pills makes a woman fuck more.

Condoms makes the man a whore.