MPC: The Undoing – Recap

This post shows all the images of those that took part in the monthly photography challenge: An Early Evening Walk by Heather’s Photography Flat-top Buckwheat by Laura Jeanne Halo by Rotochobin Green Dodge by Kabira Arts Sakura by Katja Puppe … Continue reading

MPC: The Undoing

Autumn 2013

Hello there. Welcome to the month of April that inexplicably begins with a day dedicated to fools, but all the same, welcome anyways. March was a great month. Like, really great Blog-wise. As for life-wise, it was kind of the same. I was still confused, angry and concealing the pain I wake up from my bed with. The good thing is, with life comes lessons and I did learn a lot. The most important thing I learnt is that, sometimes, you just have to put yourself out there and let people see who you are, what you’re doing, how you’re feeling, and where you’re going. It’s a great thing inviting people in (sometimes), because you don’t have all it takes to get through life yourself. Some people accept you, some people don’t and that’s okay. There are some people you wouldn’t accept as well. Let it be said that they accepted you and you made friends, let it be said that they ignored you, let it be said that they drove you away from their sight, but let it not be said that you didn’t try. Always try.

That said, it’s time to honor all the bloggers who honored my request and sent their images in. I can’t really explain how grateful I am to you guys. You rock! If you’re reading this, you should totally check out these peoples’ images:

Anupam

imackenzie14

Unleashed Thoughts

Mitch Zeissler (1) (2) (3) (4)

Last month, we did the undoable by taking away the color of spring. I know. I’m sorry I did that to you. Spring should be a period of color, but I encroached it with my grey-scale mentality and ruined your lives. You’ve got to admit, your images did look splendid though. Just saying. Anyways, this month, the April fool has touched my heart and we are “UN-DOING”. Yes, we are bringing the color back to spring! You can finally go out and take photos of that flower outside your yard and leave it in color. The fact that it’s going to be in color, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be creative about it though. So, take a seat, have an imaginative thought or two, then take your camera and go catch some fun. I know I will. Even though I have a lot of studying to do.

You know the drill. When you get your photos ready for the world to see, upload them and send the link to me as a comment on any blog post dated after this one. You could also tag them to #MPC_undoing on instagram. I can’t wait to see your amazing images. Seriously, I’m so ecstatic; my toes have grown an extra inch and a half.

Before I leave you, I just want to say, special thanks to Cee’s Photography blog for featuring me in one of her challenges. I feel really, really honored, and as soon as I stop smiling from ear to ear, I’ll find a way to add your badge to my homepage. Thank you so much!

That’s it! Go out, undo the evil you have done to spring and bring back some color into your spring photos. Don’t forget to post them here though. See y’all later!

In oddly related news, I didn’t get to watch Casablanca and I’m still a “Here’s looking at you kind”- outcast. It’s just that when I think of black and white photos, I see retro-creative, but when I think of black and white movies, I see retro-boring. But the good news is that HTC ONE (M8) is a splendid phone and I’m turning all my attention to it. Since I haven’t gotten it yet, here’s a picture of a scary ostrich.

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Ostrich Picture courtesy of Questionsleep.com

The Attic, Your Attic

THE ATTIC, YOUR ATTIC

            My all-time favorite fictional character is Sherlock Holmes. I think Arthur Conan Doyle created the most incredible thing in the master detective and I have the highest regard for his works. I have been reading Sherlock Holmes since I was a little boy and here’s one statement he made that I think has changed my life: “I consider that a man’s brain is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose…it is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it, there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge, you forget something that you knew before. It is of highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones”. In this statement from the very first Holmes story, A Study in Scarlet, (which was one of the very last I read, surprisingly) Conan Doyle sends a message that is of particular importance to everyone my age: Even though you feel infinite now, your resources WILL be exhausted.

