The Caustic Reflections Of A Pessimist

The absence of a mirror into which God could peer in order to see the reflection of his own face, motivated him in the beginning of the world to create man in his own image. Ever since that singular act of incredible workmanship, man has done nothing else save to sully, profane and tarnish the divine image beyond salvation and redemption. Poor God!

Imagine my joy when I found out that purchasable items are guaranteed for a certain period during which they give their utmost performance functionally. But to my greatest consternation, I discovered that humans lack guarantee and the instinctual capability to abide by mundane articles of faith such as marriage vows, oaths of office, new year resolutions and even simple promises. Ever since that reawakening, I lost all faith in man qua man.

The decision to place the destiny of mankind in the hands of a senseless few, has made folly of the much trumpeted wisdom of man.

In the basement of life, man lives a debased life and is base in all his ways.

Canonization would be too mundane a honour to bestow upon any preacher, living or dead, who has successfully resisted the temptation of sleeping with the female members of his flock. The cynical mind would suggest deification.

Four nations, and not three, are the bane of the Kyoto and Copenhagen Protocols: the United States of America, China, India and the Vatican. To elect someone so holy as the pope, the air space has to be first polluted. Habemus papam.

The whole world was privy to how a much-hallowed man courageously opted to "die proudly when it was no longer possible for him to live proudly". The same universal audience saw how the family of a less-hallowed being who had vegetated for ages finally decided to place her under the care of the ultimate physician. And then it was the turn of a much-revered politician to die. Guess what! The proverbial will of the politician to defraud, came up here overcharged, but against a most formidable opponent on whose deaf ears his entreaties fell. A dieing politician's instinct for self preservation reeks of a morbid desire to vegetate.

Nothing accelerates our gravitation towards hypocrisy more profoundly than every sacrifice to the Beelzebub of etiquette which begets the corruption of the best into the worst. By this argument a priori, and by this argument alone, a man who spits, farts or picks his nose publicly where such acts are frowned at, commands my respect and admiration. Conversely, I have nothing but disdain and contempt for the animal that indulges in these all-too-human acts only when nobody is around.

A bisexual housemaid functions as a salve for the bruised ego of a heterosexual couple, and as a valve for letting out their sexual frustrations.

In the soul of a man whose mind is kneaded and cut on the marble of freudian slips, the boundary between a terrorist and a tourist, just like the boundary between a lawyer and a liar, and that between a chief and a thief, is at best tenuous.

What is the dog to humans? Our best friend, or a ridiculous testimony to the fact that we are the bipedal genus of carnivores?

Diarrhea and logorrhea are consaguinal. A loose anus is the sister of a loose mouth.

In a dysfunctional family setting which is somehow atavistic of the primeval, the daughter is the witch that perfects the craft of her mother, while the son is the oedipal monster that sucks nectar from the skull of the slain father.

Am I not right to observe that the most beautiful things in this world are the dumbest? For example, flowers. Everytime I give a member of the opposite sex a flower, instead of an earnest necessity to blossom into a glorious expression of allelluia, it maintains a withered silence which forces the recipient to cast it aside.

Even though i lack the wisdom and intelligence to describe an adult as either an adulterated or deteriorated child, one thing remains bright and crystal-clear in my labyrinthine mind: an adult is twice a child, and both of them are plagued by two mutually inclusive syndromes - puberty and delayed puberty.

And once in a while in the corridors of power, there comes along a clown whose wagon is hitched to a star. And these, are of them.

Every man has three women in his life: his mother, his wife, and his daughter. Each woman initiates him into a different part of life. My mother who sat and watched over my infant head, nourished me with the milk of motherly tenderness and made me a dutiful son. The woman who called herself my wife, nurtured me on bile and turned me into a bitter man. My daughter(s) tasted my bitterness and stretched my inelastic patience to the limits and turned me into a grumpy old man.

Let those who want to hurl the stone of chauvinism at me feel free. No matter what, I will continue to defend to the death the opinion of that dionysian monster who bears the name of Friedrich Nietzsche that "everything about woman is a riddle, and everything about woman has one solution:that is pregnancy".

A warm smile on a fool's face is a truer reflection of the inner harmony compared to the contemplative seriousness etched on the visage of those who proclaim themselves philosophers, princes and wisemen.

The president and his deputy. One is a bushman;the other, a dick head. Certainly, no strange bedfellows.