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.