Update

This post is directed at you, my humble scrutiniser's. (Scrutinisee's?).

I am the emperor of consistent inconsistency. You know this, I espouse it. I currently have a number of drafts coming together in the form of many dead earwigs forming letters and words on my bedroom floor. (Lies). The part about having drafts is true though, but I can't seem to focus on one particular subject until completion. I keep drifting from topic to topic until I realise that I have been drinking Vodka from a test tube for forty-five minutes. (Lies). The part about the Vodka is true, but every time I start writing something; I delete most of what I've written to make up for lost time. (Let's do the mind warp again).

What I am trying to say is that there are three or four posts that will become visible on Cynical Afro at around the same time. I would like to be able to pace posts, but this kind of conformity tears families apart. It's like telling Hannibal Lecter to give up the finer things in life and start managing a fast food restaurant. Okay, so it is absolutely nothing like that, but I love Silence of the Lambs.

Thanks for being forbearing and merciful.

PS. If I can work out how to keep my blood alcohol level above 0.5% and redesign Cynical Afro, then prepare to see some changes.

PPS. I found this picture of a cynical looking bear to go with the word 'forbearing'. I hope you like it.

'forbearing'

Change

Change is inevitable.

Gloomy, I know, but accurate. I couldn't imagine a life without change, but at the same time there is nothing like adhering to a nicely polished routine. I understand that it is most common to avoid routine at all costs so life is one cataclysmic surprise after another, but let me share some small examples of how performing certain tasks within a routine makes them all the more enjoyable. For instance, I have used the word 'but' in 100% of all the sentences so far, delicious. It's like coming up with excuses for no other reason than to relish writing a comma followed by 'but...'

Showers. Few things prove greater fun and/or relaxation than covering yourself in hot, runny, transparent liquid. The large majority of people conform to either having a shower in the morning when they get up or at night after a hard day of eating chocolate and stroking couch cushions pretending that they are adoring cats and dogs. Speaking of animals, I have a pet snake. I always love the reaction I get when people find out for the first time. It's either shock and terror that I sleep under the same roof as a soul munching serpent that feeds on the trepidation of human beings, or they want to drape it over themselves like a fucking mink coat and take a picture. There are no cataclysmic surprises there, only a black and white metaphor waiting to be molested and swallowed up by a killer whale. You know, because, like, a killer whale is black and white? (Genius).

Sorry, I became a little side tracked with that last paragraph, back to the topic sentence. The reason why I brought up change is because there was recently a minor change at my workplace that caused me to clutch at my chest like a rabid madman experiencing a light heart murmur. I work at an unorthodox call centre that allows you to wear just about anything, but you have to call complete strangers and hope that they want to spend five dreary minutes of their life talking to you about their internet connection and phone line. Talk about a solid investment into a fun and rewarding career. 

On the exterior I prove to be a fairly adept individual, but on the inside the dialogue is more like "I'll stop! Please! Do you think I like doing this? I don't! I would much rather be at home opening packets of two minute noodles and snorting the flavouring!" That is why I have developed sufficient coping strategies to handle the amount of (justified) abuse I receive over the phone. My most infamous mechanism is to start singing a song as soon as I get rejected. The most common of these songs is 'I believe I can fly' (the version that Michael Jordan sings at the end of Space Jam). Not only is this a satisfying way of instantly acquiring everyone's disapproval, but it brings such uplifting memories of childhood that it cloaks the current situation with jubilation and solace. 

I apologise again, another detour has been taken without true guidance and script. Speaking of the word apologise, do you feel cheated when someone says 'I apologise' instead of 'I'm sorry'? I sure as hell do. When someone says I'm sorry they are submitting to you as a lesser being. They are mistaken and you are not. This fact may have lead to a mental or emotional battle, but you won. When someone says I apologise they are saying 'I'm kind of sorry, but I'm still smarter!' If it don't just make me sick right down to my wretched abdomen.

I'm officially filing this post under 'train wreck'. If you survived, I am honoured. If you didn't, I am revelling in all of the things that you can't enjoy because the above post sent you flying at terminal velocity off of a metaphoric cliff in an allegorical train carriage. These things consist of, but are not limited to: Rollups, coin magic, video games and the smell of hair just after being washed! ...As a race, we are really quite sad. I bet a lot of you would genuinely miss at least some of the things that I have just mentioned, and I would too, but I can't help feeling that I am walking the path of the insecure psychotic dairy consumer that spends his evenings bolstering up on sheep fodder. You know, instead of making a conscious effort to contribute something useful to modern society. I hope I'm not alone in thinking that.

