If you're the only one ...

"Am I the only one smelling that?"

If you’re the only one laughing,
Your joke’s probably not funny
If you’re the only one seething,
Try get over it, Honey

If you’re the only one smiling,
Keep smiling, it’ll spread
If you’re the only one breathing,
They’re probably all dead

If you’re the only one dancing,
You should wait ‘til the wake
If you’re the only one burning,
You should jump in the lake

I did it

Heh heh. Suckers!

I have a confession to make. Forgive me if I waffle, but admissions of guilt come as easily to me as vaginal orgasms — which is to say that until someone learns how to give a guy a vaginal orgasm, I will have trouble admitting I am wrong.

I did it.

Yes. Please take a moment to collect yourself and fetch your pitchfork and hatin’ fire.

I did it. Everything. You curse it, I did it.

Internal thoughts

Use this thing to do stuff.

Inner Monologue: You should probably write something soon, hey.

Me: You talking to me?

IM: I think so, are you talking to me?

A 12 Year Old's dirty mind

It’s pouring with rain,
it’s making me insane watching the drips fall from your glowing frame.
All I can think of is the mounds, the primal sounds,
you and I ignoring surrounds as
we flow up and down on the ground that we pound,
our movements profound.

I so want to hold you, sit on your back
and be so bold as to mould you uncontrolled.
The visage in my mind, a collage of mirages,
a barrage of mental corsages as I lay my hands on you
and massage you in the garage away from our entourages
we can make our own beautiful montages.

I move close as I sense you’ve
felt my groove
as I approach to prove
I have actions to back my attractions,
you’re frozen seeking my satisfaction,
no distractions for this interaction
I approach to exact my infraction transaction.

I’m not usually flirty but I want to get so dirty with you.
The things we can do when I am on top of you.
You accept my indictment to excitement,
you know what I meant, our nerves are pent.

With a hand tremoring,
my inner voice stammering I reach a hand out as my heart is hammering
a tattoo for the things we’re about to do.

I place both hands on your slender body and wonder how close can god be
as I wrap my legs around your metal
and begin to push down on one pedal…

  "Luke! No bike! It’s raining and I know what you’re like. 
   You'll get dirty and the mud will set and I don’t want you to get wet!"
   
No! Not yet!
My mind screams and frets as I owe my dreams a debt
and so close to forget the threat of what we had nearly bet!
The regret, upset but after that voice but I can no longer covet
and have to obey and
        get inside away…
                from you…
                one day I will ride you through the mud - we both want me to.

The birth of a moniker

I am often asked where the username Rakuli comes from and why I use it everywhere online. 


The second question can be easily answered: I like to have one username everywhere as it makes it far easier to remember what to type into login forms.


The first question is a little bit more involved ...
___________

My advice on giving advice

Anchor related caption.

Advice (noun)

1. Guidance or recommendations concerning prudent future action, typically given by someone regarded as knowledgeable or authoritative.
2. Information; news.

What a wonderful word, what a wonderful concept. Information shared and distributed with no implicit or explicit requirements for acceptance; guidance offered in the hope it will useful but not under the pretense that it will be taken; recommendations, outlines, things to try; not mandatory, not ruling, not commanding.

Downunder

                                                                I am an
                                                           inhabitant of a
                                                      land downunder.  It
                                                   is a  strange,  mystical
                                               land where each day I ride            into
                                            work on the back of a kangaroo         whom
  I                                     have named, Roger.  Every morning           I’m fed
my                                breakfast (Sydney Opera  House shaped  pancakes)
  by                           a koala named, Ringo.  Wherever I go, I’m not more than a
   two                   minute walk   from the desert and I am constantly in         a
     battle       for survival            against the venomous snakes and
          spiders  that                         run the Australian government.
                      My                                   accent lends    itself very
                                                                 well to an         avid
                                                                  ‘crikey!’        call.        
                                                                     Beer     is  the
                                                                       only    thing
                                                                       ever
                                                                       to go
                                                                         past
                                                                          my lips,
                                                                             even when
                                                                                    they’re parched
                                                                                                       by the
                                                           sun that never, ever, ever, ever goes away.

