Monday, June 12, 2006

Boo!

Your Monster Profile

Mad Darkness

You Feast On: Fried Chicken

You Lurk Around In: Movie Theaters

You Especially Like to Torment: Blondes

Saturday, June 10, 2006

SIFS

SIFS = Shopping Induced Fugue State syndrome
Shopping = what should have been the eighth deadly sin
Fugue = A pathological amnesiac condition during which one is apparently conscious of one's actions but has no recollection of them after returning to a normal state. This condition, usually resulting from severe mental stress, may persist for as long as several months.



I am a SLOB. Slow. Lazy. Obnoxious. Boy. Activity ain't my cuppa. Shopping (brrr) is activity. Work. Tedium. How can I like it? If it ended at likes and not-likes, fine. But no. Pathological it be. Fear-evoking.

I wanted stuff for a long trip. Had to end my shopping-celibacy. Lose the peace. Driven by mom. Walked (pushed) into sophisticated store. Salesman made clear his contempt for current attire. Stuck my tongue out at him. When he wasn't looking of course. Coward me be. Rubber-spine. Braced myself for worst. Worst it was.

Six hours and a buffet lunch later. There I was. Not tired. Not pooped. Not fatigued. But fugued. Zombie. No idea what just happened. Not a flicker of recollection. Maybe locked away in some deep dark recess of my brain. Pray the key is lost. Non-findable (liberties with the Queen's language).

As I slowly recover from the horrors of that fateful day, flashes manifest of what transpired. Standard wake-up-in-cold-sweats routine every night. I was their prey. Meat. They(salespeople of course) pounced. Sank claws,talons,fangs,teeth. I squealed. They didn't care. Italian threads with German technology. Latesht. Never seen before in these sh(t)ores . Monkeys 'r us. Me specifically.

How do eves do it? Ever so often. Wow. Applause. Should be a fascinating scientific paper. Really should. To all possessors of the Y chromosome. My sympathies. Undying support even. Go bravely. Fight. *Gulp* at thought.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Rabbits,Headlights et al

I'm not Leporidae. No way. No sirree. I don't like being made one. Its like making a Capra aegagrus hircus out of someone.

I've been known to (under the cover of darkness) sneak out in my red babe. Described by some jealous blokes as a jalopy. My car's got character I say. Integrity. Dedication. A drinking problem. I also possess an affection for long nocturnal journeys in mee car fostered by a constant diet of late-night jaunts in early life.

Picture this. Me driving. Midnight. Highway. Singing song (called braying by same jealous people). Suddenly I see the light. End-of-tunnelesque proportions. Panic. Sweat. Blinded. I can almost hear the angels playing their award-winning harps. Suddenly power cut. No shining. Can see again.Will live. Whoop of joy from night-time-drive-liker. But. Again comes this damned thing. Again and again. Where's the joy?

Its the midnight road salute. Bring on the high-beam. Watch the blue bullet on your display. See your innocent(read me) opponent squirm. Laugh. Gloat.Fart. Whatever. Its a fashion that will never die. A fad that will never fade.

Remember that poor rabbit. Who couldn't move. Caught in your powerful rays of unnecessity. Same one paralyzed by your luminescence. I was the bunny now. Call me Bugs.

Prophylaxis. Wore dark goggles. Dead of the night. Stepped out for rendezvous. Neighbor walking dog saw me. He laughed uncontrollably. Fell off the fourth floor. Suing me for mirth-induced damages. See. A little misdirected light.

The best combo for this madness. Driver A hits the beam. Driver B can't take this affront to ego. Beams back. Nice. Wonder why so many accidents on road? Its like countries nuking each other. One at a time. Canceling things out.

Bad habit. Lose it already.