it all started off kinda weird, i'm not gonna lie, at the time i thought it was an odd way to start a friendship. him on the radio and me in my car (or possibly my garage doing some cleaning). sure it was peculiar. but he kept on telling me he was my friend and eventually i believed him. on the way to work in the morning he'd talk to me in between cock rock on 93x. on the way home listening to sports updates on kfan he'd be there. always. i'm your friend. i'm your friend. why wouldn't i believe him? i value persistence in my friends so he was obviously playing me just right.
turns out Tom Shane is not a very good friend. he never calls. i have friends that i only speak to once or twice a year but they're still better buddies than Tom Shane. he never wants to just hang out either. he's always working. always traveling to bangkok or tahiti or other exotic places. i have other friends that go to cool and interesting new places but they don't lord it over on me. my other friends also don't use the radio. Tom Shane uses it exclusively. he's like the friend that gets a sweet walkie talkie set and then just wants to talk to you on that even though he's in the kitchen making a samich while you're 12 feet away in the living room watching the game. he's that kind of guy. just with radio instead of kmart walkie talkies. admittedly he probably paid more for the use of the radio but it still seems like a jerky move to me.
Tom Shane never goes to the movies with me. i've never had to say "stop hogging all the popcorn Tom Shane." never had to give him a nasty look as we listen to our shared bag of reese's pieces fall out of his lap onto the floor and roll down the aisle. Tom Shane doesn't do movies.
Tom Shane won't go out to lunch with me either. even when i showed up at his fabulous store in golden valley he still said no. that's a long drive for me Tom Shane, you could at least go to applebees for a Take Two platter combo, i would have shared dessert. but noooooo he won't even come out and talk. at least i got a good deal on a set of jamaican pearls. thanks for the discount buddy. you don't pay retail when your buddy owns the store.
i think i'm gonna stop talking to Tom Shane. he's too businessy for me y'know? take a load off Tom Shane. put your dogs up and have a margarita every now and again. why is it always about work with you? i'm done. i'm out. maybe i'll call you when i have an anniversary or something and we can work out a deal. i mean, that's why people have a friend in the diamond business right?
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Beyond BO
The worst BO I ever had the pleasure of smelling was in the Franklin D Roosevelt metro stop in Paris. It had been a hot day in Paris and I had broken a sweat while eating ribs at a small café (I had tried to order a hamburger, but the waitress, insulted that I didn't speak the language brought me ribs instead. My traveling companion had also ordered a burger which she received, but her's had a fried egg on the top of it. You may have lost the war, Frenchie, but you still find new and exciting ways of insulting us! touché, sir, touché!) I was traveling, I was nervous I’m sure I didn’t smell good; but compared to the man standing next to me on the platform, my BO smelled like a poof of a fart.
His BO had turned so rotten that it had taken on a smell not unlike a salad oil. An alchemist’s mixture of vinaigrette, essential oils and perhaps just a hint of spice. It was so beyond body odor that it had taken on a life of its own and wreaked so rotten that it actually didn't smell bad at all; it numbed the nose like hot water feeling cold. I have not eaten salad, however, to this day.
Since then, perhaps because they are aware of their own ability to generate body odor or perhaps because they're French (they put fucking fried eggs on burgers, man!) the Parisian government has recently introduced an aroma therapy policy for the metro stations of Paris. 18 tons of Hermes and Rochas perfume are now mixed with cleaning supplies and then used to create a more positive environment in metro stations.
This only comes to my attention because the person sitting next to me has taken to listening to Elton John, Colplay and some days, not often mind you but when he needs that little extra boost, a little Five For Fighting. It's turning me into a bit of an old bitty as I've now had to ask him to kindly turn down his music several times. This isn't because his music is too loud or doesn't allow me to work- thank you very much I can distract myself easily enough. Rather, it's because I find this form of music to be completely offensive.
Sure I have my own bands that I keep neatly tucked into the closet (Snow Patrol, Something Corporate and… sigh... KT Tunstall) but at the very least I have the common decency to listen to them in the privacy of my own home or with the sound turned down so low that no one will be the wiser at work.
And so, in a move that I have stolen from the French (and from Folgers) I have secretly replaced his crappy music with good music. Now, let's sit back and see what happens for the rest of the day. He gets in at 8:30 and I'll be updating the comments section. Enjoy! And support good music!
His BO had turned so rotten that it had taken on a smell not unlike a salad oil. An alchemist’s mixture of vinaigrette, essential oils and perhaps just a hint of spice. It was so beyond body odor that it had taken on a life of its own and wreaked so rotten that it actually didn't smell bad at all; it numbed the nose like hot water feeling cold. I have not eaten salad, however, to this day.
Since then, perhaps because they are aware of their own ability to generate body odor or perhaps because they're French (they put fucking fried eggs on burgers, man!) the Parisian government has recently introduced an aroma therapy policy for the metro stations of Paris. 18 tons of Hermes and Rochas perfume are now mixed with cleaning supplies and then used to create a more positive environment in metro stations.
This only comes to my attention because the person sitting next to me has taken to listening to Elton John, Colplay and some days, not often mind you but when he needs that little extra boost, a little Five For Fighting. It's turning me into a bit of an old bitty as I've now had to ask him to kindly turn down his music several times. This isn't because his music is too loud or doesn't allow me to work- thank you very much I can distract myself easily enough. Rather, it's because I find this form of music to be completely offensive.
Sure I have my own bands that I keep neatly tucked into the closet (Snow Patrol, Something Corporate and… sigh... KT Tunstall) but at the very least I have the common decency to listen to them in the privacy of my own home or with the sound turned down so low that no one will be the wiser at work.
And so, in a move that I have stolen from the French (and from Folgers) I have secretly replaced his crappy music with good music. Now, let's sit back and see what happens for the rest of the day. He gets in at 8:30 and I'll be updating the comments section. Enjoy! And support good music!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
the good doctor
... shiftily looks around...
heh heh... i have infiltrated.
have i defiled? hmm, nah. although, some might argue otherwise.
regardless... i am woman. i am voluntarily blogging for the BMC. i must be either rediculously stupid, horrifically smart or bound and gagged and forced by the heathens to type witticisms with only my toes.
