Sunday, May 24, 2020

Why I have decided not to fall off a skateboard on purpose

There are lots of things I have considered doing when this current dealy is all over:


- Milking a moo cow (the only kind of cow I’ll even acknowledge).

- Monitoring the migratory patterns of clams (They might look like they mostly stand still, but I am not THAT easily fooled).

- Sanding down saw mills until they’re practically just saw huts.

- Nocturnal donkey breeding (apparently it can result donkeys that have x-ray vision, but no one really knows for sure, because getting donkeys to breed at night is really, really hard. Also if you ask them “can you see through that wall” they rarely answer. But maybe they CAN see through that wall. And maybe even THAT wall).  

- Replacing Helicopter blades with boat propellers and seeing if anyone notices. And if they do notice, what do they do about it? Call the boat police? The helicopter police? The non-land-based-travel-mode police? A repairman? Who knows?

- Experimenting with silence as a new form of serenading clams (maybe all those pick up lines people have been trying is the OPPOSITE of what they’re into).

- Lighting up a beach with my mere presence.

- Hoping that light attracts clams (it’s got to be something damn it).

- Ignoring the migratory patterns of clams. (If they’re going to keep dang ignoring me then why I should I pay any dang attention to them!)


But there is one thing I will definitely NOT be doing when this is all over.


I will NOT, I repeat NOT, purposely fall off a skateboard OR ANY OTHER form of foot-propelled conveyance, at least not with the intent of intentionally scraping my knee as a method to collect enough Band-Aids to make a hat.


Sorry. I won’t. I WON’T!


This is not a decision I have come to lightly. I want a Band-Aid hat. I promise you, I WANT that hat. And I would do practically anything to get enough Band-Aids to make that hat happen. Practically anything.


And yes, I know, when you’re out in public, and you fall off your skateboard or other foot propelled conveyance either intentionally or accidentally, and you scrape your knee, there will often be a person, sometimes numerous peoples, who will come up to and say one of the following things:


1. Oh wow, you really scraped your knee there, need a Band-Aid?

2. Ooopsy-daisy, you’re bleeding, here have a Band-Aid.

3. Yuck yuck yuck, blood. Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my. I can’t look at it. I am sorry. I can’t look at it. I am feeling faint. Oh my. I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t. But. Oh my. I am not someone who sees someone hurt and just walks away.  But. I just. I just. Oh my. When I see… b… l…. Oh my. Does anyone have a Band-Aid? There is a kid here who needs a damn Band-Aid. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HELP HIM. What’s wrong with all you people? I KNOW some of you have Band-Aids. In your purse, or in your wallet, well this kid NEEDS ONE NOW. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY SOMEONE PLEASE PUT A BAND-AID ON THIS KID BEFORE I FUCKING THROW UP. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? IS THAT WHAT GIVES YOU PRICKS KICKS? TO SEE A KID BLEEDING AND A GUY PUKING? IS THAT THE WORLD YOU WANT YOUR KIDS TO GROW UP IN. YOU SONS OF BITCHES. Oh, wait, maybe I have one. Oh my. Would you look at that? I do.


And yes, I know, in all three of those examples, a free Band-Aid was likely to come my way. Possibly two. So I get it, I do. Lot’s of you are probably out there slipping off all manner of foot propelled conveyance and scraping your knees, collecting those Band-Aids, and making those sweet, sweet hats.


But here are some things you may not have considered:


- Band-Aid hats aren’t as cool as they used to be. Sure in some circles they are only just now starting to hit. I heard of friend cluster out East that only go their first Band-Aid hat in early March, and some of the copy cat friends are only just now beginning to the process of Band-Aid accumulation, and for even the most proactive this can take days, possibly even a week, so that cluster isn’t going to hit peak Band-Aid hat for at least ten days. But that is THAT cluster. I don’t know where your particular cluster is at, but I know where mine is at, and I’ll tell you, I am currently the ONLY one sans Band-Aid hat. Sure I still want one. As I am sure many of you do. They’re really cool. But I can wait. Patience is good. With patience comes reward. And rewards are enjoyable. And I want to REALLY enjoy my hat when I finally get it.

