Fornication Under Consent of the King YOU

F*ck in short. The F-word, the middle finger assuming power, the bomb that will put mothers in asylum, the bleep on your screen, the language of breakdown, the means of communication of parents trying to settle things down, the contents of an Eminem CD, oh (expleted deleted) shit you know that word!



This is supposed to be the etymology of the word. It came from the Medieval times (Middle Ages, a long time ago, or once upon a time will do) where having sexual intercourse is prohibited if you are not the King, or of the royal blood, or married. This is the sign posted on doors of those will do the deed after given consent by the king. It's like applying for VISA, only maybe not that long. I'm sure the king have stacks of these letters on his table, or may be scrolls on carton boxes, or stone tablets on caves... I never know, I aint a historian. If this is the origin of the word, it is kinda little religious since really fornication (subtly called premarital sex or adulterous deed) is against the Bible, this has a divine background to it, then why put an asterisk... or translate it to icons seldom used, i.e. @#%$&^!@? Why, why, oh bleeeeeeeeeppp shit, why?



To understand the whole dilemma over this chicken and dinosaur egg, we will consult the net to know when this started as a "bad" or "slang" word. No, we will not get into that. It is such a waste of time. Maybe it started when a gangster slash goon slash streetpunk slash homeless made a new meaning (image/reputation) to that word. And that will make him a scholar for knowing such word. That's why I have respect to these people. But, f*ck %*&!@# bleeeep (expleted deleted) don't you ever to try to snatch something from me again. It's not worth it. You can try somebody else, though. I know someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows how to rob the rich and (sadly *sniff sniff*) the poor. The power of sixth degree affiliation to (no, not Kevin Bacon) the president. Anyone will do; they are all of the same color anyway. Except for, f*ck, I can't think of anything.

Google Jusdin

Everybody seems to ask where the hell I came from, they have never heard of a family name such as "Jusdin". Me neither. So I did a research. No, not that genealogical, family tree, trace your blood brouhaha. I googled my surname. And guess what links came out, and did Google give me an interesting information. It;s for me to find out... Tik tak tik tak...
----------------------


After split seconds (this internet connection is fast, it's not even broadband), it led me to (drum rolls please...) myself, my blog, my comments on somebody's blog, my name on a list of exam passers, my sister, my sister's name on a list of exam passers, and a wrongly spelled name for Justin, and eventually the title of this blog. So I came from myself. Duh! It helped.
----------------------

Since this was a lazy kind of research, may be it's time to ask the person who inherit the Spanish?, Portuguese?, Scottish?, English?, nomadic name: mi Father... when he is drunk. I got an interesting piece of information, he is adopted. And he wants me to find out who are his forefathers. There is no hope. So literally, my surname has no history. My father is the only (adopted) son, and his adopted parents are deceased. And whom to ask next? Google. After 20 years. Google or the internet is not that old yet. May be in time someone from our genes or surname (coz really I am not a pure Jusdin, who cares) will pop out and reveal that I am an heir to somebody's throne. Hopefully, it's the Microsoft empire, imagine just being Bill Gates' step-something.
-------------------

Bill Gates, for the nth time, I am your son!

AI: Artificial Idol or American Intellegence

This is the first time I will be writing about the AI (see title) because of Queen. Last episode they sang songs from the legendary rock band Queen. Some rocked, some flopped. In general, God, Queen saved them. The familiar words we hear from the judges were pitchy, peachy, bitchy (they're interchangeable), karaoke, song choice, and indulgent. For Simon to say indulgent is just being indulgent. Leave Chris alone. He just wants to be in his comfort zone, raw, and original. If you don't want him to be indulgent, why not have a theme, "songs from the first animated feature film Snow White." It'll be hard since the kids will cry if he will make them rock, or it would be a great surprise if he did. And you're indulgent if you want him to do what you like. You're not generally America, you're British.

Bucky went home in a song I thought he nailed well. Ace should have been gone, he's the worst that night. But, Bucky should be gone earlier, for the diva souls of Mandisa and Lisa. I thought Kellie was still the naive girl she wants to project, and the Bohemian Rhapsody version of hers gives light to the meaning of Bride of Chucky in a cool jacket. I still like the girl though, the snot hanky thing was childish, funny, and Ryan is too gay to not touch it. That's just my opinion.

+++++++++++

As for the judges' comments, honestly, it's Simon's comment only matters with the contestants, you can see the anticipation in their eyes to get through Simon's comments and they hoped it's good coz sometimes it spells another week for them. They don't really care about Paula as much as they want to comprehend she just said; I changed channels when she started talking. It's nonsense or a copied comment from Randy. I hate the 'pitchy' word Randy used all the time, can he think of synonyms for it. Coz sometimes it's too vague. For example, he says, "You were (pitchy, peachy, bitchy) in the start/middle... and nailed it to the end" He says that to almost all contestants that it can either mean pitchy (sharp), peachy (too big for you voice), bitchy (you lack personality)... and I am pulling a Paula Abdul... I'm talking nonsense, I am not even drunk. That's just my opinion. Yeah, my opinion.

So what does AI mean? Again I-don't-know. Stop, Paula, stop!

We're Psychos 2

I worked so many parttime jobs in college, even worked two jobs at the same time while doing my thesis and flunking some of my exams. Fortunately, I still get to pass them for i really magically, mysteriously aced some of them. I started working as an internet "supervisor" working 25 hours per month, if you worked more than that you're wasting your time. Then, i worked for the first time as a summer job employee of the city hall in the Stocks department. That is not "stocks" as in those numbers running with arrows on BBC. I literally worked in a stock room, less than 6 feet high; it requires for you to sit for a long time or you'll get stiff neck. I am not that tall but brushing your hair on the ceiling sounds like cleaning the cobwebs out. And i never wondered anymore why sands are all over my scalp.