_______
today i was told to enter the kitchen, barefoot and naked and make some meat for the BMC men. i laughed (rather heartily) and humored the request (you'll see why in a moment. i know they never read this thing - except for maybe the part about being naked - which is why their posts are so self-gratifying, therefore enabling me to expose my grand plot to the masses sans interruption).
i entered the BMC kitchen and gasped with a mixture of asphixiation and repulsion (oof, and i thought ellen the intern might have at least changed the sponge once in a while). i promptly went home. i have clean formica countertops. i have a new green sponge. i also have the power of Grill, which the BMC kitchen surprisingly lacks. i also decided to concoct an irresistible treat for the boys back at headquarters: the Juicy Lucy.
for those not privvy, the Juicy Lucy is a stuffed hamburger. the best ones are stuffed with just cheese, but occasionally you enter a fancy minnesotan restaurant and get yourself an herb and cheese stuffed hunk of meat, charred slightly and oozing with melty goodness... i digress... the best ones are made with cheese. they are impossible to refuse if you like meat (and regardless of ninny-isms and nay-sayers, the boys at BMC are meat-eaters).
and so i went about my "duty", mixing and stuffing, patting and sizzling, all the while chuckling to myself with the Evil Laugh. for inside those little meaty pockets were gobs of blue cheese, coated in a mixture of dihydrogen monoxoide. say it with me now: bwahahahahahahaaaaa!!! with each spit of fat hitting the grate, my plan of domination comes to fruition... with each hiss of the meat, i am closer to the goal...
Juicy Lucys are best served on lightly toasted kaiser rolls with pickles, ketchup, mustard and a few leafy greens. i hope you enjoy, boys!
heh heh... i have infiltrated.
have i defiled? hmm, nah. although, some might argue otherwise.
regardless... i am woman. i am voluntarily blogging for the BMC. i must be either rediculously stupid, horrifically smart or bound and gagged and forced by the heathens to type witticisms with only my toes.
_______
today i was told to enter the kitchen, barefoot and naked and make some meat for the BMC men. i laughed (rather heartily) and humored the request (you'll see why in a moment. i know they never read this thing - except for maybe the part about being naked - which is why their posts are so self-gratifying, therefore enabling me to expose my grand plot to the masses sans interruption).
i entered the BMC kitchen and gasped with a mixture of asphixiation and repulsion (oof, and i thought ellen the intern might have at least changed the sponge once in a while). i promptly went home. i have clean formica countertops. i have a new green sponge. i also have the power of Grill, which the BMC kitchen surprisingly lacks. i also decided to concoct an irresistible treat for the boys back at headquarters: the Juicy Lucy.
for those not privvy, the Juicy Lucy is a stuffed hamburger. the best ones are stuffed with just cheese, but occasionally you enter a fancy minnesotan restaurant and get yourself an herb and cheese stuffed hunk of meat, charred slightly and oozing with melty goodness... i digress... the best ones are made with cheese. they are impossible to refuse if you like meat (and regardless of ninny-isms and nay-sayers, the boys at BMC are meat-eaters).
and so i went about my "duty", mixing and stuffing, patting and sizzling, all the while chuckling to myself with the Evil Laugh. for inside those little meaty pockets were gobs of blue cheese, coated in a mixture of dihydrogen monoxoide. say it with me now: bwahahahahahahaaaaa!!! with each spit of fat hitting the grate, my plan of domination comes to fruition... with each hiss of the meat, i am closer to the goal...
Juicy Lucys are best served on lightly toasted kaiser rolls with pickles, ketchup, mustard and a few leafy greens. i hope you enjoy, boys!
Friday, June 23, 2006
Operation: What Price Freedom?
WASHINGTON- President George W. Bush is expected to announce a new initiative to round up all people that can be described as "kinda quiet and keep to themselves". This new government program would ship offenders to Camps- the term “Camps” was the Presidents idea to promote “fun”. The target destination to be announced is the state of Wyoming as the largest per capita of offenders have already reside there.
According to White House staff member "Rover", who chose to speak only if granted anonomity, the radical new idea was hatched from the head of the President and is not to be considered Election Year Polotics.
"The President secluded himself in the West Wing for the past four days and has been watching America's Most Wanted. Using a simple logic, from the majority of the cases that he witnessed, he reached this final solution."
The President was discovered by his mother who had no idea that her son was watching so much television. According to Rover, the President was largely incapacitated at the time, reduced to mumbling "Evil Doers" while staring far off on the horizon.
The President's mother, Barbara Bush, nursed the child back to health. She took the President on a quick turn through the Executive bathroom and a prolonged sit on the Executive throne. Staffers described the sit on the Executive throne afterwards as "Frothy".
The initiative sprung from the head of the President shortly thereafter; an act the Religious Right is speculated to recognize as a directive from God.
This is to be the largest round-up of U.S. troops on U.S. soil since President Roosevelt detained thousands of Americans of Japanese decent after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Or, perhaps, since women started making their husbands watch Desperate Housewives so that they could have "Together Time".
Thursday, June 22, 2006
A Reunion Most Bitter
- Gelsenkirchen, Germany. Site of the 2006 World Cup. Recently.
Bodie - You? What are you doing here?
Johnny Utah - I've...I've come for you. Bodie...
Bodie - To arrest me? That was a long time ago man. And I go by Nedved now. I'm an international futbol star.
Johnny Utah - I didn't say I was going to arrest you. I just want some answers. And isn't this soccer? Cuz you know I used to play football for Ohio State. I was really good. Remember you complimented me...
Bodie - Answers huh? Answers are like the ocean man. You gotta be like the ocean.
Johnny Utah - I don't know if that makes sense.
Bodie - Be like the ocean. Why did you follow me here?
Johnny - Do you remember? Back on the beach? Just the two of us talking as the sun died in the west? Do you?
Bodie - ...
Johnny - I do man. I do. You taught me how to be a man that summer.
Bodie - Look I have to practice man. I have to be ready for my match.
Johnny - I hate you. What have you become?
Bodie - I need to stretch here. Oh, hey Lubo.
Johnny - Where did you go! I searched all over.
Bodie - I've done a lot of things. Things I'm not proud of. Just to get by. To find that rush. That thrill. I thought you understood.
Johnny - What have I done? I quit my job to find you. It became an obsession. I was an F....B.....I....AGENT! And now I'm just a man with no future.
Bodie - What about the girl? Maggie?
Johnny - She left me for my partner.
Bodie - The guy who looked like Gary Busey?
Johnny - Yeah. Turns out it really was Gary Busey. He was doing some research for a role and I got confused or something. I dunno. It hurts too much to think about. It's like you said, she's like the wind...
Bodie - Dont' sweat it. I thought she was kinda Fug myself.
Johnny - Do you even like girls?
Bodie - Are you kidding? Here take a look at this. I'm all man.