- I probably don’t want my eventual Band-Aid hat to be full of crusty blood. Cause, I’ll tell you a secret, the person in example three above… was ME! Many people have gone down this road towards their Band-Aid hat. And I don’t like it. Every time I hang out one of them I see the crusty blood part of their super cool hat, and I get queasy. Sure you can’t see your own hat, so I wouldn’t make myself queasy if I went down this road, but I care about other people, and you should too.

- Scraping your knee can cause blood not just to go on a Band-Aid, to come OUT of you. And I prefer my blood IN me. I prefer ALL my liquids in me. That’s why I haven’t urinated in six years. And it takes a LOT of time in a sauna to make that possible. So if I can commit to that, surely I can commit to not purposely scraping me knee. Right?

- I am not good at controlled knee scraping. Too little scrape and you’ll get one of those little round Band-Aids, which are practically useless in hat making. Too much scrape, you’re going to bandage town, which is LITERALLY useless in hat making. So if this is going to be YOUR method, you better be pretty dang good at nailing your scrape.

- I am not a kid anymore. I am more like a kid plus a bit. Which should have a name, but does,n’t so I will coin it right now… A PLUSTER.

- I am a Pluster, and Plusters can’t go around scraping their knees, they already have a stupid name, and now a stupid knee?

- Is your friend cluster full of plusters? Ha ha. That’s funny.

- That could be a good name for a Friends like TV sitcom – A Cluster Of Plusters coming this Fall to NBC.

- Yes I like it.

- I really like it.

- Imagine, people will say stuff like “I like this new character Raquel, I mean she’s no Rachael, but she does have one of those super cool Band-Aid hats!”

- Oh man, Raquel is so cool.

- I want to be like Raquel, she’s on the TV and everything.

- I take it back. Fuck pacience. I need to be like Raquel and that means I NEED a Band-Aid hat.

- How about this, maybe I WILL go for a little ride on my skateboard.

- And let’s just say, if any of you want to lets say ‘spill’ some gravel in front of my path, well try to throw the right amount of gravel for a well contained medium level knee scrape, and I look the other way.

- In fact looking the other way will make it look more real!

- Also if I look the other way I might not see the blood and therefore I might not puke.

- Hey, I wonder if puking attracts clams?

- That’s it; hand me my skateboarding, I’m going to the beach!

- Woo hoo.



Saturday, May 23, 2020

Stick - A Poem

Harriet didn’t own a Nightstick.

Oh she had her fair collection of Day Sticks.

Morning sticks.

Afternoon sticks.

She even had a Crack-of-dawn-Stick.

And the story of how she got it had floored men and women alike.

It was a favorite of hers on the dinner circuit.

Where she would procure an invite to dine and whisk away the evening with tales and truths of the memory.

But none procured her more diner invitations than the story of how she got her crack of dawn stick.

It involved elves (fake), a small monkey (real), seven times being given penance to the free people of the Grover Fields (oh too real) and a battle of wits with a stick merchant who was known to make the best specific time of day sticks the land had ever seen.

And this particular land (the Grover Fields) was itself known to make the best specific time of day sticks in the whole county.

And this was THE Stick County.

It was on their Coat of Arms and everything.

Still a nightstick was what she craved.

Oh and she also craved for someone to tell her what these sticks were actually for?

Sticking stuff probably.

But what?

A poster of Duran Duran up?

She didn’t even really like Duran Duran that much.

She did like the lyric “I wont cry for yesterday” though.

She’d replace “yesterday” with Nightstick.

And “I wont cry for” with “I can’t stop crying for”.

It wasn’t the hit song that the original had been.

But she wouldn’t cry for that.

Her tears were taken.

Actually that’s a good idea for a song…

“Her tears were taken”.


Hands off Duran Duran.

That’s mine!!!


And if you come any fucking closer I’m going to whack you!

Whack you with a stick!

And you better believe I have a Duran Duran stick!

I mean who doesn’t?

Friday, May 22, 2020

I tried a brown thing. Here’s what happened.

Have you ever wondered what a 2nd BC South American farmer would think if someone went back in time and told them that in just two years a man would be born, who thirty years later would gain some followers, and 2000 plus years later would STILL have some followers?


I know I have. 


They'd be like – "Who the fuck are you, and why are you stepping on my onions, I grew those, and now they're squished, SQUISHED".


