(Twix) Barred and Feathered

This post is not about:

1) Dark Chocolate Twix (recently introduced in Korea), although I'll freely admit to being hooked on the semi-sweet goodness with a cookie crunch, and I've been told that such a product is widely available in

2) Australia, and though I've been denied entry into the country numerous times, mostly on account of

3) Denz, I'm not saying that it's entirely his fault that I'm not allowed onto that fine slab of dirt. Yes, he once held a meeting with immigration bigwigs, during which he threatened to have their ass if I somehow slipped through, but there's more to it than that, like the fact that I have a creeping mancrush on him. It's not that he has a car, good job, attractive wife, etc. but, rather, he always reminds of a song by

4) Men at Work, you know the one. I once discussed the notion of 'coming from the land of plenty' with a neighbor that hailed from Australia, and his gentlemanly response was to punch me right in the face. Unfortunately, I had braces attached to my teeth at the time, and the hooligan's hook literally caused the aforementioned braces to pierce my dainty lips. I won't contend that the guy was a total dick, nor will I write about

5) Cunnilingus, possibly because I lack a girlfriend, but also due to the fact that I've never been adept at slipping my tongue into the vaginal crevices of any species. I once had a terrible experience with this scenario, and although I shan't mention any names in particular, let's just say that those women would, when pressed, admit to the nefarious condition of their respective clitoris. I won't discuss odors, let alone flavors, especially not

6) Mustard. Who would have though that such grievous arguments could arise from a delectable, necessary component of any hamburger? A while back, veiled within the mist of drunken lacuna, Sparkles went a step too far, given that I was purposely -playfully- trying to circumvent his statement about the obvious, superlative nature of one yellow condiment. As I said last week, we're not

7) Dorks, but we'll come to blows about the dumbest shit. It's pretty funny but, also, oddly cathartic to know that there are people in this world with whom you can avoid sweating the big stuff, yet mustard can set you on the warpath. Strange, or not, but things like this often transpire at the local

8) Burger King, but never in the way I'd hope they would. Some years ago, on Halloween, I sat with Josh Woodland at the local BK, stuffing my face with two chicken sandwiches (I didn't do fries at the time). Through the swinging door strode a young woman, her face enshrouded by the hood of a tombstone grey sweatshirt, which was normal enough, but chocolate syrup was splattered across her clothing, as if she had been under a hydrant at Wonka's Chocolate Factory. I couldn't be certain that it was syrup, but that her index finger plunged into the darkness of hooded space (followed by a sipping sound) cemented the notion into my brain, and so that's how we'll let the veracity remain intact. I watched this; watched her order a Whopper, watched her take a seat in the smoking section, watched her remove (and begin smoking) a stick from a pack of

9) Marlboro Lights, watched her remove the hood. Beneath and beyond all these things, was a beautiful woman, one with auburn hair splendidly accentuated by a profusion of chocolate syrup that dampened her flowing hair. The chocolate strewn about her face, haphazardly I presume, merely enhance her alluring, angular features, and I often wonder about the flavor of syrup mixed with the noxious -albeit insanely pleasurable- fumes of a cigarette. I'll never know about that (I don't have the balls to cross streams in such a way), nor will I never know anything about the woman, because I didn't make an effort to converse with her whatsoever. I had the upper half of a painted rubber skull atop my actual face (securely fastened with latex glue) amongst other things, such as a mildly offensive lack of courage. I suppose that women aren't for me, just like

10) Video Games fail to stimulate the slightest erection on a daily basis. Nonetheless, if I were to mention a video game, I'd applaud the efforts of the Streets of Rage Remake folks. It's just a group of guys, doing what they love, pouring their hearts into enhancing a classic 16-Bit game, which doesn't remind me of the once prolific

11) PKollective, but that's not what this post is about.

This post was about shapeshifting marsupials.

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Philippe Mora