Johnny - What is this Glamour Shots?
Bodie - There's no bigger rush than holding your lady in your arms. Shirtless. While a teenager with braces takes pictures of you at the Jacksonville East Mall.
Johnny - You've changed.
Bodie - Be like the ocean. I have to go.
Johnny - That doesn't make sense! Remember the football? The real kind? In America on the sand and stuff! Doesn't that mean anything? What do you think of me?
Bodie - I think you're awesome Johnny Utah. 100% Awesome.
Bodie - You? What are you doing here?
Johnny Utah - I've...I've come for you. Bodie...
Bodie - To arrest me? That was a long time ago man. And I go by Nedved now. I'm an international futbol star.Johnny Utah - I didn't say I was going to arrest you. I just want some answers. And isn't this soccer? Cuz you know I used to play football for Ohio State. I was really good. Remember you complimented me...Bodie - Answers huh? Answers are like the ocean man. You gotta be like the ocean.Johnny Utah - I don't know if that makes sense.Bodie - Be like the ocean. Why did you follow me here?Johnny - Do you remember? Back on the beach? Just the two of us talking as the sun died in the west? Do you?
Bodie - ...Johnny - I do man. I do. You taught me how to be a man that summer.Bodie - Look I have to practice man. I have to be ready for my match. Johnny - I hate you. What have you become?Bodie - I need to stretch here. Oh, hey Lubo.
Johnny - Where did you go! I searched all over. Bodie - I've done a lot of things. Things I'm not proud of. Just to get by. To find that rush. That thrill. I thought you understood.
Johnny - What have I done? I quit my job to find you. It became an obsession. I was an F....B.....I....AGENT! And now I'm just a man with no future.Bodie - What about the girl? Maggie?Johnny - She left me for my partner.Bodie - The guy who looked like Gary Busey?Johnny - Yeah. Turns out it really was Gary Busey. He was doing some research for a role and I got confused or something. I dunno. It hurts too much to think about. It's like you said, she's like the wind...Bodie - Dont' sweat it. I thought she was kinda Fug myself.Johnny - Do you even like girls?Bodie - Are you kidding? Here take a look at this. I'm all man.
Johnny - What is this Glamour Shots?Bodie - There's no bigger rush than holding your lady in your arms. Shirtless. While a teenager with braces takes pictures of you at the Jacksonville East Mall.Johnny - You've changed.
Bodie - Be like the ocean. I have to go.Johnny - That doesn't make sense! Remember the football? The real kind? In America on the sand and stuff! Doesn't that mean anything? What do you think of me?
Bodie - I think you're awesome Johnny Utah. 100% Awesome.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
The Mulonic Calendar
In all honesty, I've become more attentive of this new calendar that I have devised and the psychological effects it has occurred, but I'm still not ready to give up on it. On paper, thinking that it is always the day before seems great and that it truly is something that helps. This could be my Mother Theresa Moment.
To understand the Mulonic Calendar first we must accept that today is Tuesday. A quick glance at a conventional calendar will inform you that today is Wednesday, but that advice is not to be headed. So, the goal for today is to convince myself that today is Tuesday. The overall benefit of this being that when Friday rolls around and my brain is now deadlocked that it's Thursday it's as though I get a bonus day off.
This new methodology of naming the days came as a brief epiphany. I woke up at five thirty in the morning and thought it was time to get up and face the cruel, cruel morning. This realization only lead to the greatest feeling in the world as I realized that I didn't need to be up for nearly two hours and that the sweet bliss of sleep could once again be mine.
So, thought I, if this reaction could be captured accidentally why couldn't the process be artificially duplicated via the days of the week?
Thus the process was implemented. Monday, at first, became a bit of a chore as I missed some work convincing myself that it was Sunday. With a quick application of a more simplistic version of Sullivan logic (a system originally developed by Andrew Sullivan) I convinced myself that Sunday was Monday and then another bonus day off!
And yet, after several weeks of living the Mulonic calendar I began to fall into the blackest state of depression. The reason, dear children, came through hellish introspection and that my state of anger and rage was from having to endure, really, two Mondays. Feeling that nagging feeling like it should be Wednesday and I was one step closer to Friday only to realize it was really only Tuesday.
Most of your finer philosophers would tell you the "Live for Today" motto at this point. But not me. I'm going to ride this thing into the ground. Live for yesterday and all the pain that comes with it.
Ergo, a joyous Tuesday to you and yours.
To understand the Mulonic Calendar first we must accept that today is Tuesday. A quick glance at a conventional calendar will inform you that today is Wednesday, but that advice is not to be headed. So, the goal for today is to convince myself that today is Tuesday. The overall benefit of this being that when Friday rolls around and my brain is now deadlocked that it's Thursday it's as though I get a bonus day off.
This new methodology of naming the days came as a brief epiphany. I woke up at five thirty in the morning and thought it was time to get up and face the cruel, cruel morning. This realization only lead to the greatest feeling in the world as I realized that I didn't need to be up for nearly two hours and that the sweet bliss of sleep could once again be mine.
So, thought I, if this reaction could be captured accidentally why couldn't the process be artificially duplicated via the days of the week?
Thus the process was implemented. Monday, at first, became a bit of a chore as I missed some work convincing myself that it was Sunday. With a quick application of a more simplistic version of Sullivan logic (a system originally developed by Andrew Sullivan) I convinced myself that Sunday was Monday and then another bonus day off!
And yet, after several weeks of living the Mulonic calendar I began to fall into the blackest state of depression. The reason, dear children, came through hellish introspection and that my state of anger and rage was from having to endure, really, two Mondays. Feeling that nagging feeling like it should be Wednesday and I was one step closer to Friday only to realize it was really only Tuesday.
Most of your finer philosophers would tell you the "Live for Today" motto at this point. But not me. I'm going to ride this thing into the ground. Live for yesterday and all the pain that comes with it.
Ergo, a joyous Tuesday to you and yours.
