I am a man of few words when I speak. I am a man of whom few words were used when spoken off. And yet, it baffles the mind at the seeming contradiction which exists when I am logged on into the web, where I write and write and write till somebody screams afowl over words typed,or rather the volume of words being typed.And so I would like to address to the common man and his curiousity on this seemingly miraculous transition. A change,so unexpected and so unforseen, that money would fall from the sky and leap into your pockets as they shout "spend me! spend me!" with glee whenever it happened. And what you bought with that cash is your business,although I apprehend them being a suit of body hugging spandex, a collar, a whip and a pair of handcuffs. The common man might question my understanding of nature's science, even though I took and scored that elite distiction that is a low pass in physics,chemistry and bio at school, of why as of yet their hasnt been a gail of running 50ringgit bills gliding down from the stratrosphere. My dear fellow taxpayers, the question is not to do with my understanding of nature's laws, but of my comprehension of economics and even perhaps meteorology,which isnt a science of nature (and so doesnt count) since that ahma across the street could do a better job at predicting rain.I had slipped out of the topic at hand as I giggled with sadistic joy, grasping the idea that whomever that read the previous paragraphs would be overcomed by the merriments of monetary security, only to be dashed of it a few sentences later.Not to worry, for they shall, with a puff of a breath or two, regain what liltle is left of their sanity, and soon would be qualifed for that prestigious fraternity that is Tanjung Rambutan, of which I am in charge of the accounting of its finances.I had skipped out of the topic at hand, and I shall quickly take a bend back to the straight path. Why,oh,why,did these idle fingers jab and jab till ctrl alt tab,being punched twice, seemed to be a good choice of action? Well, with an honest heart I shall devour the contents of my mind, which are just as meriticrious as the contents of my hind. The truth of the matter, and the matter of the truth, is that there is no one single solution, just as there is no one single pollution worst than the stink that resides in both ends of my poles.I molest keyboards because I could, because there is a deeper need than the desire to be slothful, and that is for the inner shout to be heard and to be listened to.And that internal squabble may be about my wobbly figure, as opposed to the vanity that is Bradd Pitt, or the dark impulses that cajoled me to throw acid at him, or the lighter fantasies of being a female's Siren aka a Backstreet Boy which wouldnt 'Quit Playing Games with their Hearts'.I stabbed that rectangular chopper board for the thrill that eludes even spandex and spiked collars. It is a pleasure founded upon your leisure, your willingness to pave the maze that are my articles of thought and feeling.And it is you that give me worth, a worth that wouldnt dispend even after your long patience and persistence finally gave up and broke nto a thousand pieces,that resulted in a thousand shards of aggresive commentaries that started this attempt of an explanation in the first place. I dabbled upon that sad excuse for a typewriter because I wanted to discipline my wavy, uneven skills and my garbled knowledge to produce, to ptoduce something worth a smite and a jibe from the barely-literate. I wanted to curdle blood,to inject tears and to lessen cheeks for a laugh or two, I wanted to procreate the humanity within us that has been monopolised by hong kong soaps and bollywood goods and to realise, to show that it doesnt take a Priyanka Copra or a Louis Khoo or any face of botox to be human, as all that is needed to flush that face red, to cry that eye a river, to press that lips a smile, is the volumnious or economical use of words describing your friend is a whore