Best Day Ever - Who doesn't like treats?

I'm going to go ahead and say it; I like the word 'implement'. In fact I think it's totally swell.

Why? Because when the word 'implement' comes out to play it means that ideas have been had, possibly even discussed, potentially even agreed upon, and perhaps based upon these ideas, discussions and conceivably even agreements, someone's decided to take action. That's plausibly powerful, which is feasibly awesome. Which would be rock solidly great.

Like say if there was a country called 'Implematia', which was a small island nation off the Amelia coast of the former Eastern Block sovereignty of Karacha, which is a region most notable for the nice things they say about Italy. Then say Implematia had a GDP which was heavily dependent on the export of a small grasshopper like insect, called Guggles, which Uzbekistani owners of pet Fire Lizards liked to give as treats, when their lizard’s had been behaving well. Then say that an Implementian politician had had an idea, that was discussed and based on these discussions there was an agreement, which lead to an implementation of this idea. And now add in that the original idea was that there were thousands of Guggles completely infesting the entire island, and that even though the building of some beach resort hotels would most likely disturb a few nests, but not enough to put even a slight dent in the overwhelming infestation of Guggles, far more than could ever be exported to Uzbekistan, so that this part of their GDP would not be disturbed, but that the enormity of potential tourist dollars could not be scoffed at, then the following would probably also be true:

-You’ll all now be wondering if the word ‘Implement’ was coined in Implematia.

- You’ll all now be wondering where you too can get a pet Fire Lizard.

- You’ll all currently be fantasizing about a sweet holiday by the beach in Implematia.

Yep, that’s a great word that implement!

Now even though today has been the best day of my life I have had an issue all day. I went to the dentist a few days ago with teeth that didn’t hurt at all, and now they have hurt every second since I left the dentist, plus because I can’t damn stop tonging the part of the back of my teeth that now feels coarse where the plaque or some shit was scraped out, my tongue hurts like shit too.

So I had an idea to distract me from my teeth and tongue and discomfort and instead be fantasizing about being in a sweet ass beach resort, and I just implemented the fuck out it.

I’ll go ahead and say it, yep I am one genius motherfucker. Although to be honest it didn’t fucking work. Stop tonguing that part Dave, for the love of fucking god why can’t I stop? It hurts, it’s uncomfortable, it sucks so bad. I feel like a fucking Fire Lizard three weeks since it’s last Guggle.

The Paramount Day Project - Brutal Freedom

Today was the best day of my life and I'll tell you why, because there is great art in this world people. In fact it is all around us, like a big donut hugging us tight in its hole.

I was reminded of this today when I had the great fortune to run into an amazing public art performance. It was quite astounding, a lady was performing a piece of free form poetry, fit to an extremely challenging and audacious tempo, that somehow perfectly caught a flawlessly engaging pulse and rhythm, that on the surface was raw, crude even, but struck the ear with a gorgeous juxtaposition of grind and smooth. She spoke her words with a truthful menace that brought genuine fear to those who witnessed it, and yet despite the flow of the words, and the construction of her syllables being almost magically in sync, the actual words she was speaking seemed to matter not.

It was truly awe-inspiring.

Of course just as I stumbled upon her performance the cops were arriving, for as is the unfortunate routine, the authorities fear the Avant-Garde, and so shut it down. But for a fleeting beautiful moment or so, like great art often spans, those of us lucky enough to be there saw a gorgeous painting of a performance, in all its raw, improvisation, rage spewing, saliva spitting, skillfully ferocious livid brilliance.

Well ok, in the cops defense the artist didn’t let’s say ‘know’ that she was making art. She was actually crazy meth head screaming at her deadbeat boyfriend about how 'farkin worthless a cunt he is' and seemed to be ready to rip his intestines out through his eyeballs.

But I’m dead serious about her locking into an amazing rhythm and tempo and groove, and genuine truthful creativity. It was honestly amazing.

I'd have filmed it if I could have.

But as is unfortunately often the routine when stumbling upon unintentional art, I was scared of her stabbing me with an aids needle, or possibly screaming at me until a teeth flew out and got imbedded into my skull.

So I merely watched for a few moments in my peripheral vision, and reminded myself that like a huge cream cheese bagel hugging us with its delicious cheese creamy covered hole, art is all around is, even if it is sometimes aimed at ‘farkin’ cunts’.

Best day ever reaction - Elaborate Intimidation Mongeration

Holy shit, I just levitated. Seriously! Wow! 

I was walking along the street. There was a gutter in front of me. I was walking towards the gutter. The gutter was looming. Intimidating me. Mocking me. I thought... 

'How am I going to get up over that gutter. Can I get over that gutter? Do I turn around and go back? Succumb to its menace? Or do I face it? Take it on? Scale it? Conquer it even? And if so how? Do I use ropes or go bare fisted? Do I use some form of flying contraption? Or just step up like a normal fucking person?' 

It was a conundrum. A battle. A riddle of effort opportunity conflict. 

To turn around was an easy solution yet would require more effort to now take the long way home. To use ropes  would be an easy answer but would require an acquisition of rope. To engage some form of flying machine was a logical response yet would be more wasteful than the others in regard with rocket fuel. And just stepping up like a normal fucking person would be an obvious solution but then it would require being normal, and fucking, and not fucking something fun but fucking normal. Boo. 

All these options sucked. Clearly.  

Then I had a brain wave! Literally, there were surfers riding it, plus radio DJs started to talk, and then micros flew out and made a slice of pizza warm yet limp and unsatisfactory. It hit me - I could step up but 'call' it 'levitation'. Then tell 'everyone' I levitated and boom I'd be a winner. 

