No Fables

Last weekend bordered on amazing, built from the motivation that I could certainly try to have more fun than Ray Argyle. In order to make my wishes come to vivid fruition, I enlisted the candid insights of Holly Paige. I was in rare form, cheering the Lakers while adorned in finagled boa and The Hat’s lost hat.

Holly, a sight for sore eyes since her bold move to D.C., confided in me that the many ills of the world which pollute psyches are related to not having fun, or something like that. I don't really recall any context because, of course, around that time I became blackout drunk. That was the same evening The Wolf finally showed me how he really felt about my energetic presidential campaign.

I was unhindered in pushing boundaries, so I took my first attempt of making a cheers while taking a photo.

I think blackout drunk never felt better. Earlier in the night I was with Roxie sporting wide red eyes.

We reminisced about the glory we’ve shared over the years, even managing to finally get a good laugh about one of the worst nights ever, the debacle at L.A.X., the time when all futures were determined at random with spite.

Peacock, who has since gone into hiding, was my last picture taken inside the venue, which also assisted the security detail in identifying me moments later.

As an avid fan of aimless prancing, ten minutes of mixing it up on the dance floor is far from satisfying.

We never made it out to see Hyper Crush, choosing instead to be faced with ludicrous cab debauchery, mainly their right to refuse service to anyone. The peanut gallery of photographers found humor in what was otherwise a rather dire stamp on an evening filled with untapped potential.

While some haters can find amusement in another group's peril, that night proved, once again, that some forms of attempted Bashing can fail miserably. Upon contemplating the peaks and valleys of which fun can often hinge on, I called in support from Orange County in the form of Sylvester Cunningham, whose affinity for Captain Morgan instantly catapulted him into the upper echelon of Bashing lore.

Known to all close friends as Sly, he’s waged battles on many fronts, proudly representing what’s in all our best interests. Like most Bashers celebrated as a part of The Inner Circle, he seems to have his way with the ladies.

I was graced with his acquaintance through my lovely First Lady Scarlett O’Connell.

Apart from being a member of the American Society for Enology and Viticulture, Sly is a founding father of the Chawhee Party Klan, a group of Bashers whose influence has spread cancerously throughout the United States. Like true warriors, we’ve been to Del’s Saloon for breakfast in the past.

That particular day we went to Venice Beach to marvel at the ridiculous spectacle known as professional wrestling, a "sport" lunatics commonly believe to be real.

Since I was going to Del's Saloon for two nights in a row, I wanted to roll incognito to our meeting, low key, not to be noticed by anyone in particular, just simply blending in.

I didn’t expect that our reunion would also feature the elusive Dante, a sighting that initially scared the bejesus out of Amaury Guerrero.

The trouble caused from the cameo couldn’t be more disturbing. My already high level of drinking ability instantly became elevated while my speech became more incoherent than normal. Thankfully, Scarlett was there to temper the proceedings, although not very much.

Adding insult to injury, Priscilla Centinela, with her Long Island iced teas, egged us on to Bash harder.

Glasses were raised in triumph, for it’s a rarity that we managed to all be in the same room together.

The Bashers were justly reunited, all in the name of fun, although Ray still laughs at all of us. The next day I felt like a million dollars.

Top 28 Albums of 2008

Another great year of music, a testament to the violent fluctuations within the top ten. It was incredibly tough to make a list, but these all remain in heavy rotation.

#1 Girl Talk, Feed the Animals
#2 Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
#3 Portishead, Third
#4 Danny!, And I Love H.E.R.
#5 TV on the Radio, Dear Science
#6 Santogold, Santogold
#7 Beck, Modern Guilt
#8 Ratatat, LP3
#9 AC/DC, Black Ice
#10 The Bug, London Zoo
#11 Robyn, Robyn
#12 Neon Neon, Stainless Style
#13 Little Jackie, The Stoop
#14 MGMT, Oracular Spectacular
#15 Arctic Monkeys, Favourite Worst Nightmare

Honorable mentions:

-Adele, 19
-Al Green, Lay It Down
-Deerhunter, Microcastle
-Hyper Crush, The Arcade
-Kaiser Chiefs, Off With Their Heads
-Kings of Leon, Only By Night
-Lupe Fiasco, The Cool
-Lykki Li, Youth Novels
-M83, Saturdays=Youth
-Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!
-Q-Tip, The Renaissance
-Racontours, Consolers of the Lonely
-Starf**ker, Starf**ker

I Have More Fun Than You

Throughout my extensive travels exploring the depths of humanity and its mysterious origins, I happily reunited with avant-guard musician Ray Argyle, who constantly confides that he has more fun than me.