A very notorious frame of mind in people is they think their brains are capable of everything and it has no limits. Now, I can’t exactly say that the human brain has a maximum limit of information it can store; I’ll leave that to the scientists. But Holmes’ theory isn’t really a bad way to look at it now, is it? The idea that we are indeed limitless and full of boundless opportunities we can succeed at is a great one, it has its advantages, but it comes with the greatest consequence; recklessness. Because we believe that the sky is the limit, we tend to think that we can fly all our jets there. Wrong, excessively wrong. A pilot cannot fly more than one plane simultaneously; therefore the sky is the limit for the plane he chooses to take to sky, any other plane that diminishes his attention to the one he’s on right now is nothing short of a liability. We cannot lead all the Israelites to the Promised Land, the Red sea would cover some, an earthquake would swallow some, and the snakes would poison others to their graves.

What then must we do? We must be focused. The universe has a constant supply of elaborate distractions that never runs dry but we must choose what we want to be and be just that. We have to decide what we want and go get it believing that what we want is enough to satisfy us and make our life worth it. Don’t overcrowd your brain with irrelevant things. In my dealings with technology, I have figured out that a gadget that tries to be too many things, does everything it tries to be inadequately. In other words, a “phablet” which is trying to be both a phone and a tablet, ends up being neither and it just winds up being too large to call a cellphone and too small to call a tablet (same applies to laptop hybrids). If you’re a medical student, you shouldn’t be interested in what’s going on in the CIA, if you want to be a musician, be a freaking musician, not a musician/engineer/entrepreneur/chef/chemist/designer. Concentrate all your energy on what you want to be and be that thing. Everything is possible, which is all the more reason why you have to choose. Guard your mind from being infiltrated by unimportant data, put all your effort in what you want and be the best at it. Employ, as David Acord calls it, a mental bouncer that prevents unwanted information from going in. The world of nowadays encourages us to have broad views. It tells us that we can have all we want, that it’s possible to be a great surgeon, have a large family, keep in touch with all your loved ones, spend a lot of time with your kids, engage in all your hobbies and still make mindless amounts of money while you’re at it, but that’s not true; life is way more complicated than that, sacrifices must be made. We have to choose. Choose what you want and let go of the rest, because we can’t have it all. No one can.

Your attic doesn’t have elastic walls, there will come a time when those song lyrics in your brain would be pushing out the relevant information you need on a daily basis, it is of highest importance to not let the useful stuff get kicked out by all the intellectual junk food you’ve been letting in. As my friend, Afoma put it, “be selfish with your resources; they aren’t permanent”.

Monthly Photography Challenge: Le Noir

Fence

The month of march is a good one. It’s the time where spring begins to show its true colors and flowers begin to feign interest in blossoming. The bright sunshine and vivid colors of spring are the best part of spring season photography. The reds pop, the yellows shine and we can’t help but color-correct some cyans and magentas into the shadows. The bottom-line is spring is the best season for taking colorful pictures. That’s why I have decided to take away all the color from spring this month and express it in good old-fashioned black and white.

Before I continue geeking out on how excited I am about this new challenge, I feel obliged to write about what I’ve been up to this past few days. Over the last week, Russia and Ukraine (the country I live in) have been edging towards what could be a 21st century war, and the money I was supposed to preserve incase war actually breaks out and I have to buy a flight ticket outta here is what I’ve invested in a 50mm f 1.8 Nikon prime lens, some food stuff and Killzone: Mercenary for PS Vita (which is the best first person shooter on the handheld by far). I just couldn’t resist. The Ukrainian currency is currently so low, I felt I would be harming myself if I didn’t take advantage. Anyways, just incase war breaks out and I don’t have enough money and legs to run, I’ve decided to download an android app that teaches civilians how to shoot guns. I’m also practicing my protesting voice. Hint: It’s gonna be louder than Leonardo DiCaprio’s screams in Wolf of Wall Street. I’m also learning how to say “Don’t shoot me, I’m on your side” in both Ukrainian and Russian languages. That should get me prepared for anything.

wolfofwallstreet2_review_JM

Anyways, back to photography. Last month was a great experience. I bent the leaves of my physiology textbook, created shadows and exploited my portfolio for several photos which had anything to do with love. There were a lot of pictures I still didn’t get to upload as I had forgotten that the month of february had only 28 days, not 31. This month however, I intend uploading at least 15 pictures in black and white, then maybe an article about my experience shooting and editing a particular picture.

