If gossips kill.

If they really do, I might be hailed in penal
colonies as their ultimate Madame (Mad-damn). Majestic mass-murderer. Well, how
is that for a title? But unfortunately they don’t although they do bite hard.
(do I hear an ‘ouch!’?)

Weeks ago, after dying from rubella, my inbox got
frantic over terse sms that threaten bravura of this and that. It was of how poor virgin me has yet again
been naughty (while in the hospital bed??), I mean accused of misbehavior –spreading
rumors. (Somewhere in Miami, Lindsay might frown on this infringement on
copyright laws. Whatever.)

God knows how I miss being talked about, as the
soon-to-be heretic Keeshia says, “Why should it always be about you?” well,
defender of the faith moi says, “Why not?” Whether in adulation or revulsion,
fact is their larynges made an effort to mention every damn phoneme of your
name. (A dose of mild megalomania sometimes helps in keeping one’s sanity. Trust
me)

Now seriously, I really got nervous (who wouldn’t
if you have antibiotics for breakfast?). I have never dared challenge faculty
members on a fight of blackmails and same font colored propagandas. Most of
all, an office call or worse, summons from the board of discipline (ala The
Other Boleyn Girl) is never a nice back-to-school treat. I couldn’t sleep much
less erase the thought from my mind, so I made the sincerest efforts to appease
the Digital Demigod. It didn’t work apparently. (bad Oracle. tsk)

Now for a rare moment, I’m going to be honest. Yes,
got it right. I’m going to be honest. Really. (Why do I have such a hard time
convincing people about this?)

I personally enjoyed discussing
the rumors and stories about the Digital Demigod and his mortal friend. To some
extent, I wanted them both killed for bursting the bile in my stomach. But this
was ages ago! I swear on Paris Hilton’s grave that I haven’t talked about this
since like Britney was still unshaved!

Honestly, you actually reminded
me of that fact or story or rumor or university secret or publicity stunt or
whatever you call it. I’m done with it. Next please. Oh before I forgot, the
Digital Demigod also produced China-manufactured witnesses, to claim that they
heard me make it a public announcement. Apparently, I know them just like how I
know Einstein’s first cousin on the mother’s side. (Somewhere in Culianan,
Kenneth is frowning over a second-rate trying-hard copycat.)

So I guess I’m done with you
unless you still want an encore?

A month ago, a friend (once
described by another friend as a “total wreck”) sent me quote about how rumor-mongers
and gossipers are parasites that feed on people’s lives. It turned out to be an
innuendo (I love the attempt.) for me since she learned I was spreading rumors
about her.  Uhmm… do I need to spread
rumors about her when her glamorized ADHD tantrums in hallways make her a Prozac-incarnate?

I simply had this reply: “Rumors
make stars. So I guess I found the answer why you’re not.”

 

If gossips could really kill.

Uncategorized | Comments (3)