Oh those dang time travelers and their onion squashing. DANG them!


Then again I wish I could time travel so I could squish an onion.


I bet it would be fun.


Consider this:


 - You’d get to find out if onion juice is a thing.


- And if it IS a thing you’d get to find out if it is a good or a bad or a somewhere in-between thing, depending on your personal taste/ texture/ and liquidity profile preferences, which are based on your personal opinion.


- And I bet having a personal opinion is probably ace! Possibly even DOUBLE ace.


- And double ace beats almost any three of a kind!


- Assuming you play backwards poker.


- And backwards is like time travel.


- And I bet time travel would be cool!


- Wow.


Sadly those aren’t options available to me, because I am just in the now times, known as the present. A time where two years from now practically no people will be born who will be interesting to 2nd BC South American onion farmers.


Dang it.


Which is probably the exact reason why some of the news seems bleak these days.


What’s not bleak though are brown things. And one thing that’s brown is brown ONIONS.


Today I tried one to see if it is fun. Here’s what happened:


I grabbed one from my onion bowl. Which I keep on my kitchen counter next to my onion plate; near my onion platter; over by my onion decanter.


It was a fresh onion.


I knew this because I trash talked it. And when it trashed talked back its trash talking was so fresh man.


And yes I am embarrassed by that last sentence. Very embarrassed.


It was in this embarrassment that I decided to finally see what was IN an onion. All these years of having receptacles full of them surrounding my every move and it had never occurred to me before. I’d just been eating them whole like a caged hippopotamus eating a watermelon for the amusement of tourists, and then walking on the bottom of the lake rather than swimming, and being ironically one of the deadliest animals in Africa, despite the reputation of some of my brethren.


Well that was about to change. Because today I wasn’t just enjoying a delicious onionskin wrapped snack. I was finding out if said snack was FUN, and that would require science.


And like the small child who no longer has a pet four tailed owl faced snow otter, because of what HE’D done for science, I had to do what scientists do. And what scientists do is dissect shit. And in this case the shit was brown. A brown onion!


What I found inside the onion shocked me.


Shocked me like a cloud of dust in a dust bowl. (You just don’t think of clouds in bowls. You think of cereal. Or perhaps freshly made pasta. But clouds? What’s next? Cereal in the sky? That would be ace. Although it would be hard to get your cereal-to-milk ratio correct. Particularly seeing as cows insist on their udders pointing down. It’s almost like cows KNOW what’s coming, and want no part of it. Well cows, I say good for you. You’ve done enough dang it).


Still what I found inside the onion shocked me.


It was onion guts.


I suddenly knew an instant truth immediately – I knew, finally, exactly WHY BC era farmers didn’t want their onions squished by time travellers.


Because in BC, science hadn’t been invented yet, so if you were to be caught with a bucket of onion guts, people would probably think you were weird!


And people in BC probably didn’t want people to think they were weird. You know, because they wore robes and sandals and stuff, so they were already teetering on the edge.


And if your teetering on an edge, there is a chance you’re on a cliff, and if you’re on a cliff there is chance there are clouds down there, and who knows WHAT they are made of – precipitation? Fruit Loops? BRAN? Oh holy hell.


I finally understood the BC era.


I won’t lie. It felt pretty, pretty good.


And feeling good, feels great. And being great is one of the FUNNEST dang things out there dang it.


Therefore I can officially declare it scientifically and officially once and for all – onions ARE fun.


And if time travel was possible, and therefore having personal opinions was possible, I bet my personal opinion would back up that science.


Oh also onions go great on a sausage sandwich. Which is what I had for dinner.




Thank you science!


Join us again tomorrow at the Fleeting Forever are certain things that you might think are fun or might not think are fun files tomorrow where we’ll try something else and see if its fun.


Woo Hoo.


Thank you us!

Friday, May 1, 2020

I tried WOOD. Here is what happened.

Today was a fun day. Why dang it?

Because today was wood day here at Fleeting Forever, as part of the how to have fun at home while at home explosion party. And this is a fun explosion party. Dang fun.

Yes dang it. Let’s just say it. Let it be known.

Why are we hiding from the truth?

Why are we cowering from the reality?