Friday, June 16, 2006
my life would be much cooler if the dude who sits next to me at work was replaced by michael cuddyer of the minnesota twins
...there's really no question about it. none. my life would be totally better if the guy who sat next to me was a slightly above average major league baseball player. in fact, here's a "fer instance" for you... if i was writing this blog and michael cuddyer was sitting next to me calmly resolving some issue on the phone with a client he would hang up and ask what i was doing. and i would tell him how cool it is to sit next to him during my workday and explain to him that i'm blogging about it. we could argue over whether he's slightly above average (my feelings on the subject) or rapidly improving (his stance). that would be much cooler than just writing a blog about the guy who sits next to me. nobody even knows who he is. i'm not even naming him because it doesn't matter. he could be anybody.
michael cuddyer would have to use his sick days here when the twins had day games. maybe he'd only play home games because of his intense interest in working a normal day job during the season. he'd be like the deion sanders or bo jackson of the office world. he'd have to miss sales meetings to play in a day-night doubleheader with the cubs. that would be interesting. he'd probably be a hero of the little man who would constantly say "wow, 1 for 4 with a double last night? I got tired mowing the lawn and he hit a double off of damaso marte! that would be much harder than trimming around my rose bushes. well played michael cuddyer!" i could hear him argue with his agent on his lunch hour. he'd have to rush to catch the train so he could get to the game for bp. maybe the company here would let him work an earlier shift to accommodate his schedule? i dunno. they're kinda dicks about that. but i'm not michael cuddyer of the minnesota twins so maybe it would be different if it were him.
the guy next to me sometimes talks about the soccer league he plays in on sunday nights. it's always fun to hear him go over the game even if it's about a sport i don't normally follow played by people who are not generally talented enough to deserve a crowd. michael cuddyer could talk about that walkoff homer he hit earlier this year in extra innings. that would be cooler than soccer talk in a sunday night men's league i think.
michael cuddyer is pretty much 100% more awesome than the guy who sits next to me at work. but then he's michael cuddyer. that's to be expected. man life would be sweet. "hey michael cuddyer would you like some coffee or tea? we also have hot chocolate with the little marshmallows." there would be jokes about us not being big leaguers and about him only typing 12 words per minute. that'd be the life...
michael cuddyer would have to use his sick days here when the twins had day games. maybe he'd only play home games because of his intense interest in working a normal day job during the season. he'd be like the deion sanders or bo jackson of the office world. he'd have to miss sales meetings to play in a day-night doubleheader with the cubs. that would be interesting. he'd probably be a hero of the little man who would constantly say "wow, 1 for 4 with a double last night? I got tired mowing the lawn and he hit a double off of damaso marte! that would be much harder than trimming around my rose bushes. well played michael cuddyer!" i could hear him argue with his agent on his lunch hour. he'd have to rush to catch the train so he could get to the game for bp. maybe the company here would let him work an earlier shift to accommodate his schedule? i dunno. they're kinda dicks about that. but i'm not michael cuddyer of the minnesota twins so maybe it would be different if it were him.
the guy next to me sometimes talks about the soccer league he plays in on sunday nights. it's always fun to hear him go over the game even if it's about a sport i don't normally follow played by people who are not generally talented enough to deserve a crowd. michael cuddyer could talk about that walkoff homer he hit earlier this year in extra innings. that would be cooler than soccer talk in a sunday night men's league i think.
michael cuddyer is pretty much 100% more awesome than the guy who sits next to me at work. but then he's michael cuddyer. that's to be expected. man life would be sweet. "hey michael cuddyer would you like some coffee or tea? we also have hot chocolate with the little marshmallows." there would be jokes about us not being big leaguers and about him only typing 12 words per minute. that'd be the life...
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
An Episode in the Bathroom
In the kitchen the pledge drive blares and these sad stack of magazines sitting next to the toilette have been thumbed through too many times. I think to myself that magazines really are a fickle creature. I think what do these magazines say about me? But mostly I'm hoping that Gonzo will be coming home soon.
Quick back story: While going through the morning routine of general hygiene Gonzo noticed that the deadbolt on the bathroom door had popped out and when the latch was turned it wouldn't move the deadbolt forward or backwards.
That was the thought that hit my brain as I slammed the bathroom door shut. Not the first time when I tried to close the door and it wouldn't shut but more as I nailed the door with a well placed swoop kick and there was a violent clang as the deabolt sang home
And then there were the next thirty minutes. My cell phone rang in the other room in what I could only surmise was Gonzo calling to say that she and some of the other wedding revelers were going out for a quick drink and that if I wanted to I should join them. I begin to think of who would come and find me. I could be in here for days.
My only comfort is that if I did have my cell phone I would most likely be in here for the same amount of time; who is going to believe that been stuck in a bathroom. A similar thing happened to me once when I ran out of gas on the highway. Life still does have some good irony. I think you have to respect that.
Mercifully, Gonz finally comes home. She of course tries to turn the handle and then throw her body against the door.
She passes me tools under the door, however after breaking the latch on the deadbolt and finding the hinges on the door to have been painted and unusable my level of confidence that I'll ever leave this bathroom is sinking.
Gonzo goes and grabs the Super who we quickly discover knows about as much in the ways of springing me as I do. His first sage like advice is to ask me if I've tried turning the latch. When this fails he tells me to remove the hinges and when I tell him they're painted shut I hear him move off to other hinges in the house to find out if they really are unmovable. Being a guy myself, I know that he has now turned to page 15 in the Great Book of Guy: After not being able to fix the original problem Guy will move around the residence until he is able to fix something, thus proving his masculinity.
I removed the faceplate from the back of the door, taking off 80 years of lead based paint along with it. Inside I can't see any mechanism as there is an obstruction of a blocked piece of wood. The Super goes downstairs trying to call the building owner and Gonzo is looking at me through the hole where the doorknob was.
Are you naked? She asks me. I had been in the shower. Along with not bringing in cell phones or accessories of that ilk my showering system is often in-out-done… none of this fancy stuff like: deep cleansers or body oils or fancy hair product. I've wrapped myself up in a towel, but now that the super hasn’t been able to magically make the door open, I begin to wonder how many people will be called in to bust me out and see me in my full glory. I should be doing push-ups or something.
I'm explaining all this to Gonzo and how I can't get the stupid deadbolt to turn. I've been jamming my flathead screwdriver into the deadbolts hole and then grabbing onto the pliers and pulling it as hard as I can but still nothing is happening. Now while I talk to Gonzo, I hit the mechanism then turn.
And then, finally, it worked.
Quick back story: While going through the morning routine of general hygiene Gonzo noticed that the deadbolt on the bathroom door had popped out and when the latch was turned it wouldn't move the deadbolt forward or backwards.
That was the thought that hit my brain as I slammed the bathroom door shut. Not the first time when I tried to close the door and it wouldn't shut but more as I nailed the door with a well placed swoop kick and there was a violent clang as the deabolt sang home
And then there were the next thirty minutes. My cell phone rang in the other room in what I could only surmise was Gonzo calling to say that she and some of the other wedding revelers were going out for a quick drink and that if I wanted to I should join them. I begin to think of who would come and find me. I could be in here for days.