“I have more fun than you,” he always tells me as matter of fact. I should come to accept it.

Apart from tours to remote island locations for video shoots, Ray recently went to some art show Bash in downtown with hipsters and music till dawn with Serena.

They both enjoyed the spontaneous art demonstrations.

The work done over time was impressive. Motivated artists were around just about every corner, concentrating on their original creations while lost from society at large.

People were tripping out on Aphex Twin, so he saw some weird things that night.

He was bored with a high powered camera, so he started making his own spontaneous art digitally.

His photography skills brought much rejoice from revelers like Serena. Even though she’s a good friend, he told her that if they ever did anything, like mess around, he wouldn’t be against it, although maybe it was the scenery and the booze talking.

Ray frequents high end clubs in Hollywood, the kind that stock talentless acts for the sake of the lowest common denominator. Unlike many Los Angeles musicians, he supports many local singers, like this particular floozy.

At least he never has to buy his own $10 drink. Even Harper O’Hara is guilty of buying him Jager bombs over games of pool at Del’s Saloon.

She once said that the only reason to have a boyfriend is to secure consistent sexual favors. Rumor has it she moved to Vancouver. She’ll certainly miss Ray's five dogs, all of whom can sit outside his local pizzeria without moving from their territorial spot.

The pack, which consists of Leo, Ginger, Bob, Barney, and Buster from left to right, brings excitement to his every waking day, especially the way they take care of each other in his absence. Whenever Ray leaves town with the band, his neighbor Ambrosia takes care of the mangy mongrels. She often comes over for four in the morning Guitar Hero.

The simple fact is he thrusts himself onto the scene fearless, sort of like how The Hat likes jumping off diving boards dry and hatless.

Considering Ray's many interests, like writing poetry, he enjoys long walks on the beach, often with the loveliest of the lovelies looking right back.

I think he laughs at all of us.

Scorched Earth Theory

Sadly, I lost my bid for President of the United States. Also, my beloved Oakland Raiders are failing miserably as a team and an organization.

Thankfully, I remain in good spirits with a sharpened shank, ready to bury it in dimwits who cross the line with naively crafted insults. Above all, I still manage to throw around the occasional joke, yet at this point all the laughter seems merciful. Roxie tells me I need to relax.

But how can I relax, knowing that our country is on an unpredictable path that leads to... what exactly? To cheer me up, Roxie recently trimmed my mop of hair, and she definitely would’ve made me look great when meeting foreign dignitaries. Still stuck in the groove of campaigning, I met with Ronda, who would’ve been my nominee for Secretary of the Treasury. A graduate of Northwestern, she has studied the intricacies of our fragile economy, recently telling soon to retire Tom Florence of Jasper, Indiana, “If you’re going to cash in your 401K, I suggest investing in cigarettes and alcohol.”

Of course, she probably wouldn’t have made it through the confirmation process, especially since this particular photo leaked to the mass media three weeks ago:

Most people could never excuse such an action, clinging to a belief system outdated by modern standards. Some people are just batty. During the final stretch of my campaign, I horrifically faced a brush with death I wish on no one. While campaigning in Holmby Hills, an irate banshee began hurling barbs with bitterness, a reaction worthy of an extended stay at the local rubber room. I escaped with my life, as did Scarlett O’Connell, and my trail of fire left from exhaust led to heavenly results. My First Lady recovered well from the ensuing drama.

Sebastian Santiago, who would’ve been my nominee for Secretary of the Interior, suggested that all voters should be required to write in the name of who they want for president. If a person can’t write legibly or at all, then how can you say they have "keen faculties or sound mind?"

A scraggly monkey can fill in a circle. I was noticeably brokenhearted by the outcome of the election, so he supportively reminded me of all the meaningful endorsements I received during the tough campaign. Nobody will ever forget when I gained the endorsement of the National Gothic Movement.

They are a joyous people, and they were very optimistic about their future under my administration. With all these swirling thoughts racing, I was forced to have a few from Lucca at Del’s Saloon.

