My Rap Bible

Lost on Monday night when cruising the streets with my Gs
Unlimited street credibility to the bad mo'fucker who can get it back to me.


( ye' )

2010 has been a beautiful year.

It's just taken three moves, several jobs, a cat, a break up, too much champagne, various international visitors and one very tall, moustached man to realise it.
Unfortunately, this new perspective comes about 12 months too late.

But you learn for next time. And I have.

If anything has been taught to me this year, it's that sometimes, you just have to hold on to the good with two hands and tell the bad to fuck off and never look back.  Because dwelling is negative. Negativity is uncontrollably infectious, and before you know it, it's eaten you up.

I'm so excited for the new year.  For new plans. new places, new love, new world.

We're alive and well, and everything is amazing.

I can't wait.

To be any character, in any film.

Hands down, Penny Lane.

Monetary insignificance in regards to the truly rich.

We aren’t the change in her purse, or the note in his pocket.

Class does not come from the state of one’s account balance.

Money can’t buy emotions.  Money won’t love you.

To judge on wealth, there is an immediate eradication for an equal chance of dignity.

You build a sad and empty world if this is how you choose to live.

I have no money. 

But I’m still rich.

There are some things 'The Twizzler' can't fix.

                    Image above: Twizzler from the back (L), and the front (R)

'Twizzlers' are successfully carried out when the middle knuckle is raised and held firm between surrounding fingers, and then driven into the opponents skin in rotating motions. Keep your game face on, and say things like 'Welcome to the Twizzler' and 'Its Twizzle time' in a low and aggressive tone.
The Twizzler is a modern form of street fighting, often favoured for its 'Minimal Physical Impact - Maximum Mental Impression' that it leaves on its victim.

Although The Twizzler can be used in many compromising situations, it won't work every time.

The Twizzler will always lose against a gun.
The Twizzler can only be used one time per victim, as it relies heavily on shock value.
You can not use the Twizzler to make a baby stop crying.
You can not use the Twizzler to win at Scrabble or any other board game (except perhaps Twister)
And last and most unfortunately not least, you can not use the Twizzler to make someone fall in love with you, or stay in love with you.

Use this sacred form of fighting wisely, and only share with those worthy of the knowledge.

The time is now to Twizzle responsibly, so go forth friends, and Twizzle your way to a better future.

So apparently it's Summer

  

Still looks like gumboot weather to me.

“Hello. My name is Kirsten and ….”

It’s taken a while to reach boiling point, but I have come to the realisation that I have an egg problem.  What started as a few casual eggs every now and then, turned into whole cartons in single sittings.

Quiet nights in turned into folic-fuelled frenzies as I slipped yolk after yolk into my own, as well as my guest’s food.  I would incorporate an egg into any activity if there were even a shell of a reason to.  My friends and I would have eggs before nights out and I would be fried before we even left the house.

I have become one of those egged up girls I used to laugh at.

Egg stained smile and wandering yolky stare.  Just a big cracked mess.

I don’t really know how this has happened, in younger years I was always responsible whilst on the egg.  I am guilty of using the egg as a temporary means of forgetting difficult situations.  I wasn’t eating eggs to have fun, I was eating eggs to function.

And it would always end up the same..

Five too many XL Freerange later, and the night was destroyed.  Although I wouldn’t always be on a downer, excessive happiness from the egg can be just as damaging.  These amplified, egged up actions are as good as a giant sign saying

‘My riboflavin levels are imbalanced and I am completely unstable!’

Especially if the yolk abuse is frequent.

Which it was.

I have been asked to leave barns.  Door chicks have denied me entry.  I’ve been driven home and lectured on excessive egg consumption numerous times.

And it has to stop.

So I am taking a responsible stance. 

No Eggs Till Easter.

The era of ‘Eggathons’ is over.  It’s time to wipe the egg of my face and have a fresh start.

                                              Now let’s give it a crack.