Bat most Silver, Bat most vile,
The title of this post is Entrails.
I begin with a line of laughter (which, contrary to popular belief, cannot be prescribed by any physician as an adequate pharmaceutical for any known disease): HahahahahahahahahaAAAAAAAHahahahahahahahahahahahahaheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehohohohohohohoHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahaha!
What's so funny? This is the question that you are asking. The answer that I am giving is as follows: So, oh so many things.
I rode my bike today for the first time in months and my heart is dangling by a sinew from the tip of my lowest rib, dangerously close to scraping the floor and picking up some dirt, because we neglect our mopping, don't we roommates?
YES! They say. YES!
A poem:
Rancid candy on my tongue.
Let this song remain unsung.
I would have written the other seventeen stanzas but this post is getting disgusting.
I am suddenly light-headed. Are you? It's hurly-chucks time, I do declare! Will continue after the hurling.
The hurling...THE HURLING! Nothing, sadly, came of it. I am as full of half-digested beef as ever and continue to feel ill. But perhaps in five minutes time I shall feel it calling me again...
There is no time, not any, to waste!
A story!
Elsie was young again, but she knew it could not last. She ran to the bathroom to wash her hands. She loved the feel of her young skin being clean. But as she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and lathered and scrubbed and scrubbed, her youthful skin tore away to reveal rusted pipes underneath.
"How odd!" she exclaimed, "That is the exact place where my bones once were."
For you see, Elsie was a robot, programmed with the memories of human Elsie. But the man who created her to replace his dead wife (very corpsey, that one) was displeased with this replica and so he snuck up behind her as she marveled at her leaden hands and bashed her over the head with the blunt side of an axe.
THE END
Or is it?
YES!
Must hurl. Goodbye.
CL
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
My Homeless Adventure: Part 1
To Silver Bat,
Finest salutations from the great white north. The happening of these past two weeks have been most eventful, what with all the...events...ahem, cough cough. So, on with the tale! I will relate to you the story of my vagrancy, my vagabondery, my destitution, and you will probably cry. Without further ado, I shall proceed to regale you with the happy and sad times that I have experienced in recent weeks. Times of sorrow, times of unsorrow. Times of having stuff, times of anti-having stuff. Times of--
THE LIFE AND TIMES AND ONE WEEK OF A HOMELESS MAN: Part 1
I wake up one morning and slumlord Wes is there with his cronies. One of them is a sniveling little rat-faced guy called Otto. His companion is a golem going by the handle of Fancy. He says it's a family name.
Wes is walking around like the guy who just got the last hot dog with a long line of hungry folks behind him. He's laughing to himself as he puts his greasy fingers all over my prize cookware.
"Hey, Wes," I mutter, sitting up.
"Yeah?" he replies, sniffing up the sweet scent of my cinna-yumm air freshener.
"What exactly are you doing in my apartment?"
He laughs. "Don't you know?" he says with a thick layer of sarcasm on top, "It's moving day, chump."
I rub the sleep from my eyes, the thick, viscous sleep, and stand up. Fancy pushes me back down.
"Well, do you want me to leave or stay?" I stare at Fancy.
Wes smirks. "You choose, pal."
"Then I'll stay."
"No!" He strikes the coffee table with his greasy fist. "Choose to leave!"
"You can't give two options then take one a--"
"Fancy! Take out the trash." Wes cackles.
Fancy looks confused, but he isn't going to admit it. He heads over to the trash can and starts pulling the bag out.
Wes snags a pop can from the table and hucks it at Fancy's head. "Not the trash, idiot!" He points at me with a quivering sausage finger. "The TRASH!"
Fancy pauses, rubs his head, sighs, then, "You want me to take out the other trash too?"
Wes retreats into silent fury, unable to put his hatred into words.
Otto snorts. "Yeah, Fancy, jus--just take...take it out...TAKE IT ALL OUT." (Note: It's outbursts like this that are the reason I avoid writing too much about what Otto said)
AND SO FANCY DID, AND HE WAS SUPER-ADEQUATE AT IT.
End of Part 1
Tune in next whenever for part 2!
MOVIE TIME
So this guy, he's like, "Hey." And the girl...OH, he's talking to this girl! And she's like, "What?" And he's like, "I'm totally your brother." And she's like, "No!" BECAUSE she thought he didn't exist. WHAT!? But he totally does, and he moves into her house and EATS ALL THE FOOD and kills the cat, so she murders him STRAIGHT DEAD. It's a lighthearted family comedy!
A poem:
Understand me twice, my dear,
I'M NOT THERE! FOR I AM HERE!
I've stopped my drinking, gambling ways,
Sober for at least two days.
This is not an intervention,
But a declaration of intention!
I will never drink again!
Cards and dice, that stuff's a sin!
Teetotaler, yes, that's me!
(Now, if you don't mind, I must pee)
Now, I might be a while in here...