My only comfort is that if I did have my cell phone I would most likely be in here for the same amount of time; who is going to believe that been stuck in a bathroom. A similar thing happened to me once when I ran out of gas on the highway. Life still does have some good irony. I think you have to respect that.
Mercifully, Gonz finally comes home. She of course tries to turn the handle and then throw her body against the door.
She passes me tools under the door, however after breaking the latch on the deadbolt and finding the hinges on the door to have been painted and unusable my level of confidence that I'll ever leave this bathroom is sinking.
Gonzo goes and grabs the Super who we quickly discover knows about as much in the ways of springing me as I do. His first sage like advice is to ask me if I've tried turning the latch. When this fails he tells me to remove the hinges and when I tell him they're painted shut I hear him move off to other hinges in the house to find out if they really are unmovable. Being a guy myself, I know that he has now turned to page 15 in the Great Book of Guy: After not being able to fix the original problem Guy will move around the residence until he is able to fix something, thus proving his masculinity.
I removed the faceplate from the back of the door, taking off 80 years of lead based paint along with it. Inside I can't see any mechanism as there is an obstruction of a blocked piece of wood. The Super goes downstairs trying to call the building owner and Gonzo is looking at me through the hole where the doorknob was.
Are you naked? She asks me. I had been in the shower. Along with not bringing in cell phones or accessories of that ilk my showering system is often in-out-done… none of this fancy stuff like: deep cleansers or body oils or fancy hair product. I've wrapped myself up in a towel, but now that the super hasn’t been able to magically make the door open, I begin to wonder how many people will be called in to bust me out and see me in my full glory. I should be doing push-ups or something.
I'm explaining all this to Gonzo and how I can't get the stupid deadbolt to turn. I've been jamming my flathead screwdriver into the deadbolts hole and then grabbing onto the pliers and pulling it as hard as I can but still nothing is happening. Now while I talk to Gonzo, I hit the mechanism then turn.
And then, finally, it worked.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
The Rise of Serpentra II
Mark June 11th down on your calendars kids. Do it today. It's an important day. It's the first day of the rest of your dominated lives. Serpentra II has been borne to this earth. She has come to dominate and rule without mercy. She has come to end all governments (yay) and all freedom (boo). She has come to make Baldee's life a little more complicated (yay? boo? we'll go with yay for now).
Serpentra II is an odd name for a ruler when you've never heard of Serpentra I you say? Good point. Well done on that, I like where your head's at. Serpentra I was born a few years ago and while true the prophecy did say that she would dominate all who opposed her and rule with an iron fist this hasn't really happened to this point. In fact she's really just a beautiful little girl. Very sweet. Not dominating at all. So, Baldee went back to the lab to create Serpentra II. After months of frustation and no progress his wife agreed to help out and bam, Serpentra II was on her way. It should be documented that Baldee's "lab" is really just the living room at Remo's house where he gets dominated playing Battlefronts II. He then bottles the rage created by his own weakness and tries to create life using that anger. He's not really a Scientician.
While it is true that Serpentra I, still just a few years old, may very well grow up to fulfill the prophecy it does make sense that Serpentra II should be around. To serve in her place if Serpentra I decides to be a dental hygienist or something of equal suburbanity. Why have one ruler of the planet when you can have a backup for twice the price? That's just good thinking right there.
It should also be noted that Serpentra I may be following the time honored code of wrapping the world around her finger with sweetness and normal kiddishness and then crushing us later. This can't be ruled out. But I'm happy Serpentra II is around. This world needs some dominating and she seems to fit the part.
All Hail Serpentra II. She has come to do what her father could not. Maybe she'll take over this planet and one day protect us from evil aliens, the undead, or Right wing propagandists. Maybe she'll rule in peace and harmony after a brutal coup that leaves a trail of destruction from Des Moines to Pequot Lakes (sorry bob). I figure worst case scenario she'll be able to beat Mule, Remo and myself at the occasional video game. Which is really a big step up for the Baldee family. Domination comes in many forms.
Finally - It should be recorded in print that Harmon Laboratories, in conjunction with The Little Lady Foundation, may in the future create a 100% awesome boy to counteract the evil of Serpentras I and II. This boy will grow into a young man and may even take Serpentra II to the prom and even put the corsage on her without poking her with the pin. This young man will have a deft touch around the ladies. He will rule with Serpentra II at his side. Trust me, it'll be better for everyone. Women are crazy.
Serpentra II is an odd name for a ruler when you've never heard of Serpentra I you say? Good point. Well done on that, I like where your head's at. Serpentra I was born a few years ago and while true the prophecy did say that she would dominate all who opposed her and rule with an iron fist this hasn't really happened to this point. In fact she's really just a beautiful little girl. Very sweet. Not dominating at all. So, Baldee went back to the lab to create Serpentra II. After months of frustation and no progress his wife agreed to help out and bam, Serpentra II was on her way. It should be documented that Baldee's "lab" is really just the living room at Remo's house where he gets dominated playing Battlefronts II. He then bottles the rage created by his own weakness and tries to create life using that anger. He's not really a Scientician.
While it is true that Serpentra I, still just a few years old, may very well grow up to fulfill the prophecy it does make sense that Serpentra II should be around. To serve in her place if Serpentra I decides to be a dental hygienist or something of equal suburbanity. Why have one ruler of the planet when you can have a backup for twice the price? That's just good thinking right there.
It should also be noted that Serpentra I may be following the time honored code of wrapping the world around her finger with sweetness and normal kiddishness and then crushing us later. This can't be ruled out. But I'm happy Serpentra II is around. This world needs some dominating and she seems to fit the part.
All Hail Serpentra II. She has come to do what her father could not. Maybe she'll take over this planet and one day protect us from evil aliens, the undead, or Right wing propagandists. Maybe she'll rule in peace and harmony after a brutal coup that leaves a trail of destruction from Des Moines to Pequot Lakes (sorry bob). I figure worst case scenario she'll be able to beat Mule, Remo and myself at the occasional video game. Which is really a big step up for the Baldee family. Domination comes in many forms.
