I'm David 'Pinky-Von-Sox' Tieck a humanist living in Melbourne Australia. I have lots of coveted, wholesome and hysterical thoughts, here is where I let them sneak out to play with the shadows and light pole stickers.
I had much to do. So I set to it in the logical ways.
First I opened my arms out wide, tilted my head back, opened my mouth, then closed one arm up back in to adjust the treadmill I was wearing as a codpiece which had shifted to a slightly uncomfortable position (where I could see how little distance I'd run on it life time - pathetic).
I then opened my arm back out again, and then closed the other arm back again to press the off switch on my codpiece, as it turned out I must have bumped on the on switch as I was making aforementioned adjustment, then I opened that arm back out, before closing the other arm back in and turning the codpiece back on as, hey, if fate wanted in on then maybe I should listen to it.
I then shooed away a middle aged married guy who had begun setting up a TV next to my codpiece while drinking a beer, and setting it to a low speed and yet still boasting to his friend on the phone that he worked-out nearly everyday (although from where I could see he appeared to have only run a small amount on it life time - pathetic) so I was forced to curse fate for being a dick, and make a mental note to pick a more practical codpiece next time, like an exercise bike, rowing machine, or stairwell to a skyscraper.
Following this I opened my arms back out, and then checked in the mirror on the wall that my head was still tilted back, and found that it was instead titled towards the mirror for some reason, so I tilted it back to back, then checked the mirror again, and found out once again that my head was bafflingly titled towards the mirror again, a duo of actions which I repeated a dozen or so times, before smacking my forehead as I noticed that, um duh, that's not a mirror, it's a mural of a father and son fishing, so I mentally called the painter a dick, and then I realized that I'd smacked my forehead so hard that my neck was now LOCKED in the tilted back position, then I praised myself for my ingenuity, and attempted to yell to the heavens!
At first this didn't work at all. No noise came out. Not even a peep. And I was baffled. So I let Fredrick, the mouse that lives in my left jacket pocket out to do some checking up on things. As usual, he ran straight for my mouth, hoping I had some food in there. In his defense that's where I keep his food. In a small pouch I'd had sewed to the inside of my cheek, but even so his selfishness still disappointed me. I had a problem I needed fixing, and I needed help NOW! Luckily he also completely reverse disappointed me, or pointed me, as it should be known, and bit me on the lip, and he bit me with his BIG teeth, the ones I'd had a pet dentist install on him, when I'd briefly wished he was a North African Blue Necked Black Gazelle. Unfortunately this adjustment to his regular appearance had regular-disappointed me considerably, as it reminded me that when he'd tried to dye his neck-hair blue he'd misread the instructions on the box and had instead turned it more of a mauve color. And that reminded me of another time he'd POINTED me, when he'd been named 'mouse most capable of reading English'. Which was of course one of many times the committee of Recognizing Human Skills In Rodents had regular-disappointed me. As I personally would have voted for my pet Australian Bungle Pouched Rataroo into first place, after he had COMPLETELY successfully read a bottle that had said 'poison'. And I for one don't think that his subsequent epic risk taking, leading to his death, should have disqualified him (he attempted to put poison in the neighbor's cats bowl and got his face eaten off). But Fredrick's biting my lip had identified the problem here, during the mirror debacle I must have closed my mouth. And I'd obviously forgotten to note it on my mental body movement log. So I made a mental note to punch my brain later for its mistake, and got back to the task at hand. Yelling to the heavens!
'Can you do all the work for me?' I screamed as loud as I could, which wasn't very loud, as my voice was muffled by Fredrick raiding the pouch, opposite pointing me HARD, and also poking me with his claws, which also disappointed me and pointed me, this time in the original meaning of being pointed, although more like poked in this case, and specifically poked with his claws, which were very pointy.
Yet even with my cry muffled the answer came back clear as day.
'Nothing, I suppose'.
It was a weird thing for the heavens to reply. And I was worried for the two staff members I could hear around the corner from where I was now standing. One of them had just asked of the other 'what's stopping you from driving him to the hospital?' And the heavens reply had sounded strangely as if it was coming right from that area.
