“You know what the problem is, the first step to getting sick, is thinking you are. And people are soo feeble minded! If we all were as stubborn as a mule, covid-19 wouldn’t stand a chance!”
So I went out and had a look.
I travelled far and wide, and opened my eyes especially in places with many sick people; there happen to be quite a few of those at the moment! I went to Bumrungrad hospital, for example. I couldn’t make up my mind though, if the people there were stubborn or not. Rich, they were, but stubborn?
So I visited the Home for the Dying in Calcutta, and was struck by the stubbornness there. Both personnel and patients were stubborn; one refused to quit caring, the other refused to die. The latter were sick though, but many clung to life as if it were their only hope.
Lastly I visited Washington D.C., where I found out a very stubborn man lived in a rather large white building. He was so stubborn, he wanted to inject himself with disinfectant. I don’t know if he did, in the end – but I didn’t notice him getting sick.
So was my daddy right?
Obviously not. You can’t blame the mad cow for going bonkers! You can’t blame a street dog for picking up fleas and fungus! It is not the state of mind that causes the diseases, it’s a discovery done by the Russians back in 1892: a tiny thing called a virus.
Unfortunately, time travel is impossible, so killing those damn Russians who discovered the virus is impossible. So what can we do, to get the whole world healthy? The answer is simple enough: we should all become good at break-dancing, and instead of steadily walk down the street, dance! Dance! DANCE! A virus after all, is just a thing, like any other. Bound by laws of physics and such. So instead of trying to kill it – killing a fly is hard enough (unless you’re a spider), a virus is much smaller – we should aim to avoid it by making many sudden movements. A virus will be heading for us, and because of our sudden movement, it will not be able to reach its goal. Frustrated, the virus will search for a new target, and if that new target turns out unreachable, the virus might just as well give up already. If not at that point, it surely will soon!
It will take some time before we drive all viruses crazy with frustration, especially a virus as stubborn as the covid-19 virus. Avoiding it is hard, as it’s too small to be seen, so it’s hard to gauge its trajectory. But with enough break dancing practice world wide, I’m sure we can beat each and every virus within a year. I herewith call on anyone, no longer to walk down the road, but to dance, Dance, DANCE!
Previously posted on My.Opera, with slight tweaks to fit 2020. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009.
You know what the problem is? There are too many people. That’s why we have all those wars.
So I went out and had a look.
I stepped outside myself, and heaved myself over the earth. And what I saw was a bowl, if one can compare the outside of a ball with a bowl, rapidly filling up with people. Even as remote as Hua Hin (Thailand), Ophemert (The Netherlands) or Point Roberts (Washington State, USA), more and more people are appearing. And each person needs space. The less he gets, the harder he fights for it, such are the laws of nature.
All over the world, I saw bloody contests for the control of space, and interestingly enough, the denser the population, the bloodier the fight. Take Australia for example. Not a soul for miles around. Not a drop of blood spilt – well, other than your odd lost kangaroo.
Take Africa’s horn as another example. Not a mile without a soul, and hundreds of people killed each week. Examples such as these abound, and it is a pity, really, that we feel the need to kill each other over space.
So was my daddy right?
Despite appearances, I don’t think so. You can’t blame the porridge for filling the bowl! You can’t blame tigers for being territorial! The only thing to blame is the size of the bowl. It’s not the number of people that is the cause of the problem, it’s the lack of space!
Have a quick look at Gliese 581c, the earth-like planet. There they won’t run out of space as soon as we do. It’s roughly five times the size of our humble earth.
When trying to create a peaceful world, we could of course all travel to Gliese 581c. This is somewhat impractical though as the trip will take us at least 20 years and 6 months. And it would make one hell of a commute if you work in New York City!
No, perhaps the most feasible solution to give each human more space, and thus end all wars, is right here on earth.
This feat is not as hard as you may think. Everyone can help in his own backyard, with only a few cheap tools from your nearest DIY store. You need a 50 foot metal pipe, about 4 inches in diameter would do, I assume. You also need a bicycle pump, and something strong to close the top of the pipe. If you ask me, one or two extra sturdy condoms would do just fine. Ram the pipe into the ground, stick the hose of the bicycle pump in, and pull the condoms over the top. Then start pumping. And keep pumping. And keep pumping. And keep on pumping, until the earth swells up like a balloon, giving each of us more space – and thus peace on earth.
And if that wouldn’t work, while trying we won’t have time to kill each other anyway. So keep trying!
Previously posted on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009.
Kung magkakaisa lahat ng sapot ng gagamba tiyak leon ay mapapatumba.
