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.



Time, boredom, swearing… The greatest conspiracy of it all!

Time needs to stop for a moment and rethink of what it’s doing wrong: it’s making me bored.

Well, not just me, but everyone else upon the surface of this little, miserable planet we call Earth. Most of the time, time passes with us just sitting around doing nothing. And thus, without anything better to do, we create words. And the first word we have crafted when in this state is ‘bore’, ‘boredom’, ‘boring’, etc. And now we have such dreadful words in our dictionaries. But if time knew what she was doing, she’d fast forward these never-ending moments. We’d be living our lives with two couples of words less, but think of what joy that would be!

We’d never say “I’m bored” any more. And bore… what a distasteful word that is. It’s such a badly crafted word that it could also pass for a swear word; “You stupid bore!” “I boring hate it in here!” “I hope you bore to death, you little boring bored bore!”

Point is, I’m bored being bored. Unfortunately, we have to have boring times, or else we’d get bored from doing stuff as well. Imagine a world where every little moment of your life is filled with something exciting. And someone calls you “Hey, John, how are you?” You reply “I’m a little bored, actually.” “Oh no! Why so?” asks the caller. “Well,” you reply, “I just jumped off of an aeroplane. I’m falling right now.” “But that’s… exciting!” exclaims the friend. “Meh,” is your answer, “the problem is that the parachute won’t open…” “Oh, BORING!


Those who know me, know very well I tend to talk to myself. With that in mind, I really hate myself when I start thinking or writing or saying or blogging something, and then I give myself the counter-arguments. I hate it when I have this train of thought in place and then I drift off and turn it around and ruin everything. Alas, Now my mind is changed; boredom (and the word bore in general) must exist (even if it sounds like a swear, something like whore).


I shall start using the word “bore” as a swear word, and see how that will make me giggle inappropriately in any given circumstance. “Did I bore you? I think I did!”


That’s all, imaginary folks. Santa out.


P.S: I need to go to the vet. Not for me, for my dog, Jessie. She needs to see why I don’t respond to her commands. She doesn’t know I’m just lazy.

“Get out of me,” screams Mr Bed.

“But I don’t want to,” I reply.

“But you have to,” I hear the Mrs Toilet saying, “you’re about to pee your pants.”

“Make some coffee now!” the Miss Coffee Machine commands.

“Come shower, you stink,” says Lady Shower (or my mother; they have the same voice).

“Aren’t you hungry? Cook now!” the Sir Oven repeats on and on.

“New message! New message! Check me!” Mr Telephone shrieks.

“Change your clothes, for god sake!” Duchess Cupboard shakes her head.

* * *

And this is how I wake up every day.


Yes, I talk to inanimate objects. And they talk back.

Fine, they do all the talking, I just listen, nod, and never interrupt.



Yours, Santa.