And it turned out that they HAD been confused. And the two of them NOW carried Kev's seemingly lifeless body to a car, and it definitely took both of them because Kev is BIG.
As I looked around it now seemed like I was the only one left in the restaurant. Admittedly I couldn't do a full reconnaissance as I wasn't completely sure I was using that word correctly, and also because due to how my neck was locked I could now only look at the ceiling. However I could tell for sure that there DEFINITELY were no customers nor staff hanging up there.
It was clear - following logic had obviously not worked. And The heavens had forsaken me once again. I paused for a brief moment to make a note to myself to stop burning an original issue still in package Luke Skywalker figurine every morning as a sacrifice in the heavens honor. It was a tough time to lose my religion. But on the other hand, it would save me lots of time stealing from nerds, and even save me money buying all those figurines off the internet (I only steal hugs from the nerds, both they and I need them, me because of a weird unexplained dull ache I often have inside my cheek, them because of some weird unexplained thing meaning some of the Star Wars toys they own keep going up on value, and inflation hurts us all).
Logic wasn't going to help me, the heavens weren't going to help me, the staff weren't going to help me and obviously Kev wasn't going to help me, those dicks. So I was forced to do something illogical, something no one should ever do, just get the job done themselves.
It was up to me, and me alone, to carry out this plan. It was a BIG job. But I knew I was up for the job. And I was up for it NOW.
How I handled* it coming up next.
*Speaking of which here is a brief list of things I've handled that have pointed me just this week:
- A frustrated old lady with knitting needles.
- A baton waving conductor.
- A kid with sticky fingers.
- A knife wielding psycho.
All of which I handled with kid gloves, something that was easy, as they had kids hands in them, and that freaked them all out so they ran away. In fairness, there was an entire kid attached the the hands, the worst kind too, a laughing one, and the knife wielding psycho was the kid's mom, who was a conductor, and who liked to knit, but I don't know why she was yelling at me, she was the one who put gloves on the kid OVER sticky fingers, and made me deal it, regular- disappointing me hard! That dick. And they all pointed me, by not pointing their pointy things at me, allowing me to feel like my point about how the opposite of disappointed should be pointed was a valid point, and that's a point I will point out as often and as a sharply as I can forever!
Here at Fleeting Forever we don't tend to get political, or topical, or opinionated, or make even the slightest bit of sense. And we like it that way, because these ramblings may well one day get us out of jury duty. However sometimes something happens that we just feel like commenting on. And even THEN we usually hold our tongues. Like when we wanted to comment on the current ramshackle state of the international tongue holding championships, and we spent so much time holding our tongues trying to get into the minds of the competitors that we forgot to file a story, got tired fingers and sore tongues, and then accidentally won a silver medal, and now we can no longer 'please' our girlfriends, if you know what we mean (yeah you do, you know what we mean - they're occasional pastry chefs and we no longer have the sense of taste).
But something happened this past weekend that we just feel the need to comment on. The latest shooting in America. And here is that comment - We're starting to think that American gun laws may be a tad dumb, possibly even EXTREMELY a tad dumb.
Phew. We did it. We had an actual option, and we made an actual point. Alright. Thankfully that business is done.
And now because it's something we've done here on this blog from time to time in reference to stupid stuff, with an admittedly too soon light heartedness, yet still sourced from outrage and heartbreak, it's time to play - Things Less Stupid Than Other Things - and on today's episode here now are things that admittedly may not seem smart, but are still WAY smarter than letting ANYONE buy an assault rifle for personal use:
- Deciding you want to go to the moon and making it happen by eating an entire commuter train without even a single splash of hot sauce!
- Refusing to leave the house without your lucky rabbits foot, even though you're currently a horse, and you HAD said lucky foot the day you foolishly got your mane caught in an elevator door.
- Putting new born bear cubs in charge of teaching wise old wolves how to write applications for jobs at glass recycling facilities.
- Putting someone who’s as yet never left their mothers womb in charge of convincing the Vatican to let Jesus come back as a unicorn.