Her good humor was encouraging. To wind down from the heavy campaigning, I met who would’ve been my Chief of Staff, the ultimate pop-off Ridge Thorneway. He maintains that never straying from objectivity is part of being a Basher. I told Ridge that the tanking economy makes it hard to remain objective. He empathized with that observation, then stated bluntly, “These hard times lead to heavy drinking.”

That night it did. Ridge later warned that you should never make fun of a drunken bar patron, the even one whose earlier judgment wavered on recklessness crossed with self-destructive blather. Now, as a has-been presidential candidate, I’m stuck making fun of passed out bar patrons at Del’s.

Holy Matrimony

Rita agreed to Tony’s advances, so to the alter they went to seal the deal and finalize all outstanding contracts. I was invited to their wedding to witness a marriage, on the condition, of course, that I maintained good behavior and relented from Detonator style mischief. Nothing prepared me for what I experienced.

A bride this stunning makes men weep.

The location was incomparable, so after much serious contemplation, I was the one yelling “Fore” on random back swings from the bushes.

A major highlight was my ticket to the pre-game festivities, where champagne and females were abundant. I got there extra early for obvious reasons.

When it comes to make-up application, nobody does it better than Holly Valentine. She went to work on everyone, including Rita’s sister Roxie.

I had never before witnessed the preparation involved behind the scenes. Envy in the eyes of other males was surely apparent, especially when empty bottles of Veuve Clicquot led to multiple walks through the field to retrieve another three bottles. Everyone was taking care of each other.

The best part was the encircling, everyone wanting to get a piece of last second make-up primping for the bride, a tradition well respected among most female clans. The final touches reached a frenzy many will reminisce about for years. Everyone was going to look their best.

The ceremony was planned to perfection, no detail overlooked. It also helps to have endless champagne and Chivas to loosen up the bride and Maid of Honor.

I've read that marriage is done for the purpose procreation and requires consummation. There are other obligations to consider, like in some wacky cultures women are required to bear many children. Roxie simply believes in the power of love.

The sheer energy and introspective words of the preacher brought shivers down my spine. The look in Rita’s eyes gazing into that of her love boldly moved the spectators.

That soon led to the rampage of congratulations for the bride, here seen with her business partner Alice.

Bernadette Bender was there too, willing to cause stirs with her unrequited desire to Bash.

It had been forever since I challenged her wits, one of the many things I treasure from such a close friend.

One of my favorite bartenders Danny was there, which was no surprise to anyone with half a pulse.

He later fell into some type of drunken wormhole of self-realization. He claimed that the only way to terminate a marriage is by death.

Roxie gave a very well-received speech during the beautiful reception, certainly one of the many high points.

No matter what type of wedding traditions a family may follow, you have to love the dances with the father.

I was stoked to see Uncle Bob there, who Bashed me into submission with perfectly targeted insults, the kind that are the truth.

He pointed out that the age of consent in Spain is 13, 14 in a bunch of other European countries. As we had an in depth discussion on the many virtues of marriage, the beats from DJ Preston Moronie brought out Holly Valentine and her microphone. The Bash needed some Hyper Crush.

Virtually on cue, they began doing a daring mash up of the Hyper Crush catalog, moving the crowd from verse to verse with purpose. To do it up right, I hit the dance floor to liven things, a typical reaction since I know how to shake it with the crew.

The absurd amount of stiff pours from behind the bar only made the situation more manic. Roxie and Holly made sure to elevate the excitement of the proceedings.

No matter where I went, from front to back, I was viciously attacked by females fueled by thoughts that maybe, just maybe one day, they'll have their day.

Before leaving, I made sure to have a permanent impact by passing along five volumes of “The Art of Bashing” to a promising young college student, one with potential to dominate.

Spreading subversive propaganda around suffices when a positive mood accommodates my passion for the greater good. I gladly pulled ripcord before things could get too out of hand. The fortune showered forth was enough inspiration to attack Del’s Saloon. I was immediately greeted with a handshake from the peerless Amaury Guerrero.

One female was particularly perturbed by our brash behavior, which surely bordered on amazing. Some hussies are easily scared and get inexplicably caught in the headlights. This one was caught off guard, but then became very friendly.