Why are we snowballing away from the snow hill?

Let’s snowball UP the snow hill consarn it.

We aren’t beholden to anyone. We aren’t behooved to nothing. Some of us don’t even HAVE hooves.

Take a look around your home right now – go on, do it – go on – seriously – I dare you – I single dare you – because a single dare is ALWAYS enough – don’t let those double dare you folk fool you – they’re bluffing. And frankly here is all I have to say to them:  

“Oh oh double dare? I’m so scared little man, I’m cowering from reality, you’re so powerful, you doubled something that was worth NOTHING – how do I know it was worth nothing? Look at your shoes, that’s how – they’re either expensive in which case you’re a filthy show off, or they’re cheap in which case, logically speaking, you must be a show ON – and I’ll tell you a fact jack – the show MUST go on – everyone knows that – so you’re presenting something that MUST happen as some sort of rare gift – well fuck you fool – I don’t fall for your wicked tricks”.

Now that they’ve been put back in their place, let’s get back whether I am daring YOU. Single daring you.

So yeah do I dare? Your dang right I dare. I dare up the wazoo – and occasionally down the other side of the wazoo – and trust me if you’ve never been on the other side of the wazoo – well well well you’re missing out – missing out on TRAUMA that is – there is a reason this side of the wazoo is gone up regularly but the other side is practically ignored – you’d ignore a dang volcanic molten lava’s opinion of the latest Jim Jarmusch film wouldn’t you? Well I’ll tell ya something – Jim Jarmusch films are often really good – so just think – nay REALIZE - what THAT says about the dark side of the wazoo – and then realize this – you’ve been dared – single dared – to do this – look around your home…

Ok good looking around everyone. Now answer these simple questions.

- Are there other folk there?

 - If YES – do any of them have hooves?

I’ll bet – and yes just a lovely and commendable single bet – which is a solid bet – although not as solid as a double bet – yet still I single bet you that less than HALF of the folk currently in your home have hooves.

So that’s a fact that we aren’t behooved to NO ONE.

That is unless up to 50% or so of the people currently in your home ARE hooved, and among that 50% include:

- Your landlord,
- Your boss,
- Your psychologically superior
- Your next meal ticket
- Your propheted salivation in the sanctimony department – (which can be a decent sized department – sure menswear typically takes up most of the 5th floor, give or take a small wing of luggage or stationary- and the sanctimony department is smaller – yet it usually ends up being BIGGER at least in price per square foot of retail cost).

In any of these cases you’re behooved man, oh yeah, you’re dang behooved. Sorry about that.

The point is this. Today I tried to see if wood is fun. And I am ready to declare it. Wood IS fun.

Have a look around your home – I bet there is at least three and maximum four things made of wood. So you know wood is good.

But it gets better than good. I bet there are at least three and a maximum of four fun things you can do WITH wood, and they are as follows:

1)   Look at it.
2)   Smell it.
3)   Say to people “wood you rather have a hat or have none” – and then when they go to answer - laugh in their face and “I said wood not would, HA HA, You’ve been fooled! FOOLED I TELL YA!”
4)   Shaping it (this one obviously fits the only “maybe’ is fun, because I’ll tell ya, I’ve had a block of wood on my clay wheel for 6 years and I spin and kneed at it daily – and it’s still just a block of wood – and my hands are now 82% splinter – and it cost a LOT of money to have medical science figure out that exact percentage. Who has that cash in these troubling times?
5)   I just hope this block of wood finally looks like a pot after twelve hours in a kiln at 1800-2400 degrees Fahrenheit.
6)    Wait, maybe I could put my splintery hands in the kiln and make them pots!
7)   I could finally be pot handed. Think of all the flowers I could carry around.
8)   Probably two!
9)   Thanks wood.

So yes, it’s official. Wood is fun.

And you good people have been back in the fun device and popped out as a new type of fun machine! (Congrats).

In conclusion:

- Have you ever fallen for a double dare? If so call up said double darer and mock their shoes today.
- Was there any fun things about wood that we somehow missed? Let us know in comments.
- Is there anything you think might be fun, but want to know for sure? Let me know, and we will give it the Ol’ Fleeting Forever try out. We’ll try it out up the dang wazoo!