trying on a metaphor
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@foreignintruder
Saturday Night
With the smell of brandy on my breath, I climb the crooked staircase. A man with a hole in his hat once told me only gentlemen indulge in brandy. I listened with earnest and believed every word. For an intoxicated man is an honest man…or… is he dishonest? Too late to ponder the phrase now; There are more challenging tasks at hand; Like these stairs. What kind of cross eyed carpenter built these hell stairs!?
A Conversation with my Emo Son
"Son, where are you headed?"
"OUT."
Melt Away
This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm very good friends with the Cookie Monster. On any normal day, you can find us cruising around town making fun of people and quickly running away.
On one particular day, Cookie Monster wasn't up for cruising the town. He wanted to hang around the house. I let him chill on the couch while I worked on the computer. When I finally came out of the office, I found cookie monster slouched on the couch. I was concerned. It looked liked he was sleeping, but his eyes were slightly open. I quickly noticed a few empty prescription bottles next to him on the sofa and my mind began to spin with confusion and anger.
"Cookie Monster, what are you doing? Those are my mother's!" I was becoming overly angry. His image was fading away and there were small stars in my field of vision. Obviously he had raided our medicine cabinet, in which, there were some pretty serious pain meds."Cookie Monster, how many of those did you take?!"
At first he started counting on his fingers. "One... two... all of them!" he threw the empty perscription bottles into the air.
"Cookie monster, I..." I was becoming overly angry. I couldn't even find the words to express my disappointment. Cookie monster interrupted with slurred speech.
"Cookie Monster want to... just... melt away." Cookie Monster just lay there, drooling, high as a kite. His head finally rolled into my direction and he idly looked at me with his unfocused eyes.
Happy Birthday, Aunt Beatrice
I called my aunt Beatrice on her 89th birthday. After the usual wishes, I found myself with not much to say to my elderly aunt. I panicked and made up a story about a priest who I had not seen in a very long time...
"So, I ran into Father Mike the other day at the market."
"Father Mike?"
"Yeah! You know father Mike. Remember, from the wedding?"
"Oh... maybe. Yes, I think I remember him, now."
"Anyway, I ran into Father Mike. He asked how I was doing." Aunt Beatrice was buying the story. I continued by recalling the conversation I had had with fictional Father Mike.
"I'm very well, father. Things are well. Only, and could I talk to you frankly for a moment?"
"Of course, my son", he continued with a smile.
"Father, you see, there was this girl."
"Yes," he urged on. I noticed that he had a few chilled dairy products in his hand and he was probably in a hurry.
"Well, father, she...shorty had them Apple Bottom jeans and the boots with fur. Shorty got low, low, low."
"Aunt Beatrice, the priest just gave me a strange look and walked off. I've been lost ever since"
Aunt Beatrice only had this to say: "I guess we're all a little broken in some way." She then hung up the phone.
Two Pants
I feel as though this story requires a preface, of sorts. You see, the three men within this story had a long discussion the night before these events actually took place. As the snow continuously fell around their warm house, they went over the importance of wearing two pairs of pants when the weather was at a certain temperature. Mostly, this was information and instruction for Billy Boy, who had never thought of wearing two pants before.
Not long ago, a terrible snow storm ravaged a large part of the East Coast. It was uncommonly large and took a good many of the states by surprise--Maryland being one of them. In a small neighborhood, in a decent sized city, three men who happened to live in the same row-house took it upon themselves, as many other Americans did the day after the storm, to go outdoors and control their newfound winter wonderland.
Two of the three men went straight to work on digging out the car, which was parked in front of the house--in vain, as the streets were completely untraversable. The third man, whom everyone simply referred to as "Billy Boy", thought it best to clear the walkway, starting from their front porch.
The two men at the car had had an overly vigorous start; mostly due to the pep talk they had given each other beforehand. They were tired, for lack of pacing, and stopped to lean on their shovels and admire--or frown upon the amount of work they had accomplished so far. One of the men leaning on his shovel nudged the other and gave him a nodding smirk.
"Hey, Billy Boy! How are those two pants working out?" His words rolled out from a sneer. The "two" was particularly well pronounced and emphasized.
Billy Boy stopped shoveling the walk for a moment and looked up. It was hard to see the men around the car; the sun's reflection on the snow was almost overwhelming. He shielded his eyes with his hand and considered the question.
"Two pants workin' out--REAL good!" his words came out choppy and muddled. Perhaps he was cold--or touched.