Finally - It should be recorded in print that Harmon Laboratories, in conjunction with The Little Lady Foundation, may in the future create a 100% awesome boy to counteract the evil of Serpentras I and II. This boy will grow into a young man and may even take Serpentra II to the prom and even put the corsage on her without poking her with the pin. This young man will have a deft touch around the ladies. He will rule with Serpentra II at his side. Trust me, it'll be better for everyone. Women are crazy.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A Little Coitus Couldn't Hoit Us
We here at the BMC have noticed that our audience is growing. Sure you might call the rate at which it is growing as "modest" or "humble" or even "pathetic" if you happen to be a jerk with a fetish for telling the truth. That's fine. We can accept it. The fact is that our readership is growing and not only that, it is expanding beyond these sad little borders you people call, um, borders. Yes folks, we've gone international.
We've had hits from India, Ghana (serious), Iran (again, serious), Egypt and other places with moderate to high levels of hatred of the US. Many of these countries are middle eastern and have oppressive governments and peculiar views on sex. I only mention this because we have "coitus" in our name. So we tend to get one or two lonely foreigners a day looking for love in all the wrong places.
We feel for these people. The interweb is all about porn, sports and blogs. In that order. And we can't deny a man his porn. Especially if he's from a country that may frown upon his "spilling of the seed". It's not spilling by the way, saying you "spilled" implies it was an accident. People don't accidentally go to porn sites by typing in the pertinent information and then accidentally rub their cash and prizes. That's intentional. Spilling? Seriously.
We realize that many americans (and to a lesser degree canadians) also go looking for the ol porn and end up here. Which is kind of fantastic when you think about it. This only happens on the interweb. If a bunch of horny dudes from around the world showed up at your job at Burger King or the accounting firm expecting naked ladies it would be awkward. On the web we just consider it a visitor and high five each other on our growing popularity.
We've cooked up something special for our international guests. This is just for them as Americans tend to need full blown audio/video streaming porn with surround sound going and we're not set up for such things. This is for the more delicate and nuanced of lovin' lovers. This is for you international friends.
Please note - we love you all but we couldn't bring ourselves to sink to these depths. So give a big hand for Intern Jerry's first foray into semi-gay, semi-porn...
We've had hits from India, Ghana (serious), Iran (again, serious), Egypt and other places with moderate to high levels of hatred of the US. Many of these countries are middle eastern and have oppressive governments and peculiar views on sex. I only mention this because we have "coitus" in our name. So we tend to get one or two lonely foreigners a day looking for love in all the wrong places.
We feel for these people. The interweb is all about porn, sports and blogs. In that order. And we can't deny a man his porn. Especially if he's from a country that may frown upon his "spilling of the seed". It's not spilling by the way, saying you "spilled" implies it was an accident. People don't accidentally go to porn sites by typing in the pertinent information and then accidentally rub their cash and prizes. That's intentional. Spilling? Seriously.
We realize that many americans (and to a lesser degree canadians) also go looking for the ol porn and end up here. Which is kind of fantastic when you think about it. This only happens on the interweb. If a bunch of horny dudes from around the world showed up at your job at Burger King or the accounting firm expecting naked ladies it would be awkward. On the web we just consider it a visitor and high five each other on our growing popularity.
We've cooked up something special for our international guests. This is just for them as Americans tend to need full blown audio/video streaming porn with surround sound going and we're not set up for such things. This is for the more delicate and nuanced of lovin' lovers. This is for you international friends.
Please note - we love you all but we couldn't bring ourselves to sink to these depths. So give a big hand for Intern Jerry's first foray into semi-gay, semi-porn...
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Homecomings
Nowadays I vacation alone though I still find the majority of my time is spent sending text messages and reports back home. For the most part to make sure that they haven’t replaced me but also out of need to make jokes that the locals wouldn’t understand. There is a common thread of decency that most peoples of this world have as an unwritten bond: Dead hooker jokes should not be told within the first twenty minutes of meeting people.
Traveling alone does fulfill my need for me time but mostly revolves around a large group of my friends discovering a journal. It was a trivially piece of nonsense I kept while traveling through Europe with a friend of mine, we'll call him Jordan for the time being.
The first few pages of the document are innocent enough: experiences with famous castles, seeing the sex district in Amsterdam and interactions with locals at some of the fine watering holes of which Europe is so deeply blessed. Then the tome takes a turn for the worse, all communication betwixt Jordan and I break down. He can't shut up about snow orangutans and nonsensical ideals of his own philosophy. Two categories he is not adequately prepared to speak on, yet does not shut up nonetheless. Mental articles of war begin to form in my mind as I plan how to kill him.
If this would've been a Phillip K. Dick story I would, no doubt, have been arrested or worse. It wasn't as though I was just going to kill him, no this was something I was going to have fun with. Different uses of tools of medieval torture are readily available to the eager minded traveling Europe. Never mind the fact that I have no real background in the subject. I've always been a quick learner and, it's like they always say: Learning is only as fun as you make it. Carving up Jordan with a curved blade while he screams bloody murder sounds like an aces trip. Take that! You and your monkeys with typewriters writing every book ever written!
Alas, but the trip ended before I could take his life and to this day I think we're better friends for it. Still, I do have lots of friends and often contemplate where my rep would be if I would've shived Jordan, even just a little bit. I would've had to replace him, but I'm sure there is some local crazy at the soup kitchen that would do an adequate job.
Now I'm here alone. Today is a big day of seeing the sites that are hundreds of years old and then finding an establishment that caters the beverages that make trips bearable. Back home it's a birthday party for a friend of mine and while I carry on text message conversations with the entire party I do miss them. Surrounded by all this culture and different people and unable to enjoy it because this isn’t where I want to be.
I'll be home soon.
Traveling alone does fulfill my need for me time but mostly revolves around a large group of my friends discovering a journal. It was a trivially piece of nonsense I kept while traveling through Europe with a friend of mine, we'll call him Jordan for the time being.
The first few pages of the document are innocent enough: experiences with famous castles, seeing the sex district in Amsterdam and interactions with locals at some of the fine watering holes of which Europe is so deeply blessed. Then the tome takes a turn for the worse, all communication betwixt Jordan and I break down. He can't shut up about snow orangutans and nonsensical ideals of his own philosophy. Two categories he is not adequately prepared to speak on, yet does not shut up nonetheless. Mental articles of war begin to form in my mind as I plan how to kill him.
If this would've been a Phillip K. Dick story I would, no doubt, have been arrested or worse. It wasn't as though I was just going to kill him, no this was something I was going to have fun with. Different uses of tools of medieval torture are readily available to the eager minded traveling Europe. Never mind the fact that I have no real background in the subject. I've always been a quick learner and, it's like they always say: Learning is only as fun as you make it. Carving up Jordan with a curved blade while he screams bloody murder sounds like an aces trip. Take that! You and your monkeys with typewriters writing every book ever written!