When they figure out the method and understand the threat, calmness closes them and happiness shines supreme. She also suggested that all marriages include a dowry. Her annoying friend was not impressed. Neither was I.

Amaury immediately led her away with the heavy lure of darts. That also led to Amaury belting out an unsolicited karaoke duet with an extra amorous female who had a head full of impromptu drunkenness.

All in all, I survived Rita's wedding and Del’s, so I guess my political career remains intact. It was around this time I realized people were getting rather stupid from the excessive liquid abuse. Very few knew I recklessly stole the bouquet, figuring it would shower me with unprecedented luck.

Best Friends Part 2: Peacock and Roxie

Roxie and Peacock perfectly demonstrate that there isn't a more beautiful thing than seeing true friendship right before your eyes.

Peacock and Roxie have been through the tribulations of life together with the spectacle of high drama, laughter, and many unfortunate spectators like myself. I told them once before that best friends, on their level, are a rarity far from extinct.

As Bobby and Cliff would agree, best friends are never ashamed to mug shamelessly for satisfaction.

Among the travails of daily meanderings, a best friend's shoulder can always be leaned on. You share a bond so close that bliss knows no bounds. Just by knowing them you’re never the same.

You can tell a terrible joke, and for some mysterious reason they’ll go ahead and giggle, in essence, helping you out with fragile self-esteem issues. Becoming a best friend takes time, fostered from occasions deserving of deepest trust, like Bashing gloriously because it's Tuesday.

The minds of best friends are connected by infallible hearts. Mere communication through body language often says more than words could’ve conveyed. You don’t even have to have a conversation to know what each other are thinking.

You can give a heartfelt monologue just by looking into their eyes. The fun never ends. It’s great to conspire in making calls or leaving perverse voice mails for unsuspecting male recipients. They get broadsided; the targets never realize what just punched them in the jaw.

Roxie and Peacock accept each other for what they are, believing that they can be better humans by sticking together. What feels better than hugging your best friend? The hugs are close and you mean it when you smile.

Moments and experiences like that are a tough bargain when sadly considering the countless population of ignorant animals surrounding us. The Detonator says nothing good happens at 3:44 in the morning, like that phone call from your best friend that's either answered or ignored with a smirk. Most of the time you’re together on the road at 3:44 in the morning.

I’ve heard that friendship is heavily attached to the theory of soul mates, because any lack of perfection still keeps them perfect for you. The Hat says it’s hereditary, I say it’s magic.

Above all else, in the grand scheme of things, a best friend keeps you sane in the insane world.

Best Friends Part 1: Bobby and Cliff

Of all Del's Saloon patrons, nobody represents the category of best friends better than Bobby and Cliff. Cliff always knows when I’m causing serious mischief and has no problem showing it.

Whenever Master Cliff and Bobby Farlow attack Del’s Saloon right, throwing back cocktails proper, Lucca gets an added edge of excitement, and she never judges the finest of The Circle without judicious scrutiny.There’s always so much unconditional love floating around when we’re all at Del’s Saloon.Bobby, for example, has a penchant for using his middle finger as an intricate form of communication.

Since best friends usually share the same qualities, Cliff speaks the same language.

And Bobby will give it back. Best friends can touch your warm heart by a simple glance, even with a willing participant like Lucca in the middle. As expected, when he isn’t hanging out with his best friend Cliff, Bobby finds time to bond with great people like Kristin.

With Cliff, he used to tend to be guided into the arms of lovely Jenna Wade, a Beverly Hills magnate with governmental ties to Panama. They haven't seen each other lately at all.

Bobby and Cliff aren’t afraid to take the party train to Del’s for breakfast either, and they never arrive empty handed. Best friends are constantly capable of doing that, and like with Bobby, Cliff has never failed me with wit and concentration. You can’t pick your family, but you can certainly pick your friends, and Tatum is an excellent choice with the sass factor.

It’s great to have best friends, but it’s even greater to be one, a sort of achievement Sebastian Santiago has achieved effortlessly on the fringes of amazing.

Calling someone a best friend carries weight. Being able to trust someone that deeply means you can spill your guts out without worrying of presumptions, a motif thought about and dissected by Cliff in adverse situations of grandeur.A best friend will tell you what you certainly wouldn’t tell yourself. Bobby and Cliff share an unbiased perspective on such matters, like females and finances, a trait invaluable and treasured when used to build each other up. Coming above in major categories is natural and executed telepathically.

