ZEN THIS.

I can never be a Buddhist. I am too angry, too potty-mouthed, too overpowering a twat to ever be a calm, nirvana-esque type of person. The closest I have come to Nirvana would be a hot cup of coffee in the morning accompanied with a fag and a morning-breath-laced kiss from Jaz.

Jaz tells me that it is not our sole responsibility on this earth to educate everyone and each person must learn from themselves their own mistakes and become a better person out of every bloody mistake they have made. He also tells me that all we can do is hope the person finds the right way. Can you see why this sometimes drives me to bawl and yell at him? I always tell him that the person becomes my concern and it is my responsibility to educate him on his wrong-doings when the person comes into my life, disrespects my belongings and fuck up MY feng shui. It is my duty to cuss him and his upbringing out. However bad it reflects upon my remaining character, I always begin my rants on the object of aggression with Does Your Parents Not Teach You? and that is usually replied with Why Are You Involving My Parents and almost always ends in tears. For starters, when your parents raised you they should have inserted the You Shouldn't Use Your Housemates' Soap Dish As An Ashtray speech.

How can someone be so rich, be raised with a golden spoon wedged in their rectum live like Heroin Junkies? How? How is it that someone with minimal luxuries have a better personal hygiene than someone who gets their haircut for £25? I'm sorry, Jaz. Excuse your Un-Zen-Like fiancée as she tips the offending brown liquid from the soap-dish into the offender's bottle of shampoo, fag butts and all. Even that is not good enough. Let me just rip the remaining butt to pieces and chuck the tobacco in the bottle as well and give it a good shake. I'm sorry. No one fucks with my bar of Imperial Leather soap. And why is my razor that I use to shave my armpits clumped with scraggly, long hairs? Did someone's herpes from someone's nether regions somehow reached my underarm? Let me just tip that in the bottle of Radox Relaxing Bubble Bath.

WHY WAS MY TABASCO SAUCE USED TO DROWN A WASP?

I got Jaz well on my side then because Animals Shouldn't Be Hurt. Especially not with Tabasco Sauce, noooo. Is it not enough that you demoralize my toilettries that you have morally-outrage my prized spices and condiments as well? Where do we draw the line? Where and when am I allowed to Un-Pseudo-Zen and let it rip? When will I be allowed to say 'No fuck you and other around you. Fuck you and supposedly posh life, posh relatives, dead or alive, once or twice removed. Fuck you and the dodgy-looking, made in China pedestal that you believed were imported from Rome. Fuck you and your disposable cash. Fuck you and that apparently expensive toilet seat that you have managed to sick up all over, you BULIMIC FUCK. Fuck you and your private school education that have failed to educate you in your posh home economics class that YOU DO NOT MIX A RAG THAT WAS CRUSTED WITH DOG SHIT WITH OTHER CLOTHES THAT NEED WASHING. Fuck you and your fucking plates that was bought from Achica.com (members only luxury homeware) that was crusted with spit and phlegm and oh fuck I'm going to hurl I will just chuck this in the bin.'

Ooh shit. I need to meditate now. And some hot chocolate will do me some good as well.

P.S I love comments. I'm not rude when I don't comment back but Blogger is a bastard wanker these days who won't let me reply back for reasons beyond me.