Remember you could always be a part of the fun by taking bright, colorful spring photos, converting them to black and white and sending them to my page on Facebook “Victor Ohwo Photography”, or if you’re on Instagram, upload the photo and insert the hashtag #MPCle_noir if you want me to see them. (Both old and new photos included). Or you could send me the link to the picture as a comment on any of my blog posts if you’ve already posted it somewhere. You could partake, you could not partake, you could partake. It’s stupid. I’m stupid.

Okay, that should be it for now. Thanks for reading and an even bigger thanks for partaking (if you do). You’ll be hearing from me, I hope to hear from you too.

In oddly related news, I feel like watching Casablanca. I really want to be able to feel what people feel when they think of the sentence: “Here’s looking at you kid.”

Casablanca_BogartBergman

The Grinch Who Stole Valentine’s Day

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            It’s Valentine’s Day but you have no date. It’s supposed to be Lovers’ Day but you have no one to love, you have no one to tell you they love you, you have no one to tell that you love them; you are alone. Somehow somewhere you’ve managed to convince yourself that alone protects you, you’ve told yourself that alone is good, that love is not for everyone, especially not for you. Somehow you’ve gotten yourself into believing it’s better to be by yourself, that your life is about you and you don’t have to share feelings with someone else to enjoy your life. But you know the truth, you know what you are, you know alone is not alive and you know that you’re not just alone. You’re not alive.

You’re dead inside. It’s the reason you can’t sleep at night, it’s the reason you work your ass off to prove yourself, it’s the reason you don’t care, it’s the reason you don’t love. You’ll like to believe it’s simple, you’d love to believe love was not meant for you, you’d love to believe that you’re alone because that’s how its meant to be, you’d love to believe you’re one of those people who are not supposed to be happy with their life. But it isn’t. You are meant to be happy, you’re meant to be loved and you’re meant to love. It’s not a primary defect; a broken heart isn’t something you were born with. It’s because you know the truth. You know that love is just a ruse. You know that there is no such thing as true love, you know that it is impossible to be spend the rest of your life completely satisfied with someone, you know people cheat, you know people say they love you when they don’t and others don’t even give the courtesy of a preceding false positive. You know people manipulate each other, you know people lie to each other, and you know people could be married but   actually hate each other and can’t bear to look each other in the face but want to deceive the world. You know love cannot make up for peoples’ deficiencies, you know people are hopelessly naïve and entirely ignorant. You know people fight, not just metaphorically, but they literally fight. They throw punches at each other and they hit each other with as many pain-inflicting objects as they can lay their hands on. You know people insult each other, the ones that are supposed to be in love, the ones that are supposed to be happy, the ones that are meant to be alive.

Love changes people; it turns them into monsters. Love pretends to be okay. Love believes it deserves what it knows it doesn’t. Love shatters your heart to a million pieces. Love makes you cry day after day after day. Love takes advantage of you; love controls you. Love tells you “she’s just my secretary”. Love has man-friends. Love slaps you in the face when you question his morality. Love leaves you and your unborn child. Love beats you behind closed doors. Love was the one who gave you that scar. Love was the one who put a gun to your head. Love reproaches you. Love makes grown-ups cry like babies. Love treats you like trash. Love will sleep with you today and call you a whore tomorrow. Love will never take you seriously. Love will ask you to trust him but won’t trust you. Love will take all you’ve got and leave you with nothing.

