'Yeah, and then we're having global warming too, so maybe the sun will reject us too and throw us out because we didn't care for the polar bears, even though they would attack us if we tried to take a photo of them having a baby, unless we do it in a Dutch zoo but don't tell anyone about it.'
'I don't think you need to worry about that happening.'
'But maybe we could adopt one of these lonely planets. There's room enough in our solar system, isn't there?'
'I'm afraid it doesn't really work that way, Timmy.'
'Oh, I know there will be lots of paperwork for the adoption, but I can fill that in. If every solar system would adopt another planet or two, maybe there wouldn't be any abandoned planets any more and all the planemos wouldn't feel so lonely any more, and then the kittens living there will see their mummies again, so they can drink milk and have a chance to grow up.'
'...'
'I want a pretty planemo, though, not an ugly one with lots of oil and refuse. Or maybe we can take a pretty one, but also an ugly one, so they won't be jealous. But no red ones!'
'Why not red ones?'
'Because that would upset Mars, because then Mars will be thinking it will be replaced and think that people will say, "Oh! Did you see that new red planet, it's so young and pretty, let's go there instead of boring old Mars!" and then Mars would be lonely too, even with the sun shining on it.'
'Anything else you don't want them to have?'
'They cannot be named after chocolate bars or Disney characters, because the other planets won't like that.'
'Planets aren't named after Disney characters, they're...'
'YES, they ARE named after Disney characters! And besides, they should be named after... bananas... or chips, but not asparagus, because I don't like asparagus!'
*runs off to play*
ODE TO SOME DEAD BABIES
Somewhere in the Australian outback, a great number of kangaroos exist whose offspring have been brutally taken away from them. They looked everywhere, but have not been able to locate the fruit of their loins. Alcohol and depression stalk their souls as yet another day goes by without their helpless little son or daughter resting in their respective pouches. The once so happy parents are now but a mere shadow of the happy, cute hoppers they once were. Relationships between the parents of these lost baby kangaroos deteriorate, either one blaming the other for the disappearance of their baby. At night, all you hear are the weeping howls of kangaroos having a nightmare about their baby.
The kangaroos don't know what became of their child; the Australian police is not helping them because they are paid royally to look the other way. I know what happened. I was wearing the remains of about ten of these missing children on my shoulders. Literally. In the form of a jacket.
‘You know, with baby kangaroo you get a leather that looks quite unfinished, because there are small holes and scratches in the leather that are always there. The skins we have to work with from baby kangaroos are just so small that we have to use a lot of them to make one jacket. That explains the price tag of 1200 euro, which of course means you'll have to sell it in your shop at about 4500 euro, a reasonable price, considering the amount of blood and gore you get to carry around with you.’
‘How did these animals die?’
‘Oh, quite straightforwardly, first we abducted them from their parents and then we punched the baby kangaroos for thirty minutes, a necessary process if you want leather that's this soft, you know. Then the struggling infant kangaroos would be skinned while they were still alive (but in a humane manner, because we show them videos of Skippy, The Bush Kangaroo); this is necessary to make the feel of the leather suppler. Just before the animal lets out its dying breath, we grab its heart and devour it raw, so that we may gain its strength. The carcass is then processed into dog food while the leather skin is on its way to make your jacket...’
Meanwhile, another baby kangaroo is born, but its parents are more afraid than happy. They have heard the stories from the other parents and they cannot sleep. The father bought a gun to protect his family, knowing that the police won't help. They cannot sleep. Every gust of wind releases a shock of terror down the parents' spines. Hopefully, the father has his gun at hand when someone comes in to abduct his child, because somewhere in the West, some fat and wealthy bastard decided a baby kangaroo jacket might just be what he needs to fill the void that is his life...
WISDOM – I
‘It's... too small...’
‘How dare you! It's not the size that matters; it's WHAT you DO with it that counts! You arrogant twerp cow shawl peacock burp fart!’