Thanks for watching, leave a comment if you feel that I wasn't cynical enough in my disquisition on change. 

PS. Cynical Afro loves you. (In an emotionally broken son to new step dad kind of way).

Sundays

Already you have been tricked,

This post is going to have absolutely nothing to do with Sundays at all. It will be more along the lines of why chocolate and ducklings are a good combination. On an entirely different matter, I really thought that starting a Blog would be a blast. I thought that from now on I would wake up every morning scrambling for the keyboard so that I could let everyone know that I had dreams of grandeur and how I won the lottery in every dream. Instead I slither off my musty sheets with hysterical pregnancy hoping that all of my leftover baked beans haven't already been eaten by my ravenous house mates.

That last part may have been an exaggeration. My house mates are indeed ravenous, but I have yet to experience having a bun in the oven that drives me into a seizure frenzy. It has been over a month since my first post, which wasn't that great, let's be honest. I promise to post more often, but surely you, my loyal and starry eyed reader, must understand the conundrums involved when motivating ones self to achieve more than finding the biggest block of chocolate in the supermarket. It's like sending a blind and wingless duckling through a field of proximity mines to find Waldo. Most of the time it just doesn't happen; is what I am trying to get at.

Speaking of the first post, I felt that there was perhaps a little egotism creeping through the subtle yet skilfully constructed group of words. It was only the first post and I was already trying to tell you what to do. I even went as far as erasing all of the beautiful things from your mind! Although I am pretty sure that the image is now clear; Jon from Garfield spliced with Rorschack from Watchmen; the result is an unkempt, unshaven psychopath with an interest in cats. Although, contrary to the image that has been created, I'm actually a morning person.

There is nothing like getting up at the stroke of 7AM to endure the sound of birds outside pretending that the world isn't ending and that interesting folk still roam the intellectually desolate land. Unfortunately the intellectually desolate land is usually concealed within the four walls of my bodacious, yet modest bedroom. I wake up, only to sit and ponder about whether my toe nails need cutting and whether women really find men who can stab and fatally injure other beings using only their feet are attractive. Apparently this is what the mental capacity of human beings allow us to do; ponder and draw conclusions about meaningless problems and situations.

That last part was a little bleak, but this is Cynical Afro after all. I might have chosen a different name if I was noting the different levels of joy experienced when taking part in a 1980's Disney animation marathon. I probably would have called it something like 'Happiness Leaks From Every Orifice Afro' or 'The Levels of Exultation Protruding From My Face Could Kill a Banshee, Afro'. Yet here we are, just plain old Cynical Afro, trying to make a living.

This post is getting too long, goodbye.

PS. In the coming posts I will try and come up with a way to break up the text with pictures or videos of me dancing or something. To make it more interesting. And bearable.

Hi.

Hi All,

Rather than talk about how this is the first post for Cynical Afro, I would be far more interested in building you a mental picture of my physique in your brain. It's going to be a little bit like Inception, but with an actual screenplay (Hiyo!).

Firstly, lay down. 
Close your eyes. 
I want you to relinquish all of the preconceived notions you have of beauty. 
Done? 
Good.

Since I am the first being to enter your newly refurbished mind, please prepare yourself mentally and physically. My most noticeable feature is my aura of malice. Well not quite malice, but the closest thing to malice that a scrawny tall smurf can muster. Can I use smurf in a Blog post? I'm pretty sure the B in Blog should be a capital at least...

Anyway, I'm pretty attractive. Imagine the most attractive dog you have ever seen and apply those same attractive characteristics to a human. And yes, this would be the time to make poodle jokes. I might draw you a picture later! I would take a photo, but the resulting carnage of beauty that your eyes would have to endure could send you blind.

I feel like this should be the average length of a Blog post. I think I'll keep my posts nice and quick, like a cesarian performed by Freddy Krueger.  So this final paragraph can be the conclusion. In summary, I have watched the entire Freddy Krueger collection. All of it. I didn't even turn it off when she turned into a cockroach. Hmmmmmm.

Stay Tuned - Dazzy