My First Kiss

Before you start thinking that this is another verbalization of the usual mushy adolescent fantasies, let me forewarn you that this article has been written with the sole intent of educating my readers and fellow bloggers about the perils noveau kissers might have to deal with.
 
My story is set in a small town, a rainy little hamlet by the side of a stinky polluted river. It was, as usual, a rainy afternoon, and I had just come home after splashing about in the stinky polluted river. I plopped onto the sofa and picked at my nose. There is something so blissful about picking one’s nose. Ask any nine year old and he can tell you all about the joys of picking ‘em noses. So there I was, picking my nose and gazing at the telly, when the phone rang. I picked up the phone and it was Mrs Blimpety-Bopp. Mrs Blimpety-Bopp was a very handsome middle-aged lady. She was a good friend of my mother and they often went around spreading dirty gossip about the rest of the women in the village. They really were an adorable pair, my mom and Mrs Blimpety-Bopp. I loved spending time with Mrs Blimpety-Bopp. She was entertaining and made very good macaroni. In fact, that was the only thing she could make, but that’s a different story. The only scary thing about her house was her daughter. Charlene, for that was her name, was a five foot seven, thin legged, wide hipped, blonde haired, blue eyed, cherry lipped, pretty little monster. There is something about thin legged, wide hipped, blonde haired, blue eyed, cherry lipped, pretty little monsters that chills me to the bone. There wasn’t a thing I hated as much as I hated Charlene ( other than mashed potatoes, I guess). Now I was to take Charlene this evening to ‘The Store’. The Store was the hubbub of activity in the little town and Mr.Fillty-Writch, its manager, was the proud owner of the only refrigerator in all of J-ville.
 
As I skipped along to Mrs Blimpety-Bopp’s house, I felt a churning in my stomach. “Must be the worms I swallowed down at the river”, I said to myself. Charlene was standing at the door, looking pretty and prim. I felt a shiver run down my spine at the sight of her. The softer (and more optimistic) side of me tried to convince me that despite being so pretty, she might actually be quite nice after all under that gorgeous veneer. But the rest(most) of me loathed her and wished to run away. She offered me an arm daintily and I gingerly took her arm, cringing inwardly… t
 
 
To be contd…

The Password Dilemma

And so it starts again .. I've tried maintaining a weblog so many times. Seems like a 'cool' thing to do ey? But everytime I do write something, one of two things happens ... ...(a) I forget the password, or...(b) I forget the password....I'm not trying to defend myself, but this whole signing up thing, has gotten to me. I wanna sign up for this, and I wanna sign up for that, and I wanna sign up for all of this and that. I have strong reason to believe that I have had more profiles of me put up on the net than copies of pamela anderson's infamous gobbledygook with Tommy Lee. And the sad part is, that even if someone did look up my profile (and was interested in me, hallelujah!), I'd never know, cause I cant log in again. Not that I think that anybody WOULD wanna look up my profile, unless he/she was planning to adopt an orang-utan with the IQ of a cactus that has just been run over by one of George Bush's war tanks. However, there are some rather gifted men/women out there with a penchant for hooking up with creatures with subhuman intelligence. ...Let me, however, get back to the more important thing here. I want to remember passwords. Its not that I have a bad memory, its just that I cant remember anything at all. I can remember almost everything else really, other than passwords. And to make matters worse, when I type in my passwords, I cant see them. How am I supposed to remember something I havent ever seen? So I decided to write my password on a piece of paper, and gave it to a friend of mine for safekeeping (since I kept losing the piece of paper). Unfortunately, I couldnt remember who I had given the piece of paper to, and I really didnt want to offend my other friends by asking everyone (They might think that I should have trusted them and not the-snotty-nosed-halfwit) about the piece of paper with the password on it. One of my more pragmatic friends suggested that I should write it on the wall, or something of the sort. I thought that was a great idea, except that in a moment of profound creativity I had decided to paint my room a shade of green-blue. So the writing was pretty much on the wall. And then I had the best idea of all. I decided to get a tattoo of my password on the rolls of fat on my stomach. (Well, when I look at myself, thats about the only part of my body I can see, so that made a lot of sense). Now I'm all set with my password, though by now I think I have forgotten what the username for this weblog is. Maybe its time to run along and get another tattoo!...Drat! Did I forget to fill in the title field now?! ...