Then, I worked back as an internet supervisor for another semester, they just liked me. On my last semester in college, I worked three jobs (not at the same time): as a research assistant twice, and a student assistant in our dormitory. It's almost playing supervisor amongst the power-hungry students. But actually, I just answer phone calls and visitors or just sit in the library cutting old newspapers for some valuable clips. And the valuables for me are quite those not too valuable for my boss. As for my being a research assistant, I count crab larvae every day for 1 month, change buckets and drums of water everyday for 1 month, feed the as small as a "headlice" larva with still smaller larvae of algae and shrimp. That must have been the turning point of my life, I started talking to my specimen. We are psychos or serial killers, I prefer the former, it's a choice, and I don't have to keep my hands dirty.

These jobs needless to say made me ready to what the real world really is. I thought I could tackle just any job a la Malcolm in the Middle. But then, there is not enough job out there. And either I must settle as a humble security guard, or be an elementary teacher, or wrestle with the government employees, or smile a lot as an assistant manager for a pizza company, or thwang, tongue-twist, talk to americans about their favorite bouquets, or sit for hell hours typing and listening to accented doctors. I end up the last. Choices, choices... we never really get what we want. But we need money so we settle for what's available. It's a cutthroat business, the lucky ones get laid first or laid off first.

Bill Gates, I am your son.

Psychosocial Moratorium a.k.a. We're Psychos

At this point, I quite don't know where I am going. No path was set for me. I am not Bill Gates' son you know, nothing's there for me. I know I am definitely not alone in this department. Thanks to some psychologist guy, this situation has a term: psychosocial moratorium, although, I never really went to the mountains and lived there alone. What do I want? Do I have what I need? Is there something yet I haven't achieved? (A lot) Am I the next president of this country? Is Judas a saint? Am I Judas? God knows Judas not pay. Am I wearing a straight jacket? Is this asylum? And the questions go on and on and on and on and on... and this could go on forever and ever and ever and ever... I am sick! Everybody agreed.
When I was young, I thought I'd become a priest. Everybody went scared. As if I am not capable, come on guys, it's in the face. They all puked. Then, I joked I would just become a Metro Aide... they just clean and clean and get little pay. Pity them. I thought I wanted to go to military school, yeah right! Then, there's the urge to be a doctor, a neural surgeon per se. Are you doubly insane? I mean do you have money. Just be a nurse. Nothing against nurse, I am just too impatient to take care of the patients and the arrogant physicians (Thanks to Scrubs and Grey's Anatomy, they make a vivid picture of a very funny, un-boring, lively physicians but definitely cocky and arrogant). Not to mention the poo, the poo, the awful poo. The poo that will conquer it all. Suddenly, may be a marine biologist wouldn't be such a bad idea... I mean you get to dive, to snorkel, to scuba, to sightseeing with corals, to be get bitten by a shark, to record boring data, to drown, to marry a microscope, to get stung by a jelly fish and man-o-wars, to stink like a fish, to tan yourself forever. That sounds like not so bad an idea. Oh yeah!
And I became a medical transcriptionist. Everything else is history.

What more could I ask? Damn this, just kill me!

Radio Killed the *bleeping* Star

I wished I heard myself talking on the radio. It was the first time I talked on the radio other than of course having my name uttered by DJ Francis on NU for making a "sort-of" comment. Hearing your name is heaven, then if it happens many times, it can be annoying. Luckily, it never happened many times yet. Good for me. Or not.
My radio appearance (or disappearance or whatever you call that) was just to accompany a friend who is quite afraid of the limelight. I know, I have been featured in a local TV network and they bannered a headline with my name wrongly spelled, both first and last names, and not only was I shy to be broadcasted, I was also ashamed for the murderous attack on my name... needless to say I was only a filler, they were supposed to scoop some police news and they found me... supposed to be a news-worthy individual. Oh boy, they were wrong! Or not. I mean, they've been featuring dead bodies in their underwears in their show, at least I was a decent scoop. Decent, boring scoop. People need those "eeww" factor. They like 'em. And that means everyone must not die in the city or else you'll be one of those dead guys (and gals) in their skimpy red bikinis, innards hanging optional, getting gushes from the well-deserved audience. Enough of that TV stint. Back to the radio where you don't need to show your face and no one will ever tell you, "My father thought you're very small." I backfired by saying, "No, they just have big desks, and that I was leaning," or I was just ashamed, I literally went small. Again, back to the radio.
We talked a lot of stuff. I mean my fellow guests have notes with them. All I have was the idea that I may be able to answer the questions spontaneously or I'd like it to say extemporaneously. Oh boy, again, I was wrong. Bad idea, indeed. It was all about the "Telematic Age". I kinda researched that stuff, because the hell I know about Telematic Age. There's Ice Age, Middle Ages, Renassaince, What's my Age again, Age of the Living Dead, and yeah the Telematic Age. I never really researched, got no time. But, I was excited! Glad it was over!
After the excruciating one hour of haplessly looking for exact answers without sounding stupid, I was able to go through it all. I survived my first radio gig. Radio companies, you can hire me now. Radio is not yet dead or dying, Podcast is still "radio", and I am pleased to stretch, er, my, ehem, talent. Any violent reactions?