You know the truth. Love is about smiling for the cameras, love is about you two looking good together, love is about kissing in the hallway where everyone can see and love is about how many cows were killed on your wedding day. So you close your heart; you kill yourself over and over. You dull your emotional senses; you show no love and expect none in return. You become selfish; you live life for you. You flee from company and you go for alone. You shut people out; you alienate. You refuse to love because you know the truth: that love is pain. Love is anguish, love is like killing yourself a thousand times over, love is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and love is a devil’s favor. Love is not real but it’s all pretending; it’s a paralyzed state of mind. And the idea that love is a river that never runs dry, that love is our reason to live, that love is indeed a beautiful thing, that love makes you happy and satisfied, that love is hearing laughter in the rain, that love will take away all the pain of loss? That’s the fantasy; that’s the illusion. That is the lie and to live in that reality is to live in a lie; to live in that reality is to not be alive.

Alone is not dead; alone is alive. Alone is being aware of what is really going on. Alone is not wanting to be part of the fantasy world: not wanting to partake in the ruse. Alone on Valentine’s Day is not wrong, fake love on Valentine’s Day is. There’s nothing wrong with you, there’s nothing wrong with your mind. It’s just who you are and what you know, and aren’t we all products of our experiences? Alone is alive, alone is real, alone is the truth: No matter how together we are, deep down we are all-alone and that’s okay. That’s fine by you, because you’d rather be alone for the rest of your life than experience the kind of love you know that exists.

Mark Deer

Welcome To The Greys

My father would often say: “In life there are rules; laid down set of instructions for us to follow. A system that helps us determine what is right and what is wrong; that’s why we are called human beings, not Barbarians.” He couldn’t be anymore right about that; without the rules that serve as foundation for our thoughts and guidelines to our actions, we as a society would crumble on ourselves. The only thing about rules is how often they are broken. Despite the plethora of guidelines we have set to fine-tune our way of life once or twice, people have fallen under the group that defy these rules and are often punished for their actions. Over the years we have made excuses for these miscreants either calling them psychopaths, serial killers, sociopaths, or disobedient. We have, as a collective body, decided that our rules are the basis for what is right and what is wrong and we have chosen not to see otherwise. Perhaps one thing we need to consider is the fact that whether the very presence of these rules increase their propensity to be broken, or as it is better stated: Are rules meant to be broken?

The rules and regulations we have set for ourselves pave a very naïve way of thinking; it gives us a wrong perspective of our very own world. Rules suggest that things are either right or wrong, good or bad, painting a picture that the world exists as two different poles: black or white. But what about the times when the current circumstance goes against the rules we have made? What do the rules say about the necessary or the required, or the vital; what do our rules stand for in times of distress? If the norm is to respect our elders and then a particular elderly person has taken it upon himself to frustrate my life with utter wickedness and shame, does she really deserve my respect? If the norm is to study and then come to class, get taught, clarify our knowledge and then get tested for what we know, but our teachers never show up in class to teach and we never truly understand what we studied, are we really breaking the laws by indulging in examination malpractice? If everything in the market is way too expensive and our salaries from 3 jobs can’t still get us a decent 3 square meal a day while our presidency is busy buying a new jet to add to his fleet, is it treason if I betray my country for its corrupt leadership? If I am convinced that my flat mate brings people he kidnaps to his house and holds them hostage till their ransom are paid, is it breaking the law if I break into his apartment looking for evidence to prove I am right? If an armed robber was trying to snatch my father’s car and then shot him in the process, is it wrong for me to seek out this armed robber and kill him myself? What does the law stand for in times that demand us to be more than just people trying to keep our society peaceful but as what we are; human beings?

The truth is this: the world we live in is far too complicated for the rules we make to keep it too orderly. Time and time again, situations would arise where we have to drop those rules and be what we are; we have to take the demanded action and sometimes the only action that seems relevant to us. Rules are not supposed to make us robots; the world is not that easy. There is no infinite good and terrible bad, the world is not made of two extremes; black and white, there are grey areas. Those grey areas are where it no longer rests on the arms of the law, the rules, or the bible. In those grey areas we must then decide what we want to do, for ourselves and see the result of our actions through the eyes of others.

