The Blogger Who Spam-“Liked” Me

Inspired by “On a Different Type of Spam” by Herman Kok (kokkieh).

[8:03 AM]

Look! I have just posted a photo on my blog, of Lord Chubbington dancing on a string. Isn’t he adorable?


OK, it’s time to engage in some meaningful blog marketing and get people—a lot of people—to see Lord Chubbington. You see, the best way to do this is on the WordPress Reader, which is perhaps the most ingenious invention in the history of blogging, like, ever. I simply have to type the topic—“humor,” in my case, but feel free to type anything you feel like “reading”—in the search box, hit enter, and voìla!

See that “Like” button underneath every post? That’s my secret weapon. Although, if you’re reading this, I guess it’s no secret anymore.

First post. Click. Second post. Click. Third post. Click. Clickety-click-click.

Phew. Fifty-seven posts “Liked” in a minute. That’s got to be a personal best or something. Wait, what’s this? Continue reading

One Hundred Years of Servitude

Saint Peters Square panoramic view at night

Last week I asked for writing prompts to help me get my writing back on track. I received three. This one is thanks to subspace5000. Not really my genre, but here it is. I will post the other two soon, along with what I’ve learned from the whole exercise.

As usual, comments are appreciated.

Ernak marched through the candle-lit corridor, his wings folded tight behind him, his pet human following obediently by his side. He began to feel searing pain from the wound in his stomach—thick, pitch black blood dripped onto the floor with each stride. Continue reading

Serene Piety

Southgate snow London

Published in OZIP Magazine as a Christmas special. The theme was “serendipity”, hence the title.

This Christmas, too, he would visit his good old friend. A bouquet of white lilies in his hand, he treaded softly on the icy cobbles—as if treading on someone’s dreams1.

Big Ben struck twelve. He walked into the gates, onto a pathway surrounded by green grass—buried under thick snow. Passing a statue of an angel, he felt as if in some heavenly garden.

He always had to smile whenever he recalled how they had met; he had found her notebook on the street, covered in snow—it had been snowing then, just like today.

If found, please return to… Lucrezia, is it an Italian name? Certainly not English… and then, her address; Is this fate? Some fortunate accident taking me—finally—to my soulmate? Continue reading

Confession of a PUA

Shimoyoshida CLUB

And she left without saying a word.

How many was it? Three? Four? He wasn’t sure. There was the Persian woman—or at least she looked Persian. The tall, blonde, voluptuous Dutch woman. With her large, pointy nose that was a bit of a turnoff. She was carrying… a shopping bag; Hermès, was it? Must be of the upper class. Aim high, they say. Yet even he had to admit… way too high for him. Too tall, too. Out of his league, to use the cliché. He would be like— like a lone wolf staring at the moon endlessly, every night, pondering how perfect she was, how magnificent. How her light shone on everything on earth, but him. He would be howling incessantly, waiting for her to respond, to take a glance at him, to recognize his existence. But of course, in the end, he would be left alone in the dark, enveloped by his own shadow, the moon out of his reach. Continue reading

Café Forever

Aomori Bay Asamushi Onsen Japan02bs5

The quiet café was painted by the color of the setting sun. I sat on the most comfortable-looking couch I could find. My espresso cup was half empty when I lit up my fourth cigarette that afternoon. I looked at the last message on my phone. It was from my girlfriend.

“I’m coming. Be patient, honey. X”

I simply loved how she always typed “X” at the end of every message. What a difference one letter made. Everytime I looked at that “X” I could imagine her kissing me. Her soft lips touching mine, their warmth penetrating my chest – like a hot shower on a late December evening. Continue reading

Bittersweet Berrystraw


Image used under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license.

She rushed up the stairs, crying every step of the way. He followed her soon after, calling her name. He found her standing, starting to pack.

“Where are you going?”

She gave no reply. He could see her eyes, red and swollen as they were, as tears ran down from her cheek to her chin. The shirt she was wearing, his shirt, was drenched. He looked at her and all his anger from moments ago was gone without a trace. He could feel tears welling up inside him. He barely managed to hold them in. Continue reading