- Being a Kanye West fan.
- Buying a rabies infested dog in hope of using it to shape a new type of wharf order.
- Drowning an elephant to prove the existence of sponges.
- Saving up trillions of dollars to buy the great pyramids to try and bribe Monica in human-resources from complaining at you for wasting printer toner.
- Slobbering your heart in maple syrup and then standing around a pancake fundraiser hoping that people that accidentally grab your heart will end feel bad enough to buy life insurance from your cousin Artie.
- Covering your front lawn in ceramic windmills with the intent of their delightful spinning inspiring you to finally tell your estranged lover that you think we're all made of granite fearing starlight memories and that therefore you should be able to catcall at tulips.
- Cross breeding lounge chairs with recently lassoed pond builders, hoping their babies thank you with a pre-shelved framed piece of paper splattered with the sweat whisked from a light-post fighting hot air balloon.
- Kanye West lyrics.
That was - Things that are really stupid but are still far less stupid than the current US gun laws - And now that that's over, back to opinions. We, like most people, LOVE when foreigners have opinions on other nations hotly debated and complex decision making that they can't possibly truly understand, but even with that love strong we're pussies that have an embarrassingly huge fear of upsetting anyone, literally anyone, so even though we kind of criticized you America please still let us have US visas one day we love your onion rings and chicken fingers, and yet I don't get to have them as often as we'd like.
Ever since I'd spotted 'IT' things had begun moving at speed. Fast speed. Breakneck speed. Speed faster than a speeding speed train with its speed set to high, where high is the top, and where speed refers to the distance covered over a period of time, in a fast or slow sense, where the sense in this scenario in particular was fast, the forgotten sense, and where the other speed referenced above is also speed in the same sense. I had a mission. And when I have a mission I attack It NOW and in a BIG way, and fast, once again in reference to speed.
Nothing could slow me down. I would not and could not double over a single fragment of what I was doing, what was happening, or how I happened to be doing it. I had not time nor inclination to spend one second stuck somewhere I had been before or was already. And even if I did, it wouldn't have mattered because this speed was strong. Overpoweringly strong.
In fact this speed was so strong that it even out-lifted gym guys! And I'm talking the steroid abusing gym guys. And those are the gym guys who do a lot of steroids, and spend a lot of time lifting, and do that lifting at the gym. And let's not forget that even without the gym, the steroid taking itself can be like a yoga workout session, that is once once they've lifted so much that their arm muscles are so BIG and the gluteus-maximus is equally as BIG so it's hard to reach to penetrate with a needle. So they have to roll around on the floor struggling to reach to get the needle to penetrate with cheek, or in very rare cases instead make a friend to do it. So I'm talking speed. Which, as well as the type of speed I'm talking about, could also be a a different type of speed that required being injected into the butt cheek, but I'm not referring to that sort of speed AT ALL.
And this speed was breakneck. So breakneck that chiropractors across North America were sensing something was in the air and were warming their voices up to be ready to say 'Seems you have a broken neck, I'll need to see you for at least six or seven sessions'. Giraffes across the Sahara were randomly bursting into tears for reasons they couldn't even fathom. And chiropractors across the Antarctic were thinking of branching out into providing not just broken neck fixing, but also therapy and anti-depressants for giraffes in the Sahara, and wondering why the hell they even thought about opening a chiropractic firm in the middle of an ice-desert. And giraffes across South America were thinking 'what, so you're going to branch out into a hot desert in Africa, how about helping us out, we're out of place too!' And the inventors of the international giraffe-chiropractor radio network were thinking 'man, maybe when we brain stormed this idea we should have considered a more lucrative couple of demographics to bring together, such as ones on the same continent, or at least the same species, but who'd have thought that giraffes didn't actually give a lot of business to chiropractors'. And brain weather reporters were reporting a new storm developing in their region to combat this initial mistake. THAT's how break-neck speedy this was.