Cheeky

Cheeky

            If there is anything I hate more than stupidity, it should be stereotyping. I, among all things, do not like to be defined; I do not like to be interpreted, especially wrongly. But the interesting thing is: I should not blame others for trying to understand my behavior and come up with words characterizing me; they have to make a meaning for themselves. This trait comes from years and years of people telling me what to do and I obeying them believing they know me better than I know myself, but if life has taught me anything, it’s that no one can never know me as much as I do. I would, at this point, like to indicate that what I mean is not somewhere along the lines of ‘don’t judge me, you don’t know my story’, no, not at all; I find that statement very suggestive of a low IQ. What I wish to let you understand is that I don’t like to be told who I am, not because people do not know my ‘story’ or what I have been through but due to the fact that they just can’t.

Cheeky is a word with which I have been defined time and time again. I never took it seriously until I decided to look it up about 2 weeks ago, when a certain feminine individual labeled me with the C-word. Her arrival at this conclusion was something I found both appalling and sweet at the same time, perhaps due to the harmony with which the word flew out of her mouth. Cheeky means ‘offensively bold’, and for me it means ‘story of my life’. I, Victor, am indeed very offensively bold; I would always feel obliged to tell you how I feel with or without reference to how I think it would make you feel – offensive, and I would say it to your face – bold. Now, my cheeky attitude is not something I have been entirely ignorant of but also a thing of which I am not entirely aware. In other words, I am not cheeky to people because I want to be, that is just the way it turns out, and for this young lady who had only heard me speak for less than 15 minutes to jump to such a conclusion had a lot to say about how I should conduct myself in front of people, especially those who have a short fuse or don’t know me too well.

This particular lady had drawn her conclusion from my intrusions in her attempt to tell her friend, who was preparing for an exam, that everything would be okay. They were having a sort-of private conversation (in front of me) where the lady in question was trying to motivate a friend of mine in order for her to gather courage to go face her examiner in her forthcoming hygiene exams, but my friend had earlier put forth that she had indeed not studied her notes and as for the multiple choice she was answering, she hadn’t even accomplished half. I intruded into the discussion by the time I heard someone say, “Everything would be okay, you are going to pass and YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT”. I had bared loads of tragic crap bleed from the mouths of both correspondents, but this particular one was unbearable for my uncomprehending mind. “That’s a lie, you actually have a lot to worry about” was my unexpected reply to what the speaker had no idea was a question posed to me. With a look of what I would like to call surprise but frankly seemed like insult, she asked “why did you say that?” and thus began my rant of things my friend had to worry about. For beginners I pointed out that she had in fact not studied and even though she was what you’d call a good student, knowledge is of particular importance when it comes to exams, then I hinted at her unfortunate lack of preparation; the biggest step to success, in the sense that she had not studied her notebooks and had not finished answering her MCQs, and her lack of aforementioned knowledge insinuates that even the MCQs that had been answered have more than a 70% chance of being wrong and putting all this together, a word of encouragement plays but an insignificant role in her success story today; if she hadn’t studied for an exam she was to sit for in less than 2 hours time, she indeed had a lot to worry about. I also threw in a thing or two about wars all over globe and people dying of hunger in obscure places, all things that should trouble our idle minds every now and then. That was what I said to the face of this apparent stranger and she immediately labeled me cheeky.