Alas, but the trip ended before I could take his life and to this day I think we're better friends for it. Still, I do have lots of friends and often contemplate where my rep would be if I would've shived Jordan, even just a little bit. I would've had to replace him, but I'm sure there is some local crazy at the soup kitchen that would do an adequate job.
Now I'm here alone. Today is a big day of seeing the sites that are hundreds of years old and then finding an establishment that caters the beverages that make trips bearable. Back home it's a birthday party for a friend of mine and while I carry on text message conversations with the entire party I do miss them. Surrounded by all this culture and different people and unable to enjoy it because this isn’t where I want to be.
I'll be home soon.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Give em a Taste of What We Like
I get a lot of letters, emails, and just your average person on the street will stop me and ask "What else can I do to spice up there relationship ".
With this I usually tell them to Fuck off only because I'm, not on the clock but then I take a breather and apologize and begin to solve there problems what can I say I have a gift .
I had an epiphany which brings up todays topic ..
In the Past I have spoken on divorce and some of the things I think can be done to solve the problem but those were mainly things that women can do .
Today Lets see what men can do ..
Lets start with role reversal no I'm not going to suggest the tuck
which is not painful if you have a lot to work with but if your working small, chances are any kind of genital disfigurement will be painful I mean you cant pull a finger rubber binder around your hand now can you .
Anyway ..
Lets start, with a topic that most women find disgusting and guys spend up to $100 a night in some places .
Good old fashioned Pole Dancing ..
Now guys don't wince this is a serious topic in many forward thinking Athletic Facilities there is an increase in classes that teach the art of Pole Dancing and yes for all you nay Sayers out there it is an art form ...
If going to a public place makes you uneasy there are private locations which I will not provide you with . Why, WHY you may ask because those FUCKS don't give me residuals ..
So imagine the look on your wife or girlfriendS face when you gently, yet firmly hold the pole walking slowly in a fairy carefree like motion then suddenly you gently swing your body on one bent leg around the Metal Rod and with one swift motion you suspend your body weight on the pole ..
I have to interrupt because this is going to a odd place and now is the perfect time to take up proper Pole Dancing Attire ..
No shorts gents there is nothing more disgusting then being in a class and your watching a fellow student twirling around and you get a glimpse of his sack not good .
And Lastly and most importantly No Speedo's do I even need to respond to that .
That's about it for today kids So lets get out there gents lets show our Ladies what were made of ..
Keep em Swinging .
With this I usually tell them to Fuck off only because I'm, not on the clock but then I take a breather and apologize and begin to solve there problems what can I say I have a gift .
I had an epiphany which brings up todays topic ..
In the Past I have spoken on divorce and some of the things I think can be done to solve the problem but those were mainly things that women can do .
Today Lets see what men can do ..
Lets start with role reversal no I'm not going to suggest the tuck
which is not painful if you have a lot to work with but if your working small, chances are any kind of genital disfigurement will be painful I mean you cant pull a finger rubber binder around your hand now can you .
Anyway ..
Lets start, with a topic that most women find disgusting and guys spend up to $100 a night in some places .
Good old fashioned Pole Dancing ..
Now guys don't wince this is a serious topic in many forward thinking Athletic Facilities there is an increase in classes that teach the art of Pole Dancing and yes for all you nay Sayers out there it is an art form ...
If going to a public place makes you uneasy there are private locations which I will not provide you with . Why, WHY you may ask because those FUCKS don't give me residuals ..
So imagine the look on your wife or girlfriendS face when you gently, yet firmly hold the pole walking slowly in a fairy carefree like motion then suddenly you gently swing your body on one bent leg around the Metal Rod and with one swift motion you suspend your body weight on the pole ..
I have to interrupt because this is going to a odd place and now is the perfect time to take up proper Pole Dancing Attire ..
No shorts gents there is nothing more disgusting then being in a class and your watching a fellow student twirling around and you get a glimpse of his sack not good .
And Lastly and most importantly No Speedo's do I even need to respond to that .
That's about it for today kids So lets get out there gents lets show our Ladies what were made of ..
Keep em Swinging .
Monday, June 05, 2006
8 Year Old Album
I'm listening to an album that was put out 8 years ago. It's excellent. Maybe even worthy of some sort of top 10 list, or perhaps a top 12 list. I need to be more arbitrary and less conventional and a top 12 list seems like a small step in the right direction.
I'm driving in my old and very much not quiet Grand Am listening to this album and wondering what the heck I was doing 8 years ago that was so important that I could overlook a little masterpiece like this. And I wonder if this thing, this excellent album, was just hiding from me until I was old enough wise enough beaten down enough to appreciate it for what it is.
I'm coming back from a long day in the sun and the bars and the parking lots and the streets. Grand Ole Day in St. Paul. The people stagger back and forth trying to look beautiful in halter tops and flip flops with an ear of corn the size of my forearm waiting to be eaten in their hands. The butter sliding down the backside of their hands and there's never enough napkins and never enough table space to make this convenient in any fashion. Maybe that's why we do it, to remind ourselves that we don't have to look amazing to be amazing.
I'm walking into another bar and the din from the conversations mixes with the Van Halen or Dylan or Ike Reilly or shitty jam band and sounds like nothing at all. So I drift and I think about the 8 year old album that has been hiding from me and I remember the line "what a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun" and I feel all right and kinda beautiful and happy at once.
I drink some sangria at the mexican restaurant and try not to focus on how little I know these people at the table. Mule holds court further down and he's surrounded by his friends, Mule has a ridiculous amount of friends. In Mule's court we are noticeably short in the knight department but our jesters and minstrels are topnotch and the sangria is perfect for a sunny day in June and we don't fucking need any knights. So we drink and meet strange new people and have conversations while waiting in line for the bathroom and refuse shots of Jager from lonely old guys at the Muddy Pig and try not to swear in front of the kids in the booth to our right.
Half the time I'm engaged in conversation I'm wondering what I can say next to push things forward. The other half I'm thinking about the girl in the corner that reminds me of my wife and I wish she was here drinking bloody marys or singapore slings or just some not-cold beer from the overworked tap with me and these people who are not our friends but for these few hours can be. And I'm thinking about the line from the 8 year old album that goes something like "your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder, and dad would throw the garbage all across the floor. As we would lay and learn what each other bodies were for."
I replay the line in my head as I walk back to my car. My car that will bring me more of this album and bring me back to my wife and give me a blast of cool air after a day of walking in the sun and I feel good. Not perfect, far from it, but good. And that's enough.