Yep, I didn't have a SECOND to waste. Seconds were like potato chips at my friend Kev's house when he's invited you over to watch sports. You can't waste a single one. Once you've eaten all the chips that you can possibly eat it's best to just dump the rest onto the lawn for the birds to eat. Because if Kev had wanted to eat a chip or two then why did he even invite you over, and then spend six minutes looking for the exact beer you've requested from his spare fridge, he'd have just stayed home alone and eaten the chips by himself. Yep, I'm talking waste avoidance based chip eating, and I'm talking waste avoidance in a generous sense, the forgotten sense. The type of waste that Italian men working in waste management always exemplify so well. They NEVER waste potato chips, because they don't eat them, they prefer lasaguola with a flake or two of parmesan, or a broskalini with a shake of olive oil, or sometimes even a non-made up snack.
Yep, this thing I'd spotted was BIG, and I'd spotted it right NOW, and that meant that the ONLY thing that mattered was doing what I had to do with as little fuss as possible. Without laboring over a single point. Without dawdling a tiny bit. With pure focus on what was at a hand, and what was important. And this was too important to even consider procrastinating even a second. To stall for even a moment would be to fail. And I was NOT going to fail today.
*To be proven
*By the way if you ever meet a chiropractor that specializes in psychosomatic rooted giraffe neck injuries, always ask to see his fingers, it's the strangest thing, but for some reason they're always covered in broskalini sauce.
*By the way, if you were thinking of inventing the 'sensing when giraffes sense things that they sense may seem like their necks may soon senselessly break machines', don't bother, I tried for several years and at best I could only get the machine to sense when giraffes sensed something that made them sense things that they sense may seem like their necks may soon get senselessly sprained, and that information is fucking useless.
'You're bad at gathering information about the typical longevity of surprise merriment springing from the ashes of an intense period of bereavement - for your age!' I screamed, flawlessly insulating my foe.
As I'd predicted I did have a struggle on my hands, but as I established earlier, even though danger always looms, and is easy identified as long as you have a special tooth, it's impossible to predict exactly what TYPE of danger you face.
The struggle this time turned out to be a physical altercation. The worst type of physical altercation. One with a creature whose powers were unpredictable. And undocumented. And unheralded. And unadulterated. And unsandwiched between a sky storm and a slippery curve, and didn't even have a delicious chipotle aioli in this unsandwiching. In this specific case my danger lay with a foe which was a decorative curtain I'd accidentally walked into.
It seemed to have a dozen limbs wrestling with me, all of which were strangely sewed together, something I had to admire, and consider copying to start a FRESH and NEW trend later in the week. Its skin was coarse and materially, and colored bruise purple (My FAVORITE color). And it was tall, almost as tall as the ceiling. I'd scrappled with many a foe in my life, but this one was unique, clearly I couldn't out-muscle it, or out-skill it, which is why I set myself the task of instead trying to out trash talk it.
'I bet when you see someone truckin' you say to them 'keep on truckin', knowing FULL well that eventually they'll have to stop trukin' to refuel, you dick!' I screamed at it.
'You're so ugly I bet you've never even TRIED to go to Jupiter!' I bellowed at it.
'If you were friends with a lampshade I bet you'd consider it your best friend and yet it would only consider YOU its THIRD best friend!' I shrieked at it.
'You appear to seem like your feeling-based predictions of the longitude of regular overpopulations a of mice founded steamboat races would be so awful that you'd be off by a degree or two!' I howled at it.
That last one was a low blow. And frankly a slight exaggeration of what I truly believed. Something I'm not completely proud of. But it did do the job. It's feelings were hurt, so much so that it seemed to go limp. And I used my new upper hand to struggle it to the ground, and after only twenty to thirty minutes of hard fought battle I overcame it's mighty grapple.
It was a bitter sweet victory. Sweet because I'd beaten it's pants off, finally answering a question that's plagued man for millennia 'do curtains wear pants?' The answer is that they don't. I'd had to put my own pants on the curtain to wrestle off, and then swear up and down that they were a gift, and therefore owned by him, and that he didn't need to pay me for them, or even reciprocate with a gift for me in the future, although if he insisted I am partial to foods that are traditionally made with a spinach base, only with the spinach taken out and replaced with a new home devoid of ghost monkeys. And bitter because I'd tried biting his face off during the melee and for some reason it wore what seemed like ten years of restaurant waft as a moisturizer which tasted real bitter. So weird.