The two men had a good, sinister chuckle. There was an inside joke between them and Billy Boy's child-like response had consummated the entire procedure. Before they could finish laughing--before Billy Boy had a chance to lift his next shovelful of snow, the three feet of snow resting on their porch's awning suddenly broke loose and in one quick motion slid from atop the awning and came crashing down--onto Billy Boy. The slight chuckle the the men were having quickly reared into a full-out guffaw--knees were slapped and tears shed.
Eventually their laughter died down. As the sound of their laughter slowly faded away, it was made abundantly clear how eerily silent the air had become. They stood and pondered the pile of snow that was concealing Billy Boy. For a long while, nobody had said anything or made any moves. They stood around leaning on their shovels, frozen. An onlooking neighbor, who was also shoveling his walk had partly payed attention to the shenanigans that the three men had taken part in. When he noticed that Billy Boy had been under the snow for quite a bit of time, he dropped his snow shovel in a panic.
"Somebody get him!" His words were almost a screech.
With that, the men standing around the car were broken from their trance and ran over to the snow pile, the neighbor bringing up the tail. The three men frantically dug at the snow pile. They had been digging with their gloved hands and it seemed as though they had dug out more snow than the yard had to offer. The neighbor even went back for his shovel and was violently attacking the pile with it.
The men continued their siege on the pile of snow, but to no avail. Billy Boy was nowhere to be found, and all hope slipping away.
A Conversation with my Emo Son
"Son, why is your hair always wet?"
"Because, DAD, my pillow's always wet."
Good phrases to use in every day speech:
with child
hell demon
crazy town
Space Crab
I was outside watering the plants when I heard the terrible crashing inside the house. Sounds of a struggle. Glass breaking, tossing and thrashing. Ken is the only one in the house, I thought to myself. What could be causing the commotion? I hurried inside to find an abundant mess of the place. I stood in the doorway to the dining room for a long period of time with my hands out trying to decipher the situation. Ken was standing in the hall, sort of hunched, half way across the room with his back to me.
"Ken?" I remember how my voice trembled when I called out his name. It took him a while to respond and his words were strained, causing me to worry further. "I told you..." was all that he uttered as he slowly started to face me.
When Ken fully turned to me, I was completely shocked at what my eyes were seeing. I couldn't believe the scene that I was being sucked into: Ken standing there, heavily perspiring. His eyes dormant. And embedded in his chest was the top half of a green alien crab. Before I could assemble my thoughts the crab's claws started to move slowly, and it spoke to me very quickly in a deep, authoritative voice, "QUICKLY, SAVE YOUR FRIEND!" And that was all that it had to say before the event came to a crashing climax.
Zelda II: The Adventure of Link is hard as balls.
Nag Champa Super stick. First photo has a comparison of a normal stick (below the larger one). Burned for just about four hours and created a godly cloud of god smoke.
(at 0:42)
Suddenly, you're imagining Jim Morrison:
Hi, I'm Your New Dog
Our dog died. The kids took it a lot harder than I expected. I tried to console them, even told them we could get a new dog. They didn't want a new dog, they wanted the old dog back. They loved the old dog.
Without many options at hand, I sent the dog's corpse to our local reanimating center. A surprisingly short amount of time later, I got a phone call on the kitchen phone. The dog was finished.
The kids and I were in the front yard when the black van pulled up in front of the house. Two eager men in white lab coats hopped out. One of them approached us and the other jogged to the back door of the van. They wore crazy smirks.
The man in the white lab coat standing at the van door gave us one more excited look and then pulled the handle. He stepped aside. Out of the darkness of the van emerged a large mechanical structure. It stood on two legs. It was covered in wires, pipes, knobs, gears and whirl-a-bops. Tufts of hair from our old dog were poking through some of the mechanical parts.
As the mysterious machine stepped out of the van and onto the side walk, a huge weight was relieved from the vehicle. The van must have risen an extra foot. The mechanical dog's eyes locked onto me, first and then each of the kids. Literally. The word "Locking on," flashed on its information screen. He took a step in our direction, a hissing came from the tubes and hydraulics located on its leg. It stopped in an action pose and opened its mouth. Another hissing sound. Suddenly, in a raspy, hollow, terrifying voice the dog started to speak, "Hi, I'm your new dog." Its arms moved like a robot dancing, suddenly froze and it spoke again, "and I weigh", a slight pause. The following words came out in an oddly robotic voice, cold and computerific, "500 pounds."
The kids and I looked around, confused. Both of the men in the white coats were wearing the same stupid smirk and nodding their heads.