You can always be you, and dubious demeanor never takes unexpected shifts in true friendship. For example, Bobby gets called out with regularity for casual hostilities.

When you have best friends like Bobby and Cliff, you feel secure enough to pour your heart out on any pressing matter, or you can embark on outrageous adventures of infamy, like the many I've shared with the legend of Cliff and his muse Lacey.

It's sad, but when your glorious best friend isn’t around you greatly miss them, a void instantly becomes apparent. At their strongest you’re able to laugh heartily and cry, or you Bash righteously!

I could’ve never seen what was important otherwise. Because of them, I found the absolute greatness of my First Lady.

Vote Floyd Sanders for President of the United States of America! Down with the status quo, Floyd '08!

Stalkers!

Some might argue that a woman can be impressive enough to drive a man psycho. Regardless, it takes precious time to stalk someone.

Stalkers tiptoe around in the shadows, and like perverted peeping toms, they can sometimes be found hanging from trees armed with binoculars and bad intention.

Stalkers who get caught in the act will cover-up the deranged reason they decided to fall off the subconscious deep-end. When you identify and confront a stalker with facts, positively noting that they are a stalker, this commonly leads to pathological lying. In my unprofessional opinion, stalkers are certifiably insane. The eyes of a crazy person look like this:

The pursuit of a victim can stem from a variety of psychological factors, such as anger, projection of blame, obsession, dependency, denial, and worst of all, jealousy. The stalkee can be put through quite a bit of trauma from the hurtful experience provided by an unbalanced stalker. Worse, they can appear from out of nowhere, jumping onto your back when least expected.

Stalkers want something they cannot have, taking on their pursuit like a hungry wolf hunting prey. Sadly, they are known to take human form.

Precautions can be taken, like having a guard dog in your humble abode to keep intruders from entering and going through your things when away. Dogs scare evil stalkers.

The paparazzi, also known to some as “stalkerazzi,” trail celebrities and are able to invade privacy within the rules of the law. Sometimes the result is the stalkee going bananas, lashing out viciously.

One can’t blame the frustration that comes with being stalked, especially when they just won’t get a hint and go away. According to famed mental health specialist P.E. Mullen, there are five types of these psychological terrorists. The first, the Rejected Stalker, tries to correct or reverse rejection, and they are usually filled with sadness and jealousy. They cling to the belief that their failed relationship can be rekindled. This type of stalker believes that the victim needs to be rescued or punished for flaws in judgment.

The Resentful Stalker tries to scare their victims as a form of revenge and is irrationally paranoid through bitterness. An Incompetent Suitor is a socially inept idiot with a crazed fixation who feels entitled to their victim, one who is often already involved in a relationship with a sane person. The universally feared Predatory Stalker spies in order to prepare and plan an attack on the victim. They are the least common but the creepiest of the bunch.

The hardest ones to shake are the Intimacy Seekers. All they want is a loving relationship with the victim/soul mate, believing they are "meant to be together." They have a desire to help the target, misguided in their belief that the victim loves them too. Negative responses by the victim are perceived as encouragement. Delusional Intimacy Seekers are statistically the most persistent type of stalker. In the grand scheme of stalking, Lucca says her batty stalkers are stealthy and try hard to keep their annoying actions quiet.

Stalkers cannot be trusted and restraining orders should be seriously considered in any case, be it extreme or otherwise.

Sadly, schizophrenics don’t understand the law. Too bad weird freaks often ignore restraining orders, instead looking at them as a challenge in the way of their ultimate goal. Amaury Guerrero was once shocked by the “coincidental” appearance of Lisa Brenner at Q’s.

To add suspicion, she was rolling alone, so he immediately filed a restraining order. The effects of stalking vary, but it’s most certainly a disruptive mental assault, one that causes destruction of trust and emotional insecurity. Severe forms of anxiety are exposed, as well as anger and even embarrassment. Aside from crippling hypervigilance (abnormally increased arousal that scans the environment for threats), good physical health can be deterred through lack of sleep by constantly imagining a perpetrator trying to look through your window.

The stalker will usually wear nondescript clothing and will drive a car other than his own to avoid detection. Perceived anonymity is the stalkers best friend, and the majority of them are male.