‘You didn't let me finish, I wasn't talking about your nose...’
‘Oh I know you weren't talking about my wee nose, you faeces-encrusted sphincter you!’
‘Will you fucking let me finish my sentence???’
‘And humiliate me? NEVER!’
‘I'm talking about your jawbone!’
‘And what authority gives you the right to make such a claim?’
‘THIS authority...’
‘Ah, your badge of the National Dentist Floss Club looks genuine... So maybe you do have a point?’
‘Yes, from the picture we took of the bottomless pit that is your mouth, we were able to deduce that you are in need of operation. Soon.’
‘Not my winkle...’
‘No, NOT your winkle, I'm a dentist, for FUCK's sake!’
‘You wouldn't be the first to fool me in a manner such as this, last time I went to see a vet, he told me he needed to check the status of my winkle to see if kitty would live. Kitty died, but the phallus was intact. That's when I knew he violated me.’
‘You see here, this picture of your mouth?’
‘Yes, I'm stupid, not blind.’
‘Well, your jawbone, though tender and arousing, is becoming overcrowded because of these little buggers pushing for space down there.’
‘Are you saying the mice will have to move?’
‘Errr... I’m saying that we are going to have to pull ALL of your wisdom teeth plus tooth 47 because it’s infected’
‘With what? Can’t I just pour some vodka on it to get rid of the infection?’
‘Have you seen any Russians with good teeth?’
‘Touché, Sherlock... touché...’
‘So, here’s the deal, I’m going to make an appointment for you to come here on the 26th of May so that we can make an appointment to dismember your jawbone for a couple of hours and make some tooth fairy a very happy lady.’
‘Why not make the appointment now, I mean I AM here now.’
‘Because that’s not how it works, I need to prepare myself mentally to cross the line where no man has dared go before.’
‘What are you talking about? Wisdom teeth operations happen all the time!’
‘Ah yes, but I plan to make this the most violent and painful one ever performed in the history of dental extractions.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because the prophecy foretold of one boy coming on this day with four teeth hidden in gums, playing a game of hide-and-seek. You are that boy. The position of your wisdom teeth is an exact match with the constellation of Orion 65 years ago, the year of the universe’s creation, according to Dentulianism, the religion exclusively for dentists.’
‘So will it hurt?’
‘I told you, yes it will hurt, you will want to jump off skyscrapers to get rid of the pain, and you’ll want to start a heroin addiction just to take the pain away. But mostly, you’ll not be able to eat anything else than liquid foods for about a week.’
‘Aw, crap...’
GODOT & I
I take a right step forward. The sound of my heel echoes away in the darkness of the hallway. I think nothing of it. A maze unfolds itself before your eyes, the first real confrontation with life, but mommy I don’t want to live like that, then don’t, you stupid twat, and I’m not your mom, you freak! Oh, okay then I won’t, but do you know which way to turn? I don’t know w
hich way to turn, but everyone has an opinion. WE HAVE ALREADY JUDGED YOU, AND WE MADE YOU LOOK BAD SO THAT WE CAN LOOK GOOD. Are they jealous or something? Was it something I did, I don’t want them to be angry with me, I try so hard to please everyone, and why do you fucking bother? It’s not like they owe you anything, do they? I tread forward into the hall that is reminiscent of life itself. It’s hard to tell how, it has this grandeur about it, you know. I feel insecure, please, I want to get out, why doesn’t anybody see I’m frightened? Oh but the demons don’t visit them, you’ve got them in your head, they reside there in deluxe suite you designed for them. Nobody follows my lead. It feels like I’m lost, but then again I didn’t know I was supposed to be looking for something. Everyone spends their time in this maze, so it seems. Oh not you too! Just stop looking for an exit, you dimwit! I don’t think I’m looking for an exit, like all these figments of humanity here. It feels a bit cramped all of a sudden. Even YOU’re frightened! I just don’t know where we’re walking. The path I’m on seems to be chosen so randomly, and you stick by it because you’ve got no other options? Yeah, it’s like that, the three of us decided on this path, this particular turn with the brightly coloured corridors, the smell of semen... and strawberries. But I knew so little at the time, I’m the eternal baby, my wisdom is limited and naive. It’s not much better than mine, or mine, trust me.