One last line insists that I include it. It's about...everything. Everything important anyway. It's fucking brilliant and it makes me realize that I wouldn't change anything in the past 8 years. Not a damn thing.
"and one day we will die
and our ashes will fly
in the aeroplane over the sea.
but for now we are young
let us lay in the sun
and count every beautiful thing we can see."
I'm driving in my old and very much not quiet Grand Am listening to this album and wondering what the heck I was doing 8 years ago that was so important that I could overlook a little masterpiece like this. And I wonder if this thing, this excellent album, was just hiding from me until I was old enough wise enough beaten down enough to appreciate it for what it is.
I'm coming back from a long day in the sun and the bars and the parking lots and the streets. Grand Ole Day in St. Paul. The people stagger back and forth trying to look beautiful in halter tops and flip flops with an ear of corn the size of my forearm waiting to be eaten in their hands. The butter sliding down the backside of their hands and there's never enough napkins and never enough table space to make this convenient in any fashion. Maybe that's why we do it, to remind ourselves that we don't have to look amazing to be amazing.
I'm walking into another bar and the din from the conversations mixes with the Van Halen or Dylan or Ike Reilly or shitty jam band and sounds like nothing at all. So I drift and I think about the 8 year old album that has been hiding from me and I remember the line "what a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun" and I feel all right and kinda beautiful and happy at once.
I drink some sangria at the mexican restaurant and try not to focus on how little I know these people at the table. Mule holds court further down and he's surrounded by his friends, Mule has a ridiculous amount of friends. In Mule's court we are noticeably short in the knight department but our jesters and minstrels are topnotch and the sangria is perfect for a sunny day in June and we don't fucking need any knights. So we drink and meet strange new people and have conversations while waiting in line for the bathroom and refuse shots of Jager from lonely old guys at the Muddy Pig and try not to swear in front of the kids in the booth to our right.
Half the time I'm engaged in conversation I'm wondering what I can say next to push things forward. The other half I'm thinking about the girl in the corner that reminds me of my wife and I wish she was here drinking bloody marys or singapore slings or just some not-cold beer from the overworked tap with me and these people who are not our friends but for these few hours can be. And I'm thinking about the line from the 8 year old album that goes something like "your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder, and dad would throw the garbage all across the floor. As we would lay and learn what each other bodies were for."
I replay the line in my head as I walk back to my car. My car that will bring me more of this album and bring me back to my wife and give me a blast of cool air after a day of walking in the sun and I feel good. Not perfect, far from it, but good. And that's enough.
One last line insists that I include it. It's about...everything. Everything important anyway. It's fucking brilliant and it makes me realize that I wouldn't change anything in the past 8 years. Not a damn thing.
"and one day we will die
and our ashes will fly
in the aeroplane over the sea.
but for now we are young
let us lay in the sun
and count every beautiful thing we can see."
Friday, June 02, 2006
Ralph on Ralph
We sent Ralph home early today. He couldn't handle it. Nobody wanted to see him cry.
He had done his best to cover it up. His soft blubbering had made a fluttering overtone to the rhythm and melody of phones ringing and people answering. Sometimes, though, enough is enough and in the case of Ralph, this was enough.
It's not like he's fired. It's not like he's not going to be here on Monday. The man needs some alone time. He was crying at work! When he is like that he should be with his friends, his wife, his dog or somebody that would understand his problem. Nobody here even knows Ralph.
Besides there is no excuse to cry. It's Friday. It's sunny. What would make a man cry under the flourescent lights of the office? He should've manned up. He should've gone outside. He should've smoked a cigarette. He should've saved whatever it was for later. He should've had a drink. He should've called in sick.
What makes his life so great that he think he should cry at work? What makes him think we'd care?
So we sent Ralph home early today. Nobody wanted to see him cry.
He had done his best to cover it up. His soft blubbering had made a fluttering overtone to the rhythm and melody of phones ringing and people answering. Sometimes, though, enough is enough and in the case of Ralph, this was enough.
It's not like he's fired. It's not like he's not going to be here on Monday. The man needs some alone time. He was crying at work! When he is like that he should be with his friends, his wife, his dog or somebody that would understand his problem. Nobody here even knows Ralph.
Besides there is no excuse to cry. It's Friday. It's sunny. What would make a man cry under the flourescent lights of the office? He should've manned up. He should've gone outside. He should've smoked a cigarette. He should've saved whatever it was for later. He should've had a drink. He should've called in sick.
What makes his life so great that he think he should cry at work? What makes him think we'd care?
So we sent Ralph home early today. Nobody wanted to see him cry.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Amusement
In shallow breath he sits on the mountain top, waiting for the peak while holding the Bishop close. The Bishop with its' cracked and imperfect tower top; the poor Bishop who had no idea that he was really a pawn in this game.
The skyline is a new form of blue, one that has never been seen before. It wraps its' cloak about them like good Father Dream. Daring to want more out of life and reminding all how insignificant and fickle desire is.
In a rasp, a direction is formed and crushed: Happiness and the Wanton Pleasure; the objectivity of balance in life and the quest for the fulfillment of the Soul.
When you've hit bottom there is no where to go but up, so it is written. And so he climbed the mountain again, mostly because it was there. Looking out at the vastness below him he felt sorry because he knew that he was no longer master of the domain.
Then his voice gave out with the lack of oxygen. In a shallow breath he holds the Bishop close and pretends that everything will be okay, while he sits in his fortress of solitude. He grabs the Bishop one last time feeling his friend suffer an unmemorable little death then go limp. With care he tucks it away and with a gentle whisper “Go to sleep my little time bomb.”
The skyline is a new form of blue, one that has never been seen before. It wraps its' cloak about them like good Father Dream. Daring to want more out of life and reminding all how insignificant and fickle desire is.
In a rasp, a direction is formed and crushed: Happiness and the Wanton Pleasure; the objectivity of balance in life and the quest for the fulfillment of the Soul.
When you've hit bottom there is no where to go but up, so it is written. And so he climbed the mountain again, mostly because it was there. Looking out at the vastness below him he felt sorry because he knew that he was no longer master of the domain.
Then his voice gave out with the lack of oxygen. In a shallow breath he holds the Bishop close and pretends that everything will be okay, while he sits in his fortress of solitude. He grabs the Bishop one last time feeling his friend suffer an unmemorable little death then go limp. With care he tucks it away and with a gentle whisper “Go to sleep my little time bomb.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)