Thankfully, I haven’t had any male stalkers, but I’ve recently discovered the travails of having a few female stalkers. I think everyone agrees that stalkers can be classified as pitiful losers. One misconception is that female stalkers aren’t as dangerous as male stalkers. It’s a complete myth, and the psychiatric status doesn’t differ. Thing is, women often target other women. It’s like the female astronaut, Lisa Marie Nowak, who fearlessly stalked cross-country while wearing diapers.

That crazy broad tried to kidnap the girlfriend of an astronaut she was once romantically involved with. She obviously suffers from a personality disorder. Most stalkers have a history of criminal activity and substance abuse, although some utilize stalking as a gateway to greater crimes, many of which are documented on the great Oxygen TV show “Snapped.”

Stalkers are a low form of human being, putting their own interests ahead of anybody else, especially the person being victimized. I once dated a girl who threatened to commit suicide in order to cause an intervention on my part, to force me to have contact with her, give her comfort. She succeeded, and I broke my long-standing silence to tell her, “Go ahead, do it, my life will be easier.”

By never following through with her game, she reinforced her psychosis. Because of a recent stalking problem, I was clearly prompted to change my cell phone number, and thus far, have remained happily stalker free. You can find yourself in danger if they know where you live, so it’s best to keep potential threats at more than arms distance. Problem is, you can know someone for years and never realize they have stalking in their blood. You can’t always confirm the traces of crazy in their eyes.

In conclusion, all stalkers are bonkers, and when it comes down to it, Floyd Sanders will always be bulletproof!

Reform Yourself

You can effectively become hostage to a manufactured personality.

For the best you should lay all your honesty to bear, ditch any practical lies to show soul. It's too easy to assume the resolute route will lead to capturing the prized heart.

Worse is when yours is smitten roughly, and concealing the fact feels inconsiderate. I had casual correspondence with Raj Vasher regarding the best music websites, and it somehow led to me confessing real affection after a glorious evening the day before. I was intensely lovelorn, thoughts jumbled sharply, and I professed feelings that had been foreign to me. He has seen it all.

Raj instantly responded with:

“This is maybe the most important email you've sent me in a while. Actually, not the most important... but the most heartfelt. I'm really excited to hear that you like-like a girl. It's been a long time since Brooke and the Unmentionable. And random hook ups were always designed to lead you into the arms of a quality girl. I trust Amaury with my life, so if he says that she's qualified... then she is qualified. And even if this thing doesn't last, it's good to have a steady girl for a while to smash preconceptions about you.”

If you have women all over you, you’re immediately labeled as a womanizer, even if you don’t act on the impulses. If you write a book about “The Art of Bashing,” you’re immediately scrutinized for what the text represents and how it applies to your mentality.

It isn’t too difficult to build a bit of a reputation, be it good or bad, maybe neither. Sometimes you can inadvertently overexpose yourself, becoming effortless prey for hungry wolves. All you can do is prove that the common thought is wrong, that is, if they’re willing to trust you. Overarching confidence can shroud significance.

Through the trials, you end up wanting the best more, as though being a glutton for punishment may change the situation in your favor. It usually doesn’t. Either they want you or not. The Seek always gets hurt by the Sought.

Through initial frustration I pondered viable remedies within reach, the trollops a phone call away that would comply in healing my torn heart. But I couldn’t make any call, they were meaningless, and I knew it would never solve the way I felt.

Should I take Denise out to the Hollywood Bowl for old time’s sake?

Should I bring flowers, maybe a bottle of champagne to Tasha for a straightforward score?

Was another Venice Beach excursion in order to search for the perfect sunglasses?

Sometimes it’s safer to check your true feelings at the door, but I’m sick of doing that. It’s a rarity to feel discarded hastily, but it's a risk worth taking. I’d rather go to Busby’s than feel this way. Reforming yourself is clear when motivated by something greater than you.

Nothing feels absolute, a testament to turbulent confusion coupled with an apprehension reaching dangerous levels barely touched before. I never question myself, but now I have no choice. Feeling trapped is sickening.

The solution lies in being true to oneself, and fear of sacrifice should be taken competently. Sometimes being yourself can backfire, even if they laugh at your dumb jokes.

Maybe you can’t change who you are even if you really try, but knowing the benefits of change and wanting it pave the path smoother.