HOW DO YOU DO IT THEN? THE WAITING UNTIL YOU DIE? I like to sleep a lot, I like to get laid a lot, I like to read and learn. I also eat chocolate and turn that into poo every day. I just keep moving. Standing still is never an option. I drink and I shorten my time in this waiting room. Is that helping? Nah, I don’t think so. Immortality is not really an option, maybe through a page on Wikipedia - the place people come to when they’re tired of porn for 15 minutes. That should be something to keep ourselves occupied with.
I dwell in this guy’s psyche, I’m there too! but it’s not like he can tell me what to do or anything. But I am confined within him, as am I, and I live confined by this maze.
Let’s walk for a bit, let us see what happens...
Sure, it’s not like I’m going to get laid tonight.
What does getting laid mean?
*sigh* it’s... er... when a mommy and a daddy, or a daddy and a daddy, or a mommy and a mommy, or an MTF trannie and a mommy or and FTM trannie and a daddy, or... OH WILL YOU SHUT YOUR TRAP?!!! jeezes, sorry dude... Sorry kiddo, that’s okay, but it just means these people, in whatever configuration or number, release drugs in their veins through some freaky brain mechanism. It helps them pass the time.... Sort of yeah. Can I do that with you? SURE!/Not until you’re a little older, son...
I think we passed this place before.
Fuck! Let’s sit down for a while...
THE EXCLAMATORY INVENTOR
‘Hello, can I help you?’
‘It depends. Are we alone?’
‘Err... yes, sir, as you can see there is nobody here except for you and me...’
‘No, I know, but are there microphones?’
‘Microph-’
‘You’re wearing a wire, right? Do you work for them?’
‘Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about; this is just a normal bookshop...’
‘No, sorry, you’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry, it’s just-’
‘Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?’
‘So that you can put cyanide in it and kill me off in an instant, that’s what you want, right?’
‘No, sir, really. Are you looking for a book?’
‘NO I’M NOT LOOKING FOR A BOOK, WOULD I BE SO ANXIOUS IF I WERE?’
‘No, but that’s all we have... If you need Valium or Xanax, just try the pharmacy across the street...’
‘Look, you seem nice and all, but you have to know I’m being chased.’
‘You’re what?’
‘Being chased.’
‘But by whom?’
*whispers* ‘Punctuation people.’
‘Punctuation people?’
‘Punctuation people, they want to finish me off.’
‘But there’s no such thing as punctuatio-’
‘YES THERE IS. How else would I get this?’ *shows injury on arm*
‘But that’s just a spider bite or something.’
‘Look, I need to hide for a while, can I hide here?’
‘But why would they want to kill you?’
‘If I tell you, you are at risk of becoming a target too.’
*cynical:* ‘I will take my chances.’
‘Very well then....’
*pause*
‘Yes?’
‘I invented the proclamation mark!’
‘No you didn’t!’
‘Don’t use them when you talk to me! Shit, now I’m doing it too!’
‘Haha! Seriously?’
‘Please don’t, they can’t track me down based on that.’
‘I think you need help, sir.’
‘YES, that’s why I came in here for.’
‘No, I mean like, professional help.’
‘Look, I figured someone who loves books would understand. Now can you hide me?’
‘Sir, the exclamation mark has been around for ages, there’s no way you could have invented it. You look no older than 25.’
‘Oh thank you for the compliment! I’m 94 actually.’
‘What?’
‘I invented the exclamation mark during the Great Depression in the 1930’s. People were doing all kinds of things to get money back then. Now, I did my fair share of whoring, I must admit, but it hardly helped pay the bills...’
‘Sir..’
