Friday, September 25, 2015

Unbridled Enthusiasm

'Stace, you're acting mopey' I said to my friend Stace, having finally put a pin in what I thought her emotional state was. 

It had been a long ride, I'd guessed wrong a hundred times already, but it turned out the journey wasn't over yet, she didn't respond, or even nod, it seemed I was still going to have to find some guesses up my sleeve. 

'No? Or maybe you're just sad and stubborn, is that it'? I continued.
'I'm...' She tried to interject.
'No no no you're feeling forlorn?'
'I'm just...'
'SHUT UP, I'll get it, just give me a few more guesses, sorrowful?'
'Pleas...'
'Perturbed, it's got to be perturbed?'
'Seriou...'
'I said fucking be quiet, I'm trying to guess here. Um fretfully agitated? No irksome and irritated?'
'David...'
'Exacerbated with extreme umbrage and emotionally pre-occupied with the plague of bothersomeness?'
'I just...'
'Maladjusted? Scorned? Despondent? Bleak? Some other words impressively sourced without use of a thesaurus? Log cabin fevered? Critically blue with comfortlessness? Frustrated and drearisomely gloomy? Bogged down in sullen wintry unhappiness?'
'No, I'm..'
'Shut up damn it, I'm trying to fucking guess here!'
'Morosely maladjusted with much milieu?'
'I...'
'Stomach acid tinged, sandalwood blasted levels of Mongolian inspired melancholy?'
'Y...'
'Harebrained, marrow sucked, juxtaposed, loon faced, disconcerted dismay?'
'P...'
'Oh please, please stop interrupting me, I'm trying to guess your God damn emotional state for fucks sake!' I yelled. 
'...'
'Unhooked, heal-poked, garbage juiced, dwindling customer serviced, crime created, rainwater flushed, chandelier falling, development proposed, ill-disciplined induced, ice-sculptured, donkey breathed, dread-locked, moments of miserableness, peppered with gargantuan glass thrown, fully harnessed, judgmentally thirst quenching, crest crawling, arm severing, scandalous and scrumptious scorn, with hieroglyphical levels of hysteria hyphenated with hyperventilating unharnessed heroic humidity escalating hypersensitive, histrionic......' This last guess was to continue for several more hours. 
 
Anyway, Stace was in some sort of bad mood, 

I never did figure out why. 

Old as dust - poem

The oldest man in the world suddenly jolted upright in bed. 
'Oh fuck' he thought 'since I was born literally every other human on earth that was alive is now dead'.
'There have been a lot of unsolved murders in that time, I'm probably a prime suspect!' 
'Where are your alibis sir?' They'll ask.
'All dead' 
'Oh fuck'. 

'There's only one thing I can do - kill everyone'

And so begun one of the biggest slaughters in the history of the world. 
By which I mean he climbed out of bed, put on his slippers, took a weak shit and ate a bowl of soup. 

He was a hundred and thirty two! What did you think he was going to do?