Why, good morning, Imaginary Awedience! Santa here! Came early this year.

Yes, I do realise it might not be what we usually call “morning”, but, for me, morning is the time of day -or night- when you wake up. So, here! Good morning to you all!



That is my breakfast. Caffeine, Nicotine, and Love. “Why Love?” you ask? “Why not?” I respond.

I woke up with the thought in my head that I had to do something today. Something big. And when I say big, I mean BIG. But what? So I took my notebook and to write down a to-do list. But, in order to make a to-do list, you should know what to do beforehand. So I thought on and on and on and on. And then I knew what to do. You see, Awedience, when you think of something really hard, the whole universe conspires for that to happen. I really wished to think of something to write on my to-do list, and the universe gave that to me, at last…




I automatically had done the first five. I shall rest now, drink some coffee, smoke some cigs, log onto Tumblr for some porn unicorn pictures, and then do the other two left.


Thanks for your time, Awedience. Santa Out.



On death and dying…

Have you ever wondered how people would react if you died this instant? Of course you have! Okay, let’s confess it, it’s a little macabre, but mostly egotistical. We, human beings, are attention whores.

In all seriousness though, I don’t want a grave; I want a mausoleum. A huge angel statue standing on top of it. People can see it from miles away. Aliens can see it from outer space. It will be the First Wonder of the new era, AAB (After Awesome Blogging).

Before I delve into death and dying and all that fun, let’s talk about how much of a narcissist I am. Which is zero. Sure, I count the years BAB and AAB, but is it truly bad? I’ll tell you, no! This blog is awesome, all my imaginary Awedience can tell you that. Even Samuel L. Jackson said so about my blogging skills in an imaginary -yet awesome- film he made. He also tweeted it. Nicholas Cage retweeted it. I rest my case.

So, this is 1 AAB and welcome to the new age. If you want you children born in this year to prosper, you must indeed name them after the new era’s fashion: Killing, Smokes, Awesome, Awerawera, Awerawera, Rawebert, Awendrey, Haweratio. The mascot and saint of this new era is Saint Nichawelas, or else known as Santa Clawes. (You can all call me Santa from now on).

Do you want to baptise you kid with these cool Awesome names? We offer services in several cities around the world, such as

New Yawerk City, New Yawerk

Lawes Angeles, Califawernia



Cawelumbus, Awehiawe

Lawendon, United Kindawem



Barcelawena, Spain

Lyawen, France

Colawegne, Germany

Tawekyawe, Japan

Haweng Kaweng, China

Sawel, South Kaweria

Manadawe, Indawenesia

Gaweld Cawest, Awestralia

Aweckland, New Zealand


Back to death and dying and all the fun that idea holds… Imagine you have died and all your loved ones are surrounding your decaying corpse. Well, that must satisfy you. Only if you’re someone from middle class or pretty broke, though. Or if you’re a slave. If you’re some rich newly died shit? Oh, it must hurt to see every other scum of your family that you hadn’t seen in years fighting over the bucks you’re leaving behind. Unless, of course, you’re Patrick Swayze; everyone loves Patrick Swayze.

But what happens when no one’s there? Broke or not, that breaks your little aethereal heart. Or what if they’re all there and having a party? Well, if you were a wild partygoer, then it’s all good, they’re doing it in your dear memory; but what if you were a simple workaholic employee at a bank that never lent anything but fake smiles at work, real frowns at home, and all that with a big fat sleek interest? You’d feel as a wallflower at your own dying party, wouldn’t you?

We all expect great things in our lives and try to put off the idea of dying. But embrace it, because you never know how Dow Jones might go, or when your husband will cheat on you, but you sure know you’ll die some day. So start making friends, making amends… Start loving again, even if your heart breaks. Live, because life could be either long or short. Have a little bit more fun, smile a little more, wear a pink tie at work, dance in the rain. Say “I’m sorry” when you have to, because we all want to see that cold grave surrounded by people for the right reasons. And don’t do stupid stuff because YOLO! Do the right stuff because YOLO (unless you’re Buddhist).

And, above all, don’t forget to change your name to Awesome. I also have a prospectus on changing your religion to Awesomism. It’s Awesome.


The most awesome second blog ever

So, I read at how-to’s that I must post at a regular basis, say: every Friday. But since my imaginary Awedience hungrily awaits for my posts at any given moment, I gave in and decided to fulfil their imaginary dreams. I’m a good master. Pat me now.


Let’s talk about neighbours. Do you like yours? I hate mine. Although I pretend to like them and smile whenever I see them. They have two kids. Do you like kids? Yes? Something’s wrong with you. Wait, I said kids, not babies. Still yes? Well, then, you should have my neighbours’; they yell and play when and where they’re not supposed to and they’re always loud and– wait, I sound like a grandpa. I generally have a slight distaste for children from I-can-talk-now to my-parents-don’t-get-me years old. I confess; I lied about the word “slight“. Babies? I don’t generally like them, but the ones that don’t generally cry are usually very, very cute. But what I hate the most about children is their parents. Especially my neighbours. Their mother screams more than them to stop them from screaming. Their father is apathetic to everything that happens around him. He probably pretends they don’t exist and lives a happy little life in his head.


While writing this blog, I realised my neighbours aren’t that interesting after all. But they have a special place in my heart, because thanks to them I have used several words of the vocabulary I didn’t know I was able to pronounce and very textually mean every single figurative expression.


And now they stop yelling and I have nothing else to blog about. Tragedy of my life.

I feel like I’m in a Sophocles’ play and this is my last monologue before I dramatically drop dead to the ground but, of course, I can’t yet before I curse whomever put me in this situation (neighbours) and then the joke will be on them when they live a long happy life but their grandchildren shall suffer for whatever unfortunate misfortune befell upon the accursor (I’m pretty sure I just made up a word here) and the descendants must be subject to my curse because of the malevolent deeds of their accursed ancestors.


I also promised to my fake Awedience that I shall speak about hashtags. Thoroughly. Well, I shall, but not yet. It’s too soon. Unless I die till then, #hashtag shall be my last blog ever.