Michael's Kids aren't his ... yet the West never noticed

I love Michael Jackson and love his music. He's the Hailey's Commet of super stars and I'm glad the he passed by in my life time. RIP Michael.

That said, he did have quirky habits and I didn't really think much about them. I mean he's a star after all (Alanis Morriset keeps vials of blood ...) The subject of this post isn't even so much that he claimed kids who weren't his to be his (anyone could do that and we all have our secrets) but that no one ever really seemed to notice.

In this era of substances scraped off Lewinsky's dress to prove a point and Princess Di's terrible end at the hands of the paparazzi, how is it that the media didn't pick on this. Debbie Rowe admits here that the kids weren't his and that they had a sham marriage, but how can anyone who's looked at these kids not note that they are 100% caucasian? All the media houses speak freely of his biological kids without ever a question as to their paternity. Why? Aren't these the same guys who insist that Mariah Carrey is 'black'?

Go figure and have an analytical day!

Stranger than Fiction

Stranger than fiction is the story (read it here) of 18 year old Belgian girl called Kimberly who went into a tattoo parlour supposedly for 3 tattoos on the side of her face and came out with 56. There are many elements of this story that lead one to wonder. The single most troubling one to me is how you can wake up in the morning, choose to get a tattoo and go to a guy who looks like this for it:








So the chick who wanted 3 small stars left the parlour looking like this:



The girl supposedly fell asleep while getting them done and the guy just went on and on like the energizer bunny. How do you sleep when getting a tattoo, and especially a tattoo on your face? The guy says he'll pay for half of them to be removed and is happy with the publicity he's recieving.

It's a strange world indeed!

Of slowness and related tardiness

I'm working on the single most boring engagement in my adult life. It's a 50 page document that's so dreary I've been reading it for a whole week, taking it home everyday and I've only gotten half way! How shall I survive?! Anyhoo, I find myself very distractable and thought why not tell a tale!

The other day on my way to work, there was a mat whose dere said they were going to the general vicinity in which I was headed. Being on a road where those mats don't ply, I wondered to myself for about 2 seconds before I jumped in, ready to enjoy the ride. Now this is where I think there must have been something wrong with me. Not at the jumping in part but at riding along jolily staring out the window as we moved from familliar settings to stranger and more deserted roadsides. When I snapped out of my reverie and decided to get off, I was standing a distance from the office in what we shall call 'the middle of nowhere' (makes you think of Eustace and that dog huh? But I digress).

After standing by the road for about 10 minutes I realised that 'tmon' doesn't have many mats and that the few that pass by are packed to the brim and caked with mud in a manner likely to suggest a long journey from beyond the city limits. I decided to call my cab guy only to have him tell me that he was about as far as he could possibly be from 'tmon' and the other one was mteja. Just as I was having a conversation with my God for a clue on what to do, seeing as the clock was a-ticking and I needed to get to work, a mat miraculously stopped infront of me and I managed to plough through the gunias of produce, find a shared seat and get to work - late but at least I made it.

The saddest part of this tale is that I wasn't nursing a hangover or anything ... just being particularly slow (which may explain my problem with the document). Have a faster day please! Shiko thanks for the heads up! :-)