Hey! My liquor stash did disappear!
Oh, the sad, sorry state of an alcoholic. Super sad. Super sorry. Super a state.
Here's a joke to cheer you up!
A bunch of sad and lonely people walk into a bar...every night.
THE JOKE IS THAT IT'S NO JOKE.
I shaved my head down to a short 3/4 of one single inch this last week. People been looking at me all funny-like. I don't know what the big deal is! LOOK AT MY FACE!
It is the BEST face! And anyone who calls me a skinhead is probably wrong...Though I did go to Wal-Mart with the intention of buying a turtleneck, slacks, and some sensible shoes and ended up getting a wifebeater, Camo shorts, and a not so sensible pair of combat boots...This could be trouble.
Quiz of the day!
How many years did Columbus blah blah blah?
Answer: I don't care.
Best of luck following this one up, Bat-boy!
CL
Finest salutations from the great white north. The happening of these past two weeks have been most eventful, what with all the...events...ahem, cough cough. So, on with the tale! I will relate to you the story of my vagrancy, my vagabondery, my destitution, and you will probably cry. Without further ado, I shall proceed to regale you with the happy and sad times that I have experienced in recent weeks. Times of sorrow, times of unsorrow. Times of having stuff, times of anti-having stuff. Times of--
THE LIFE AND TIMES AND ONE WEEK OF A HOMELESS MAN: Part 1
I wake up one morning and slumlord Wes is there with his cronies. One of them is a sniveling little rat-faced guy called Otto. His companion is a golem going by the handle of Fancy. He says it's a family name.
I...may have forgotten to draw feet.
But that's pretty much how he looked.
Wes is walking around like the guy who just got the last hot dog with a long line of hungry folks behind him. He's laughing to himself as he puts his greasy fingers all over my prize cookware.
"Hey, Wes," I mutter, sitting up.
"Yeah?" he replies, sniffing up the sweet scent of my cinna-yumm air freshener.
"What exactly are you doing in my apartment?"
He laughs. "Don't you know?" he says with a thick layer of sarcasm on top, "It's moving day, chump."
I rub the sleep from my eyes, the thick, viscous sleep, and stand up. Fancy pushes me back down.
"Well, do you want me to leave or stay?" I stare at Fancy.
Wes smirks. "You choose, pal."
"Then I'll stay."
"No!" He strikes the coffee table with his greasy fist. "Choose to leave!"
"You can't give two options then take one a--"
"Fancy! Take out the trash." Wes cackles.
Fancy looks confused, but he isn't going to admit it. He heads over to the trash can and starts pulling the bag out.
Wes snags a pop can from the table and hucks it at Fancy's head. "Not the trash, idiot!" He points at me with a quivering sausage finger. "The TRASH!"
Fancy pauses, rubs his head, sighs, then, "You want me to take out the other trash too?"
Wes retreats into silent fury, unable to put his hatred into words.
Otto snorts. "Yeah, Fancy, jus--just take...take it out...TAKE IT ALL OUT." (Note: It's outbursts like this that are the reason I avoid writing too much about what Otto said)
AND SO FANCY DID, AND HE WAS SUPER-ADEQUATE AT IT.
End of Part 1
Tune in next whenever for part 2!
MOVIE TIME
So this guy, he's like, "Hey." And the girl...OH, he's talking to this girl! And she's like, "What?" And he's like, "I'm totally your brother." And she's like, "No!" BECAUSE she thought he didn't exist. WHAT!? But he totally does, and he moves into her house and EATS ALL THE FOOD and kills the cat, so she murders him STRAIGHT DEAD. It's a lighthearted family comedy!
A poem:
Understand me twice, my dear,
I'M NOT THERE! FOR I AM HERE!
I've stopped my drinking, gambling ways,
Sober for at least two days.
This is not an intervention,
But a declaration of intention!
I will never drink again!
Cards and dice, that stuff's a sin!
Teetotaler, yes, that's me!
(Now, if you don't mind, I must pee)
Now, I might be a while in here...
Hey! My liquor stash did disappear!
Oh, the sad, sorry state of an alcoholic. Super sad. Super sorry. Super a state.
Here's a joke to cheer you up!
A bunch of sad and lonely people walk into a bar...every night.
THE JOKE IS THAT IT'S NO JOKE.
I shaved my head down to a short 3/4 of one single inch this last week. People been looking at me all funny-like. I don't know what the big deal is! LOOK AT MY FACE!
It is the BEST face! And anyone who calls me a skinhead is probably wrong...Though I did go to Wal-Mart with the intention of buying a turtleneck, slacks, and some sensible shoes and ended up getting a wifebeater, Camo shorts, and a not so sensible pair of combat boots...This could be trouble.
Quiz of the day!
How many years did Columbus blah blah blah?
Answer: I don't care.
Best of luck following this one up, Bat-boy!
CL
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