Filipino proverb (Tagalog)
I am a spider. Did you miss me? Did you hope I’d bleed out, up there on the bridge? Well, it turns out that I’m a survivor. As long as I know how to f… No, no, no… No music references at this point. I’ve got plenty of songs to sing.
The punctures the tigress made, dried up by sunrise. I climbed down sagaciously – careful not to tear open my wounds, yet attentive to the passers by, so nobody saw me – and disappeared into a nearby bed and breakfast. In the months that followed, while I nurtured myself back to strength, I found out that if spiders work together, they can actually catch a lion, or a tigress. It took just about 100 days for another, far less dangerous spider to come along and attract her attention. For 211 days I hid out before I felt safe. And then I came out of the bed and breakfast. I went to the same tattoo artist for the third time, and had him use the scars on my chest as the base for butterflies; the one that got away. And nobody winked at me, this visit.
But when it comes to relationships, past results are an indication of the future. While she hasn’t found her match, I am back to my old and dangerous game of finding flies. With the fresh butterflies on my chest, I got on a plane to a warm island with great hotels and even better beaches.
And there, one fineday, while playing pool in a place with loud music and loose women, a girl claiming not to be a prostitute fell for my bright blue eyes.
She was tiny. She was a metre sixty at the most, had one eye slightly away from straight and sported two short pigtails framing her small and cute face. The hairstyle made her look really young. Her head was only slightly larger than my two fists putt together. She wore skin tight jeans around her legs that had a circumference similar to my upper arm – and I’m not particularly big. Her sleeveless top showed a flat stomach and belly button, tiny breasts and arms that were even thinner. I guessed she weighed less than forty kilos.
Yet, just before I made a winning shot, she pushed her breasts into the shoulder with my spider tattoo, a move that forced her to move her pelvic bone onto my hip, and whispered in my ear that she loved the weight of a man on top of her. I went hard in an instant and missed my shot.
I didn’t care. I’d proven to be the better pool player anyway. I looked at her and we locked lips. I was not the first person she kissed. She presented a rare dexterity – not too slow, not too wild, just perfect fooling around with our tongues. This first ten second French kiss made me imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end of her blowjob.
Not an hour later did that imagination come true. She’d come back with me to my hotel and dropped her backpack as I dropped my pants. In priapic adoration, her lips closed a soft warm ring around my shaft and her tongue swirled my head. Despite not having a piercing, feeling my dick slowly disappear ever deeper down her throat was a physical sensation I’d missed for the better part of a year. I grew so hard I was sure I’d be able to lift her off the floor without using my hands.
But my woman always comes first. So I pushed her head till her nose touched my gut and held it there till she started pushing back. That’s when I pulled back, laid her on the bed and started stimulating her with my mouth. I started with her bosom, sucking her nipples till they were larger than her breasts. Then I moved down to her almost hairless pussy – which showed no sign of shaving. This should have worried me, but I was so into pleasing this tiny doll that I didn’t realise till later.
As she got close to orgasm, she wrapped her legs around me, grabbed the pillow and screamed, pushing my head harder onto her clitoris, leaving me little choice but to move my tongue as deep inside of her as it would go. She tasted really well, even deep inside. She didn’t need to tell me; now I know what’s her flavour!
As the climax dissipated and she relaxed, my dick was still hard. I gently climbed on top of her, and slowly penetrated her warm and wet cavity. Her eyes widened as I quickly realised she was actually really tight. This pussy had not been penetrated often, if at all. She just laid there, moaning in the right way, but leaving all the movement to me. She was so small, she disappeared under me but for her spindly limbs. To the ceiling I must have looked like a large spider – four arms, four legs and one body. How apt.
In a pussy this tight, I didn’t last long. I moved gently in and out, her eyes rolled away as her small hands clenched and relaxed in ecstasy. At the same time, I couldn’t hold it any longer and came deep inside of her.
The next morning was a Monday morning. She opened her backpack and took out the sexiest school uniform I had ever seen – even sexier than #Three had worn: a tiny maroon skirt held up by straps over her shoulders which were covered by a spotless white blouse that showed her belly button. And then it hit me: school uniform! I asked her. She was only four years past the Philippine age of consent – but with my European upbringing, that was still two years too young. For a really short while she regretted not telling me sooner; now she regrets nothing any longer. The sea has swallowed her body.
As I am a spider, and as I am alive, you should beware. Are you into a man who will make you come with a spectacular intensity, I am coming for you. Even if your country has no proverbs about spiders or flies. All I need is space for one more tattoo. And there’s plenty of space left for you. I’m on my way. Will you wait for me?