They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression and that’s great advice, one I’d most likely bear in mind but on that day I had a higher calling; to point out the shortcomings of my friend’s companion’s piece of motivation. But a very important subject I had failed to attend was that nothing was actually wrong in what was going on and nothing was absolutely wrong with my perceptions of the matter too. The lady and I only had what we call a difference of opinion; her mind was lighted down a path different from my own. While she sought to calm the flaring nerves of her close friend, I sought to look at things from a more realistic point of view. I did not need to tell my friend that she had not studied, mainly because she was well aware of this fact and I definitely did not have to interject to the ‘you have nothing to worry about’ bit because my friend indeed knew she had something to worry about, but the fact that someone was telling her otherwise might have lightened her view on her upcoming doom in the hands of the hygiene exams and softened her heart towards her remaining bit of preparation, all signs of a noble course

I am cheeky at best and that, among many others, is a trait I would most likely want to keep. After all, the world needs a little cheeky at times, people who wouldn’t care how it looked but told you the whole truth and anything but. In my more sober moments, I have come to realize that I should have to exert more control on my offensively bold antics. I should, instead of pouring my heart out, look around me to observe the mood of the room; try to acknowledge the true meaning of the goings on in my current atmosphere and weigh the implications of most of my opinions. If I wait patiently, I’m sure a time would call for the cheeky and I would most likely not disappoint, but initially I must calm my nerves and wait my turn. After all, there’s time for everything.

The First Relevant Post

Ever since I opened this blog, I cannot think of any post that reflects the title of the blog itself in any way. I decided to do a recap of all I have written and even though they reflect part of who I am, they fail to show in adequate clarity what I hope to accomplish by the creation of this cyber-social diary; I actually want to attain perfection.

Perfection in itself is an ambiguous word, one with which many choose to refrain from, due to its, for lack of a better word, absurdity. Nonetheless, I, as always, have chosen the most absurd of goals to be mine. I have received a lot of stick for my choice and some people I consider close to my heart have opened up to me and said I am on track for a head-on collision with disappointment by the time I find out that there’s no such thing as perfection. From my side of the canyon, I believe that their myopic view of my choice is not because of how impossible the subject at hand may seem, but in their lack of understanding of the term itself and the meaning I give to it in my heart.

I see perfection, not as a word describing the very precise arrangement of entities, but as a word describing the precise arrangement of self, both within and without. In other words, perfection, for me, is creating an acceptable and practical way of seeing the world I interact with daily both in my thoughts and in my words. I appreciate the analysis that everyone is different in their very special way and my pursuit of perfection entails me, spotting what makes me stand out in the world and using it to appreciate it as my safe haven. But when I read through my previous blog posts, I have done nothing but concentrate on the world outside me rather the world within; I have missed the point and for this I apologize to everyone out there who ever had the displeasure of reading such a disorganized blog; I’m sorry I wasn’t all I said I was.

My sudden decision to reminisce on my past comes as a result of routine, and unfortunately, a routine I have chosen to ignore for far too long. My pursuit of perfection is meant to portray what I like to call ‘my journey to the promised land’; a land flowing with deeds of great pleasure and content in those deeds. It should follow through all my challenges and how they either beat me up or were crushed by my resilience. My pursuit has nothing to do with how comical I could be at writing, or how creative I could be at photography, or how awful I am at story telling, my pursuit is meant to be about me; my life and my journey. Though I must concede that I indeed do have an artistic tendency, I have, against my better judgment; given in to the curiosity of my scientific mind and I do not intend to look back in any way. That said, I hereby relinquish any fiber of my more creative being that would try to stop me from attaining eternal bliss in the field I have set to mind. I refuse to be distracted by the intriguing nature of flash fiction challenges, photography and real-life comical displays on this blog. I am, from now on, a journal blogger only.

The way I have put it may make it seem like the earlier installations on this blog have been a total mistake or that I was previously abducted by a slightly demented mind, which is nevertheless not true. I would like to point out that in a way, my previous posts have a role to play on the outlook of this blog and on my nature as well. They signify my complexity and entanglement, in that they show the struggle in my heart by two giants who want to take utter control of my living soul. I am a clutter of both hidden and expressed talents but I’m afraid the onset of this blog, much like many other things in my life, caught the unfortunate twist of my duality; the comico-artistic one, when that was not the premise for which it was laid. Perhaps, all these go a long way to show my level of indecision and discontent with either side of me or maybe the urgent need for control of these bipolar traits. The most important inference to be made from all the clutter I have spilled is that: I believe in re-inventing myself now and again; fine-tuning my existence so I am a little more than a scab on the surface of the earth but now, I created this blog for one reason and one reason only; to find my place, my position, my niche among the greats and at the current level I am, I can only utilize one part of me and ‘funny’ is not that part.

