Thanksgiving? More like Shitgiving!

Yello, imaginary Awedience! Santa here.

Thanksgiving is over and you know what I’m thankful of? That it’s over!

Yes, you heard right. I hate Thanksgiving. We’ll, I do like tasty food, but I like tasty food all year long, so it doesn’t count.

Now it is time for a real holiday: CHRISTMAS!!!

Sure, Christmas isn’t yet around the corner, but some start decorating even before Thanksgiving, so don’t judge me. Besides, I’m Santa, which means that I’m allowed to celebrate it whenever I want!

Here at Killing Smokes, we like to celebrate Christmas differently (and by we I mean me, my elves, and other imaginary creatures and friends); what we do is send presents to me instead of the other way around (yes, you guessed right; I mail gifts to myself. It doesn’t get sadder than that, does it? At least I always get what I wished for! That’s something, innit?)

To all you who think that I’m not real, I’d like to tell you that I do, in fact, exist. Sure, I may not live in the North Pole, but my parents’ basement is as cold.

Also, to all little children sending me their wish lists: grow the fuck up! you’ve all been naughty, you get shit this year.

Okay, that was a tad harsh… Let me rephrase:

Instead of being the little egotistical buttholes that you are, think of the little children on Africa that May or may not get a bottle of water this year.

Also, your daddy pretends to be me. He bought you your present last year as well.

Note to self: sober up then blog.

That’s all for today, folks!

Santa out.


Need a friend? HIRE A FRIEND™

I’m unemployed right now, but I’m searching for a job. Hire me:


All that searching has tired you?

Are you feeling lonely?

Did you best friend steal the love of your life?

Do not worry any more; I’m here now.

I can be your very own personal friend, be you a boy or a girl.

I can chat on the phone for hours*

I will always like your Facebook stati.

I will always retweet everything you say.

I can text you any time you want me*

I can call your significant other and cover you when you want to cheat them.

I can come by any time you want me to, always with a cup of coffee**

You don’t have to lie to your parents any more that you have tons of friends: now you have me!

I can go shopping for you and even pretend I’m not bored.

I can be your wingman.

I will always put you before my needs.

I don’t lie.

I can keep a secret.

I will never judge you, but will always judge anyone you hate.

I have information on many subjects, so that our conversations will never go dry (or, if I have no idea what you’re talking about, I will always nod).

Nobody’s friendless any more.



*calling/texting fees not included

**you will have to pay for that cup of coffee


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.


Modern Poetry

I always make fun of people who make poetry, even though I write myself as well. Why I do that? Because whoever thinks they are so cool to do something so hipstery, are usually very bad at it. Here is an example of such a disgusting piece of “poetry”:

I love you and I hate you
Can’t you see I’m bleeding?
I cut myself for you
I hate you but I love you
This is an eternity
For us both

My poor eyes are bleeding too…

Just because you write random words on a paper it doesn’t make it poetry.

Pardon my rant. Santa out.

“Be Yourself” Bovine faeces…

I remember a time when all boys wanted to be policemen or astronauts. I remember when girls wanted to be actresses or pop stars or Barbie dolls. And I stood there watching them. No, not with the eye of a cynic (I hadn’t developed a dislike for the world just yet) but with the eye of wonder. I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Almost twenty years from then, I watch my friends having jobs and what not. Of course, none of them accomplished their childish dreams, but me: I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Oh, wait, I grew up!

Some people, like myself, don’t really know what to do with their lives. Maybe we just want to major in laziness, or maybe we just don’t bother with anything any more (code for lazy).

Sure, I’m lazy, but is it my fault? I don’t think so. Let me just blame the system for a second here (because, heck! Why not?). It’s the system’s fault that gives us childish hopes and dreams. As children, we don’t really have a great individuality: we all want to be the same thing! But the system teaches us to accept that we’re different. It brings out the artist in us, the lawyer, the businessman, the architect. And then the same system crashes what it has created by offering us extremely expensive colleges and universities that we either can’t afford to attend or we’ll have to pay off with an interest as high as Everest. And let’s say we attend. Then it crashes us by offering charming jobs like call centre operator or fast food cook. I may be lack of a childish dream, but I never dreamt this nightmare. No wonder I’m lazy! I was a cynic all along, even as a child! I could already see there was no hope.

Many want to be actors or directors, yet most of them become burito makers. Many want to be lawyers, yet most of them will end up helping their father in their garage fixing cars.

Screw individuality! We live in a consumerist communism. Or something worse. The whole “be yourself” slogan is just an illusion.

But it’s okay. At least we have the option to be lazy.

Unless, of course, you have debts to pay and family to care for, so being lazy doesn’t count as a great idea.

Well, screw this! I’ma be a saint!…

…Santa out!

The Curious Case of Cyberdating

I had a date the other day. From the internet.

Unfortunately, I spaced out of this world and totally forgot about it and I stood up my date. “Well done, Santa,” my self pats my shoulder, “really cool.”

Internet dating. Well, that’s the thing! Sure, we live in the new age of technology and wi-fi and we can now find dates through the worldwide web. I can embrace that concept. But there are two kind of internet dates:

1) set up the date through the internet and meet in person

2) set up the date through the internet and meet through our screens

While I’m okay with the first concept, it’s the second one that baffles me. Isn’t it a little awkward? Just a tad? And if you don’t have a laptop, you’re only taking them to one place: your place. Which is awkward. I always imagine first dates at a restaurant or a coffee shop or the cinema. Heck, even at a supermarket! But at your bedroom through the screen? And how do you compliment her perfume? “I can assume you smell nice”. “Well, I didn’t really shower today, but you can’t tell, can you?”

How do you compliment her dress? “Your torso looks really nice. Can you stand up so that I can look at your arse as well?”

What do you order? “I’m having wine, what about you?” “Ugh… I only have yoghurt left, I think… Let me check.”

There are, of course, the more embarrassing moments… “MUM! Get out, I’m having a date!” “Jerking off to porn is not dating, sweetie!” mum replies.

But, let’s be optimistic. All goes well, you really click and all that jazz… Well, a kiss would be appropriate. What do you do now? Kiss the screen or kiss the camera? Do you grab a little bit of butt? You grab your own and just go with it? What if she’s… liberal and, in a normal situation, she’d invite you over for a cup of coffee? Do you go for cybersex?

I don’t know… Call me traditionalistic if you will, but I think dating is fairly complicated as it is. Adding cyberdating to the mix, it becomes as understandable as women.

Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but I prefer aromatic candles, home-cooked aphrodisiac meal, some soft music in the background and no screen in front of me, but a mirror. You gotta love mirrors.

That’s all I had today for cyberdating. Let’s just hope I won’t bail on my date again. (No, my date wasn’t a mirror; I never forget to date myself).

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.