I am once again out of ideas.
Stumped on the fact that my blog has come to this day.
Someone from Google should be probably saying,
"Blog about your idea, there are people starved of ideas in New Zealand".
(if you don't laugh, you probably finished your every meal when you were young and saved yourself from the whole starving-kids-in-Africa nag).
Maybe my life has lost its whole gist, and my urge to nag is significantly lessened.
Am I sick of studying? No.
Any non-persaonal problems worth blogging about? No.
Am I in med? Yes.
Have I better things to do than blogging? Yes.
And that stands for around 75% of my posts.
Or perhaps I should change my genre?
Action:
A string fell through a hole on the roof of the Museum of London.
A man, etched with a muscular disposition slid himself down to the grounds of the building.
It would be dense for a burglar to break into the museum of London without months and months of planning and organizing. But not he, as he relied solely on instincts.
Cat instincts, Sebastian thought.
He ricocheted himself of the stony walls, propelling himself into the air. He maneuvered his body carefully as to not trigger the alarm while airborne, spun twice in the air before landing on a window sill on his toes.
He crept past a guard, who seemed to be too engrossed eating his dinner.
Fools! He thought.
And he left with $50,000 dollars worth of jewelry to fund for his medical education.
Horror:
Dorsal jugular contracted, modus peristalsis interference, symptoms of emphysema albeit osmoregulation inconsistent… but that won’t explain…
A bead of perspiration trickled down Dr. Reese’s cheeks.
His bloodshot eyes trailed from the corpse to the petrified intern standing in the doorway.
“So how are things going, doctor?”
“I can’t explain…”
“How hard can it be? That guy just bled to death.”
“No.”
Dr. Reese curled his fingers into a tight fist. His heart palpitating furiously as his mouth tries to enunciate the possible explanation.
“Take a look at the wound on this arm… a blade sliced the muscles before an impulse was triggered.”
“So you mean…”
“Yes, the patient died before he could feel any pain.”
“But you are talking about…”
“0.1 seconds? Likely, an oblique cut through the neurons at an angle of 58 degrees.”
“So you are saying, the intruder is an assassin?” asked the intern. The nerves were obviously getting to him.
"But who could do such a thing?" The doctor exclaimed.
"That would be me. Sebastian." The intern said calmly, while shoving down a spatula through his eye socket.
Thriller:
Oliver Holmes once said, "Man's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions."
True. The human mind is like a revolver and imagination, the bullet. All it takes is some sort of stimulation that triggers a deadly response.
Sebastian hummed a tune whilst feeling fr the rough edges of shin. He could hear a distant clock ticking away.
Tick.
Muscles tense. His index finger jabbed a stomach, followed by a fast knead in the rib. A thud on the parquet floor probably suggested that he had rendered his intruder helpless on the ground.
He grinned to himself before he could hear a familiar monotonic beat.
Tock.
The intruder winced at the muscular figure that resembled a silhouette against the gleaming fluorescent light.
"So it's true," he shivered. "You're..."
But Sebastian already dug his boots into his throat.
"Don't you ever call me Sebbie again."
Comedy:
"So can anyone tell me what allopurinol does?"
The whole class was silent. One wrong answer from anyone would be fatal.
A quivering hand was slightly raised in the air.
Hushed whispers could be heard all over the auditorium.
Sebastian, put it down! Do you have any idea what you are doing?
"SILENCE!" The lecturer growled, as he grabbed his famous torture stick, a metre ruler. "Name please, my dear victim."
He slowly stood up. His hand still unconsciously quivering.
"s.. o ... bill" he murmured.
"LOUDER! WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"
"!xobile !!!"
(Imaginary audience laughs)
"sobilleh?"
"No no no, it's *cluck*billeh!"
(Imaginary audience laughs again)
"I beg your pardon?" The lecturer's eyes widened to the size of saucers.
"Yo mama so fat, I took a picture of her last Christmas and it's still printing!"
(Imaginary audience laughs again)
R18 Romance:
He caressed her silky hair, twirling it playfully between his fingers. He then
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