But mostly my victory felt triumphant. It roused me. It inspired me. It made me feel like an all powerful King. Doubt oozed out of my body almost as fast as the blood dripped out of the gaping stomach wound I'd picked up during the brawl. And that was a lot of blood. Which meant that was a lot of doubt leaving me. And without it this doubt I felt dazzled, formidable and confident for perhaps the first time in my life, I was so lacking in doubt that I was getting giddy and light headed.
When you're overwhelmed with belief, credence and conviction you have to strike and use it NOW, and luckily I had something BIG to use it on. And with confidence practically spraying from my core across the room I was forced to look closer to my body for answers, so I wasn't grossed out, and that's when I spotted it!
*Where 'it' is the thing that I spotted, that shall be revealed* really soon.
*Revealed like the rib of a man who's tasted a BIG victory*.
*The type of victory that this curtain has NEVER experienced. So much so that I think it's ribs had shriveled to almost nothing. Sad really.
The world is full of problems. Luckily I have a solution to almost all of them:
Need to shave but forgot your razor? Just stick your head in a fire started on a flame retardant blanket, implausible flame NEVER burns the skin because it doesn't want to ruin its reputation.
Want more friends named Jeremy? Simply run an ad in the paper saying 'found wallet belonging to Jeremy with ten thousand dollars cash in it, come to Connell Park on Friday to pick it up' then use the money to buy their friendship.
Want to find it easier to deny the existence of a seemingly frequently found bird? Just cross breed lizards with camels until you've created a Loch Nest Style Monster, unleash it on the city water supply, reveal that knowledge to the local news, which will start mass citywide hysteria, leading to people running all over the place to collect supplies in case this is an alien attack, and all the running will scare the birds off.
Get offered the choice between a 'bowl of nuts' and a 'nut of bowls' and you just can't choose? Just remember that they are very different, VERY different, clearly the second one is just stupid, I mean you can't have multiple bowls!
Need to insult someone? Simply say 'for your age' after any statement. Example - 'you are not a linoleum floor- for your age!' Boom, they'll be insulted NOW and BIG.
Got faulty shocks on your car? Simply re-name them 'big springy things' and you won't even know what shocks are, let-alone know if they're faulty.
Want to sell more product? Just give people what they want and make it easy, I mean hey supermarkets, seriously, I don't care that you always pre-cart them for some reason, but I really don't want to buy a baby! Dicks.
Got shot in the stomach? Just rub mayonnaise onto the wound to let the doctors know you probably deserved to be shot.
Want an interesting, admirable in effort and yet ultimately failing way to prove that you rarely sail? Just eat an enormous garbage bag full of dried leaves. Frequent sailers only do that on special occasions at best.
Want to prove that your fear of horns is in direct contrast to your time-machine building skills? Just publicly head-butt a tyrannosaurus.
Need more money due to some recent awesome schemes? Just collect the paper work needed to legally change your name and then keep an eye on the paper, I've heard people sometimes find wallets full of cash and will just give it the the person with the right name!
Yep, solutions to problems are easy. And I had a BIG problem here, and it was affecting me NOW!
But as usual a clear answer came to me, and I came up with an ingenious, smart and flawless solution - I was going to make the manager of this restaurant SEEM like he was great at his job, so good that I could get him fired, where his level of goodness was GREAT. It was ingenious, and flawless and even smart!
There was only one problem - I didn't know HOW to make him seem great at his job. And even though I have answers to almost every dilemma imaginable, even I was going to struggle with this one, and this struggle was NOW, and it was BIG!
*To be wrestled with further*
*As in wrestled with more*, rather than wrestled with far* away
*Speaking of more, own an arena and you need more events to put on? Just have tyrannosauruses wrestle lizard-camels, all the failed babies of attempts to create a Loch Nest Style Monster are currently not being used for ANYTHING!