Everything that has a beginning has an end. Except for maybe Bryan’s loss streak at NBA Live. But that is merely a tangent to the circle which is the main conversation I wish to engage in today. So yeah, I’ve been thinking. I haven’t blogged in ages. Like I mean ages. I think it’s been so long that the last time I blogged, people could still remember the last time they’d seen Doug in real life. A long, long time ago. Dinosaurs were still around I think. But once again, that is hardly the point. I think the end is near, ladies and gentlemen. In fact, I think it is so near that I am uncertain to whether anyone even reads this anymore. The battlegrounds known to many as aag1.tumblr.com is becoming increasingly deserted, like the back of the sports bus in year 12 after the excretion of gas from Doug’s ass. For full understanding, please refer to AzafaTv for video footage and comprehensive analysis from our team of experts, Thashan and co.
But, once again, I am running off track. What I really want to say, is I am unaware how long this blog will last. But I am bored, and for now it is still alive. And I think that though I have decided to make a concerted effort to try and blog maybe weekly, it is yet to be seen whether this will last, or will fade along with Bryan’s HSC Chemistry paper into the annals as one of the greatest failures of all time.
Well, now that I have got that out of the way, there is something that is bugging me. Something that has been for a while, in fact. It started a while back. Exact date is unknown. We sat coolly at Lidcombe McDonalds, waiting our upcoming basketball battle with some poor unsuspecting team. I lay back, nonchalantly, in my chair staring off deep into the distance. Jeremy shivered slightly as a cool breeze crept quickly through the area. James picked his nose and ate it. Bryan sipped contently on his small strawberry sundae. All was normal.
Then, suddenly, not dissimilar to the action of a skull feeling the full force of the closed fist swing of Weezy’s left hand (the one with the watch), a thought popped into my mind. The brown man. What is he good for? Absolutely nothing. Many of you will notice my little reference to the classic song of 1963, but what some of you will also notice, is that I have posed an interesting question.
The yellow man, is of course, very smart, amongst other things. He is also good friends with the computer universe, forms the large contingent of the much feared ‘internet peoplez’ and is universally known to possess a wide range of special abilities including mathematics and beating minesweeper high scores. The black man is unbelievably talented in the areas of sports and singing and rapping and stuff in general. The white man can sing well, dance well, eat well, cricket well, sport well, dig wells well, and they look good at times, too. But the brown man. What special quantities does he possess, which the other colours envy? And just the way in which a win for the HomoGoblins so frequently slips out of their hands in the final 40 mins of a 40 min game, this thought slipped out of my mind and through my mouth. For a split second, there was a stunned silence.
“It is elementary, my dear Deva,” piped in an eager Jeremy. “It is obvious. Browns are good at… good at… By George, you’ve got me!”
To this day, I still haven’t found out who George is, but I think I have now safely concluded that he is of little importance to the overall scheme of the universe and in particular, the importance of the brown man. Some brainstorming later, and we had very little. To be deadly honest, it was more like brain-showers or brain-drizzle, but that is irrelevant, for at the end of the day, all we could think of was the roles of taxi-driver and 7-11 specialist. But is this truly special? Are these the characteristics that can capture the eye of the world? Short answer: No. Coincidentally, it is also the long answer. So I am leaving this once up to any remaining readers of this blog, and any insight into this matter would be greatly appreciated.
I have always wondered what my purpose in life is. Since I was little, whilst assuming I was gonna play cricket for Australia, I would always wonder why I never played reps or state, or why everyone seemed really keen to tell me I was never gonna make it. I would then comfort myself with the slightly arrogant assumption that my role in life is to teach people how to believe in the things they can’t see. The way we believe in love and God, the way we can also believe in the beauty of our and others’ dreams. And I felt that every hardship I faced was just to make it more unbelievable, so that when I would finally make it, everything would be just that little bit more epic. This allowed me to let go of the worries I held and made life much more carefree. I remember Michael J. Fox once saying that there’s no point worrying about something bad happening, because even if it does happen like that then you’ll have to live through the sadness twice. And even now, with the rollercoaster way in which life seems to unfold, I can’t but help feel that what Michael J. Fox was right in saying that life is a movie or a photograph, and that someone from above is holding the camera. And if this is the case, then I spose the best, and really the only thing, that we can do, is smile for the camera.
