As per usual, I got a lot of time to kill, and yet I decide to just wander at the middle of my thoughts.
And so, just now I've decided to waste my remaining days here, typing awful inanity that only I could grasp.
I wonder what it feels to fly...
I mean, just like the birds in the sky and all. You could go here and there with relevant ease. There's no more need for complex machines with technical flaws and all. It could be fun to watch, too, the police up there chasing burglars. Heh, and who knows... I might be out there cheering with the pompoms and all. It kills me every time I think of it, the cheering thing.
I might as well join a cheering squad, since I've always been a bench warmer. You see, back in my high school days, I used to play baseball. I'm not really good at it, you see, but I was in the team--and I've always been the substitute pitcher. Always. It was quite fun, too, since I get to watch the game closer than those really annoying spectators who would shout "Tangina katanga mo mag-pitch, uwi ka na!", or "Shet, takbo! Tangina dalian mong tumakbo!" I mean, t'was really rude to say that and all.
Then there was this really important final game. We were leading the scoring part and all--I'm guessing t'was 5-2--then all of a sudden our pitcher, the one who throws balls(it sounds wrong, and I don't know why I specified that part), got injured. That was when things got really messed up. As I was the substitute pitcher--the only substitute pitcher, that is--I was pretty much required to go out there and throw some ugly rounds. Then there was this really phony guy that I hate so much for being really phony, to add to that he's the phoniest bastard I ever met, that keeps cheering for me with a very phony voice. It got on my nerves and all, so I threw a ball at him. No, it did not hit him. Instead it hit the other team's fanatic. It sparked an uproar, and that's when we forfeited the game. It's my fault, I know, but deep inside, it was really worth it.
Back to the topic, the flying thing and all. I guess it would be much, much harder to pitch in mid-air, wouldn't it? I mean, you'll go round and round and all. To tell you the truth, I'm highly prone to giddiness that a few spins and I'm down head first. Maybe that's why I hated travelling when I was a young lad. Young lad... That killed me. As I was saying, when I was a young lad, I would always throw up during trips and all--and the one to blame was this part of our journey where we had to fight our way through ridiculously large amounts of curved roads. How do I put it? It's much like that of when you're headed to Baguio, but more... burlesque.
That would add up to the convenience of flying, too. No more stupid curved roads; no more late dates, et cetera. She hates latecomers. I hate it when she sulks because I'm late. I hate being late.
I hate it, that I can't fly.
And so, just now I've decided to waste my remaining days here, typing awful inanity that only I could grasp.
I wonder what it feels to fly...
I mean, just like the birds in the sky and all. You could go here and there with relevant ease. There's no more need for complex machines with technical flaws and all. It could be fun to watch, too, the police up there chasing burglars. Heh, and who knows... I might be out there cheering with the pompoms and all. It kills me every time I think of it, the cheering thing.
I might as well join a cheering squad, since I've always been a bench warmer. You see, back in my high school days, I used to play baseball. I'm not really good at it, you see, but I was in the team--and I've always been the substitute pitcher. Always. It was quite fun, too, since I get to watch the game closer than those really annoying spectators who would shout "Tangina katanga mo mag-pitch, uwi ka na!", or "Shet, takbo! Tangina dalian mong tumakbo!" I mean, t'was really rude to say that and all.
Then there was this really important final game. We were leading the scoring part and all--I'm guessing t'was 5-2--then all of a sudden our pitcher, the one who throws balls(it sounds wrong, and I don't know why I specified that part), got injured. That was when things got really messed up. As I was the substitute pitcher--the only substitute pitcher, that is--I was pretty much required to go out there and throw some ugly rounds. Then there was this really phony guy that I hate so much for being really phony, to add to that he's the phoniest bastard I ever met, that keeps cheering for me with a very phony voice. It got on my nerves and all, so I threw a ball at him. No, it did not hit him. Instead it hit the other team's fanatic. It sparked an uproar, and that's when we forfeited the game. It's my fault, I know, but deep inside, it was really worth it.
Back to the topic, the flying thing and all. I guess it would be much, much harder to pitch in mid-air, wouldn't it? I mean, you'll go round and round and all. To tell you the truth, I'm highly prone to giddiness that a few spins and I'm down head first. Maybe that's why I hated travelling when I was a young lad. Young lad... That killed me. As I was saying, when I was a young lad, I would always throw up during trips and all--and the one to blame was this part of our journey where we had to fight our way through ridiculously large amounts of curved roads. How do I put it? It's much like that of when you're headed to Baguio, but more... burlesque.
That would add up to the convenience of flying, too. No more stupid curved roads; no more late dates, et cetera. She hates latecomers. I hate it when she sulks because I'm late. I hate being late.
I hate it, that I can't fly.
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