‘So I decided I come up with a new form of punctuation. That’s when I invented the exclamation mark. I carry the original exclamation mark with me at all times. That’s what they’re after.’
‘But why would they want to kill you?’
‘Money of course! I patented the exclamation mark in 1932 and everyone who ever used it would have to pay me royalties. They deleted the patent record and ever since they have been trying to silence me to get rid of the evidence.’
‘But aren’t there any exclamation marks in, like, old books and stuff?’ *points to old books and stuff*
‘Yeah, but all of these have been retroactively put there. Before, to denote an exclamation, people just used a drop of pig’s blood. You have to see that they’re a powerful organization, with links to the Illuminati and they’re the driving force behind the New World Order.’
‘Really? Could I have a look at the original?’
*hesitant:* ‘If you promise to hide me from them.’
‘Okay.’
*takes out original exclamation mark, written on some leathery cat skin (it was the Great Depression, people were hungry, so cats were yummy)*
‘Wow, it’s beautiful. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.’
*takes it back*
‘Okay, so hide me now. Where can I go?’
‘Oh, we have a basement you can hide in. I can even lock it from the outside.’
‘Fine, fine. Please promise not to tell anyone about this.’
‘I promise, sir, it’s an honour to have met you.’
*Follows the shop clerk down into the basement. A candle is lit. They say goodbye and agree on a 24-hour lock-up until the coast is clear. The shop clerk hugs Timmy and leaves him, closing off the entrance to the basement as she leaves.*
*Shop clerk into a hidden microphone:* ‘THE COCK IS STUCK IN THE HEN HOUSE - REPEAT - THE COCK IS STUCK IN THE HEN HOUSE*
THE CYCLOPS AND LAMP
My left eye hid itself for a long time behind a plaster because some doctor had called my right eye lazy (unfair punishment on my left eye, it’s true). If I would have been a toddler now, it would have probably just been categorised ad ADD, I’d have been put Ritalin, and my good eye would have slowed down a bit to make way for an all-invigorating blank stare.
I remember bumping into many things because of the huge pla
ster on my eye. Sure, onlookers could have mistaken me for some kind of supernatural cyclops heroically head-butting a lamppost, destroying it (mostly in my imagination), and carrying on my day as if nothing had happened (except for the fact that Timmy would be crying and having a major bump on his forehead - scars of war, I tells ya).
I did not meet Depth Perception until it was finally decided that my eye was still lazy, but not so lazy that it wouldn’t follow the other eye around. At least with me, you don’t have to make the agonising choice of choosing the right eye to look at when talking to me (and the right eye would be the left eye, just to be clear!). Since then, I have been virtually living as a closeted cyclops with an eye too much. A hundred years ago, a bright future as circus freak would lie ahead of me. Now, sadly, nobody is willing to pay good money to see someone like me, certainly not given the fact that anyone can just go online and watch an overweight midget be fisted by a Taiwanese hermaphrodite in a wheelchair. Us regular freaks have been completely priced out of the market.
It’s not that I haven’t tried leading a two-eyed life, I sure have, but give me a BB gun and tell me to shoot the Cola can right next to the baby kitten, and I guarantee you the baby kitten will be shot to pieces (why anyone would place these two next to each other is completely beyond me, still it worked to prove my point). As with any of my other birth defects (obesity, incontinence, etc.), I have found an ingenious way of hiding it. I can fake depth perception perfectly, just don’t ask me to shoot the kitten lying next to the endangered baby panda bear.
I have often wondered if my interest in both fine arts & literature along with my interest in linguistics, technology & science has its foundation in my eye malfunction. Suppose I am actually born with a mathematical, logical brain (hahahaha!) but because my left eye is so dominant (really, I see no difference when I cover my right eye or not) I only get most of my visual information through my right, creative, hemisphere. So everything I see gets filtered through the right part of my brain before reaching the left hemisphere for a stone-dry analysis.
Stop Talking To Yourself Page 2
