Monday, June 20, 2016

Twenty Eight - Sharp Ended Attack

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! 

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