Ninjas took over the world (again)

                                       On the
                                 day ninjas took
    __                    /==============                                           /””””\
     `”\\;;.____//over the world, no one                                       noticed.
                     _/./ Ninjas believe stealth                                     is   their
       \;;;;;;-‘-’        most important trait                                  so when
                                they succeeded in                            taking
                                       complete                               control
                                            while                          not once
                                           being seen, they celebrated
                                           their victory with much
                                           fly kicking  and  sake.
                                           This  overtaking  of
                                           the land is done by
                                             the            ninjas
                                                             often.
                                                            We’re
                                                           blind
                                                          to all
                                                          of  it
                                                          due
                                                       to, you
                                                know, them
                                                  being
                                  so stealthy and all of that shadowy business.

Double-entendre

Pop! Goes the something or other.

I woke up sporting my usual morning glory and rolled over to rub it against her back. Morning glories were our shared favourite flower and this was the way she liked to wake up.

“I’m always so horny in the morning,” she said drowsily. “Can you do something about it?” I leaned over and removed the Viking helmet she was wearing.

“There you go,” I said. “You really do choose some strange sleeping attire.”

Perfunctory preamble

I don't want to sound like a bitch or anything but your voice grates at my ears like a drunken mosquito and for all that I’ve been trying to figure out what you’re saying, you speak about as much sense as a kicked cat. Every time I look at your face I fly into a fit of rage wishing someone would finally flush that used toilet paper you carry around atop your neck.

How to stop a bunny being kicked

Bunnies — not rabbits, rabbits aren’t fluffy enough. Bunnies: Nature’s Punching Bags.

The fact that most things in nature lack the appendages to make a fist doesn’t change that title; you can kick a punching bag, and you can kick a bunny. The more cute and innocent the bunny, the more likely it will get kicked.

Won't somebody think of the peanuts?

There’s a lot of things about peanuts that people know; like the fact that peanuts aren’t technically nuts at all even though they contain “nut” in the name — nuts right (but not really)? That’s because my mate Steve — the guy who invented the English language — and botanical scientists can’t agree on what is a nut and what is a legume. Peanuts are known as “Goober Peas” in other parts of the world and even that’s less nuts than calling something that’s not a nut, a nut.

Another thing that a lot of people know about peanuts is that they grow underground — if you are walking along and a peanut falls on your head from a tree, it was probably thrown at you by a monkey. This is where common knowledge of peanuts starts to fade and hide the real truth behind peanuts. This is where human ignorance takes over and stops most people from seeing what is right under their eyes. This is where cruelty becomes cold, emotionless murder. This is when the peanuts lose their rights and die without ceremony or remembrance, without any acknowledgement from those committing the genocide.

What is a writer, really.

Writers seem to have been getting a lot of press lately, haven’t they? Most of it good too! Glowing, in fact. If you were to believe everything, you would think that writers excrete cures for cancer and build homeless shelters out of used tissues once the cum on them dries. Writers can immortalise you and bring you to orgasm with little more than a probing preposition and a firm set of parentheses; they just make you comma all over the place.

But have you stopped to think about who might be creating all of these little odes? Did you read it? Well it must have been made of words. And if it was made of words, it must have been written down. And if it was written down, someone wrote it. And bingo! Writers! Writers have been writing about writers. Making themselves look ten foot tall and made of benevolence.

How to milk a koala

I'm Australian. I apologise for this fairly regularly but conversation always comes back around to my nationality and, in the end, I am an Australian first, a person second. After I finish saying how beautiful the view of Sydney Harbour is from the top of Uluru; how Great White sharks aren’t so bad once you get to know them; and explaining that yes, nine out of ten creatures here will try to kill you but only if you try to hurt them or go near them or they come near you; conversation inevitably comes around to food.

Vegemite® is a regular point of gastronomic discussion when talking with those not familiar with the foods Downunder. For the uninformed, Vegemite is a yeast extract paste made from brewery leftovers and it has a few vegetables and spices in it too -- because we’re not barbarians, we like a bit of flavour in our food. The thing with Vegemite is this: You will probably hate it and there’s not much I can do about that. Most Australians love it though because a strong taste sensation in your mouth makes it easier to ignore the dingo that’s dragging away your baby and the spider that’s sitting in the corner planning to steal your soul.

Vegemite arose once more in a discussion that I was involved in recently. I was asked my favourite way to enjoy it. I explained that the best way to have Vegemite is to spread it sparingly over freshly buttered toast and top it off with a few slices of Koala Cheese®. This relatively nonchalant remark caused a stir in the conversation because in order to make Koala Cheese, you need to have Koala milk and in order to have Koala milk, you need to milk a Koala and milking a koala was scoffed at by all. So, I have decided to enlighten you to some secret Australian Knowledge.