Friday, April 18, 2008

Aliens, those darn indjuns, rectal examinations, my bike, laboratories and boredom

Hello people. Sorry about the long absence. I was kidnapped by aliens and then them darn indjuns ate my homework. Or maybe it was the other way around. It’s all a bit fussy.

I fear that I may be becoming boring. “Noooo,” you say. “Not you,” you say. “You have a fascinating life and an overwhelming intellect,” you say. And yes, most of that has been true up until the last month or so, but lately I’m starting to feel… well… dull.

Right now, for example, I am not out chasing down terrorists like those people on TV (just being able to fight crime and keep their teeth –that- white makes them interesting). I am not being worshipped by anyone other than The Pooch. Money is something that I mostly see on television. In stead of, say, learning a new language I am stuffing my face full of almonds, whilst inwardly whining about how I will now have to brush my teeth all over again. In fact, the most exciting thing I did this week was to have my bike repaired.

Outside of the bikeshop, near the garage across the street, a man was arguing with a mechanic about repairs that had been done on his car which he’d never asked for. I’m assuming that he did ask for some sort of repairs at some point. I don’t think they actually kidnapped his car from his driveway. He was like an alzheimer patient at a brothel: shocked that he’d been screwed and refusing to pay for it…

That’s not true. Not really. I did get to do some work in the laboratory all by my lonesome, with nobody to supervise me. If I had decided that I wanted to smear disease all over the walls, there would be no one there to stop me. Although the only disease-producing germ I have access to at the moment, is the kind that gives you explosive diarrhoea. My lab chores took less than an hour, though, so I was back home in time to watch Oprah closely followed by Dr Phil. Which brings us back to me being boring.

I did have a rather colourful murder fantasy while I tried to ignore the sounds of one of the upstairspeople shticking it to his girlfriend again, though. They started out as a light pain in my ass and have now blossomed into a three-fingered rectal examination.

I will go out and observe something screwy to tell you about later. And if I don’t, I will lie and make something up. It might even be coherrent. No promises, though.