I finally figured out that I’m misunderstood. Making a person you truly like believe and trust you is a task undertaken with heavy duress attached. You can never blame people for believing the myth.

Trust

Being able to trust someone is the foundation of any friendship, but by doing so you risk enabling a means to take advantage. Trust helps separate integrity from depravity.

I guess there’s something to be said for perception and the way it can control our decision making capacity. One could feasibly blame society at large for creating expectations, the kind that make us wander around fearing judgment. Fear is something I embrace.

Trust is very dangerous; it certainly isn’t negotiable. Either it’s there or it's not. For instance, I have the utmost confidence that Michelle or Lucca would never dream of slipping me a harmful roofie.

I'm lucky enough to know that as a fact. Along similar lines, being able to trust the hand operating a camera can also come into play at opportune times.

You can’t help but contemplate who’d have your back if there was an outbreak of deceitfulness. On one absurd adventure with Lance Cannon, he proved his honor for Suzy at the 4^th Annual Carhole Bouncy Boxing Bash.

She knew she could trust him. He's a gentleman and a scholar, plus Lance has the ultimate trust in me when it comes to beer pong combat. We’ve only been defeated once, and that particular match ended in bitter controversy. I simply don’t miss when everything is on the line.We’ve both stood with conviction enough times to know right from wrong. Lance usually has his way with women, and the skeptics can’t make a viable argument against it due to his pleasant benevolence. He once said, “There's lots of people that can fool me, but they can only do it once!”

We both marvel at deep bonds from sisterly love, something the Ahmad sisters authentically share. When you see something that pure and incandescent, even when you personally have no frame of sibling reference, you can still appreciate the love you see in others. It's one of the most beautiful things you can see.

Genuine smiles cannot be faked. Within the two of them it’s impossible not to sense the heightened level of faith they have in each other, and that's important in any treasured relationship. For example, whenever I need to talk to someone honest, who isn’t influenced by circles and maintains a logical balance, I readily turn to Holly Paige. We usually meet for cocktails on the Venice boardwalk.She won't pull any punches, and I can tell her my problems, concerns, subversive musings, and Hell, I'll always heave in a casually scathing critique for good measure. But most of all we laugh a lot. The same goes for Cliff and his reliable grip.

I trust Cliff because of the unique way he conducts investigations, a sleuth with a taste for the theatrical. He allows me to get the most out of my venting sessions because of his finely tuned rationalizations. His only limitation has been his ability to get the truth out of Jade.

That still seems dubious at best. Of all things, he was able to tame the unrelenting spirit of Harper O'Hara, achieving a level of trust which goes well beyond standard belief.

Preliminary qualification exercises test the durability of trust. Without trust there cannot be love. Negligence in handling trust tends to be forgiven if interpreted as a failure of competence. Funny how it’s so incredibly hard to find someone you can fully trust, yet effectively losing trust is far too easy an accomplishment. You also can’t trust people that tell you everyone else’s secrets. The eyes of the disingenuous never lie.

There’s people like Rolo, a man I could never sincerely trust. Some people just carry around chips on their shoulder the size of the national debt, and sometimes they happen to play guitar.

He raises obvious suspicions and his recent attempts toward Roxie remain unfulfilled. She'd more likely forget her own name than have him.I’ve exposed my vulnerabilities to her on countless occasions, and I’m able to do it without any panic. She knows she can depend on me for reciprocation, and that's what true friendship is all about. I trust her with all my heart, and strangely enough, Holly is her consummate karaoke partner.

Some people trust everyone until there's a reason not to. I trust a few people, and of course, Peacock is one of them.

We never doubt each other. It feels good to tell someone what’s truly on your mind, and sometimes that comes with a hug. I’ve always had a deep respect for unconditional honesty, the type that’s invaluable and unequal. With The Hat, it might just be because he’s down with Public Enemy.

I haven't told anyone about this one girl I can’t stop thinking about. I wonder if I’d have been better off never meeting her. It isn’t even that I want her; I only want to deserve her. And I sit here, looking at my phone, my email, and I want to call or write, but I’m not sure if I’d be putting on too much pressure. I really like her. It’s difficult when you feel this way, and even though follow-through is often stunted or questionable, I always get a definitive answer. The intuition never fails when trusted.