Tamaki Drive, Sept 2014

Tamaki Drive, Sept 2014

Joe Jackson – Is She Really Going Out With Him?

My favourite.

My favourite.

While you sit there comfortably gnashing your keyboard, surfing for ‘non-spoilery’ Game of Thrones spoilers to tide you over for the next year – your digital-based carb fix for the day – let me just hit you with this. Like, legit. Straight up. My mum is the best mum that ever mummed. And the sooner you realise and acknowledge that fact, the sooner you and that inept shell of a person you call your mother will be at peace and able to move on with your empty, hollow lives. Your other ‘mums’ just can’t compete, so they shouldn’t even try. They’re just fallacies of incompetence in comparison. Don’t front. Quit your jestin. You be foolin yourself if you think she better than the Momma Narsai. You want to go on and on about all the things that she’s done for you in your life? How supportive she is of your occupational/creative endeavours? Go right ahead, hombré. Yak it up. Your hyperbolic discourse is only highlighting how deluded you actually are. In the Olympic games of mothering, yours leaves the stadium with nothing but a certificate in participation and memories of the happier times of from before you were born. She fumbled the baton. She tripped over every hurdle. She knocked out her own teeth when doing the hammer throw. Mine? Why she placed first, second, and third in every single event. Smashing world records on each occasion. She owns the podium. She owns the day. She owns the night. She owns it all. She is not of this world. She is too good for this world. Go ahead and put your divine deities up on that pedestal. They’re still having to look up to see her. Don’t look to close. Her star shines too bright for mortal eyes. Unsurpassed. Unrivalled. Unparalleled. She is a marvel. She is a wonder. She is the supreme.

She is the best there is, 
The best there was,
The best there ever will be.

While you sit there comfortably gnashing your keyboard, surfing for ‘non-spoilery’ Game of Thrones spoilers to tide you over for the next year – your digital-based carb fix for the day – let me just hit you with this. Like, legit. Straight up. My mum is the best mum that ever mummed. And the sooner you realise and acknowledge that fact, the sooner you and that inept shell of a person you call your mother will be at peace and able to move on with your empty, hollow lives. Your other ‘mums’ just can’t compete, so they shouldn’t even try. They’re just fallacies of incompetence in comparison. Don’t front. Quit your jestin. You be foolin yourself if you think she better than the Momma Narsai. You want to go on and on about all the things that she’s done for you in your life? How supportive she is of your occupational/creative endeavours? Go right ahead, hombré. Yak it up. Your hyperbolic discourse is only highlighting how deluded you actually are. In the Olympic games of mothering, yours leaves the stadium with nothing but a certificate in participation and memories of the happier times of from before you were born. She fumbled the baton. She tripped over every hurdle. She knocked out her own teeth when doing the hammer throw. Mine? Why she placed first, second, and third in every single event. Smashing world records on each occasion. She owns the podium. She owns the day. She owns the night. She owns it all. She is not of this world. She is too good for this world. Go ahead and put your divine deities up on that pedestal. They’re still having to look up to see her. Don’t look to close. Her star shines too bright for mortal eyes. Unsurpassed. Unrivalled. Unparalleled. She is a marvel. She is a wonder. She is the supreme.

She is the best there is, 

The best there was,

The best there ever will be.

Flower Child

Flower Child

Sam Cooke – Another Saturday Night (1963)

Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody
I got some money ‘cause i just got paid
How I wish I had someone to talk to
I’m in an awful way

#StoryOfMyLife #WizardOfLoneliness

Hey, girl.

Hey, girl.

THERE’S NO BELL TO RING!!!