It is with such great discontent that I apologize to all those I have misled; those who came here looking for a story, but found a silly article about Prince William and Gareth Bale. Those who came here searching for inspiration but instead found a picture of lights, which were out of focus. Those who came searching for a story but instead found a piece telling a woman to stuff her children with pipecuronium. I have failed you as much as I have failed myself, but I vow to never lose touch of my reality anymore; that I have come here for a purpose and a purpose I must achieve.

Confessions of a Mob Boss: That’s Mr. Panzetti to you!

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            Hello there, my name is Terry Panzetti; my friends call me “Big-T”. For you, it’s Mr. Panzetti or I cut your f**king balls off. Back to the point, I’m Mr. Panzetti and I am a mafia boss. I run the cartel that ships in all that sweet-sweet pot you’ve been choking on for the past 2 weeks. How I got here? None of your business, nosey Thompson. I’m paying you a visit for one reason and one reason only: I want to know what you want. Now, before you answer that with some made up bullshit, here’s a little story to put your mind on the right track.

A couple of weeks back, I was opportune to meet my long lost cousin, Pablo. Pablo’s father was my uncle and as far as I know he was the only goddamn family I had till his unfortunate death in ’78. I haven’t seen Pablo since then and the moment I saw his Yankee-doodle pigeon face on my lawn again, I knew he wasn’t here for a family reunion; he was troubled. It turned out Pablo had been duped by a real estate agent somewhere in the city that goes by the name Abett. I hadn’t heard of the guy and it was obvious he hadn’t heard of me too, if not he wouldn’t have gone around duping any member of my family, not even the dog. Pablo came to me complaining and I promised to make Abett pay for what he did and most importantly, get his money back.

The next day, I sent out a search team to gather Intel on Abett and I heard the most insulting things; this guy was a walking scam. From the pictures of him, he looked American, but my men said he spoke French and claimed his birth certificate implied he was from Australia. His head was bald and his abdomen was bigger than my pool, why on earth did Pablo decide to do business with him in the first place? My men reported that he and his family were living in the Hotel De Laurentis somewhere in the penthouse, so I decided to take a few men with me down there and put forward the very same proposition I gave you not so long ago: I want to know what you want. I swear everything was pretty much calm when we payed him a visit and I tried ever so hard to tell the f**king pig that I was only there to talk about my cousin and getting his money back, nobody had to get a bullet in their heads. Abett didn’t concede to my persuasion and one way or the other his wife and his little boy were casualties of what could have been a rather quiet piece of espionage. When Abett found out I wasn’t here for kicks, he opened his heart to me and confessed that he was indebted to a man called Toni Du Plais and my cousins’ money had helped him buy a little time. I assured him that if he had cooperated with me like this, his wife and kid wouldn’t need a coffin no more. I made Abett understand that debt is not a good thing to have on ones neck and Pablo’s money wasn’t the right cha-ching to be buying him a few extra hours to live, then I made him write me a cheque for double what he owed Pablo and I had one of my boys go cash it out in the local bank while I stayed with Abett for a few more words on this Toni Du Plais figure.

By the time my guys came back with the report that the cheque wasn’t a bounce, I explained to Abett that the problem with owing is that you never get out of debt and exploiting younger ones like my cousin, Pablo, wasn’t the right way to go about clearing his name. I also advised him to pick his scapegoats more carefully next time otherwise I wouldn’t be so forgiving if this situation were to repeat itself with anyone even remotely related to me. Then I had my boys carve the capital letter “T” on his inflated belly and left.

So, I suppose that narrative you just heard is definitely making you become a little less creative with your reply to my proposal, so I’ll ask again: What do you want?