Of course now I have another fight on my hands. A further insurmountable wall of difficulty looms. This one a metaphorical wall. And metaphorical walks are the strongest of all walls because you can't knock em down with dynamite. Possibly a sledge hammer, but those are heavy. I thought...

'How would I keep this deep dark secret about the truth behind my levitation a secret forever? I could build a network of spin mongers to twist any tails or exposure towards enlightening satisfaction? I could concoct an elaborate backstory so epic and revelatory that no one would even bother digging deeper into the front story? Or just not tell anyone like a normal person?' 

Meh, maybe being fucking normal wouldn't be so bad just once. 

The Best life plan – The Destruction of dismantling

Today was the best day of my life everybody, and I think that if I ever found myself to have accidentally taken over the world then I would then end up saying at least some of the following things:

-       Whoops.

-       Wait, this is the office the world is ruled from? Sorry I thought it was the linen closet.

-       No I don’t need linen.

-       It’s fine, you don’t have to go looking for the perfect linen for me. It’s not a lack of quality of the current linen options that has me saying that I don’t presently desire linen.

-       I was just on the tour you see, and I wandered off.

-       Where’s my tour guide? She can probably attest to the fact that I was on the tour.

-       No, no I don’t want her killed. Definitely not.

-       I nuked how many countries?

-       That really shouldn’t be possible by leaning on a button.

-       Oh, now that I am in charge I can change that if I want?

-       Well I don’t want to make too many changes right away, I am new at this.

-       Shucks. This is hard.

-       When did I start saying ‘shucks’?  

-       I don’t think I have ever said that out loud before. I’ve only had this job for ten minutes and it’s already starting to change me.

-       I don’t like it.

-       No no, I don’t want ‘time’ killed. Definitely not.

-       Why don’t we go ahead and say as a first order, I don’t want anyone or anything killed.

-       No, not because I want to do all the killing myself.

-       No, like I said, I just accidently leaned on that button.

-       Ah man, why’d you bring me all this linen? I said I didn’t need it.

-       No, no, no, seriously guys, he just brought me linen, I don’t want him killed for it. Definitely not.

-       This is hard.

-       Let’s say hypothetically, if I left the room, and someone else found himself or herself standing next to the Nuke button, would hypothetically they be likely to seize control too? Accidently or purposely? Hypothetically I mean.

-       Oh really.

-       Oh wow, I just realized that I need to go to the bathroom. Wow. The ol’ bladder sure is a complicated organ isn’t it?

-       This is the button, wink wink, the Nuke button, this here, wink wink, no one go near it while I’m gone wink wink, cause if you did people would think YOU are in charge, wink wink, and that would be a shame.

-       Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m all boxed in here, there is no path out, fuck me. I said do NOT bring me fucking linen.

I think the lesson is clear. It’s not worth being in charge of the whole world.

Unless you really like linen.  

Best whispering footsteps

The plastic lid to my takeaway honey chicken and fried rice Chinese food from the Thai takeaway was blowing majestically in the wind. Two or three feet it carried until it came to a sponge soft nails on the chalkboardesq scrape across the tiled floor. Awaking all in the surrounding vicinity to look up, numerous individual minds and drifting and dreaming imaginations all now focused on the one thing like magic.  

Two men in business suits opposite me were now looking upon me with a hint of 'you better pick that up you littering fuck' glistening off their eye balls. No words spoken, but a million conveyed. 

My warm yet gentle 'of course I'm gonna pick it up, I'm not some cunt who doesn't pick up his trash, so don't accuse me you dicks' smile failed to relieve their lovely silent and yet poignant plea. So I added a heartfelt 'it's the third time it's blown down there, ok? I've nearly finished my lunch and I'll pick it up a third time when I make my ultimate trek towards the garbage bins, yes bins plural because I will not just take care of my garbage responsibilities in the minimum required ways, but I'll make the extra fucking effort to divide my plunder amongst the most socially and environmentally beneficent receptacles, so don't you fucking judge me you assholes, I'm one of the good guys, I fucking take care of shit, and I don't accuse people of being cunts without evidence like you two fucking cunts' raise of the eyebrows. 

The two business men and I locked horns briefly, glints from our eyes shooting at each other's like fireworks on New Years Eve, in a standoff so beautiful and touching I won't label it Mexican, because I wouldn't want the  delicious foods from that wonderful nation to enter the picture and dilute what was already heartfelt and moving. 

Just then three juvenile delinquents, no older than fourteen, walked past smoking cigarettes oblivious, it seemed, to just how pathetically lame they appeared in their cliche attempts to look cool or grown up or whatever it is that makes kids choose to look so freaking stupid. The two business men and I watched them walk past then looked back at each other and we all laughed heartily at the little tools, our chuckles now absolutely laced, saturated even, with mutual recognition of just how ridiculously pathetic these tools looked. 

I took one the final forkful of my lunch. Stood up. Reached down to pick up the stray lid. But it was no longer there. 

I looked all around for it. It had vanished. Evaporated. Passed into the netherworld. As if our mocking of the teenage losers had been rewarded with a true miracle.

I put my remaining garbage in the various trash cans and walked away. The scrapping of my shoes on the tiles from my lazy strides whispering 'life sure if beautiful you cunts'. 

Best Day ever - teed up gooood

Today was the best day of life, and if you ask me, and you totally should because I have an answer teed up to go, people who jaywalk on a major roads in formal wear seem way more likely than those in casual wear, smart or otherwise, to get hit and killed by a car. 

I say this, because this evening I saw a couple in formalwear jaywalking. Then they got hit with a car. 

In my mind at least. 

Oh they got hit gooood too. The dudes little bow tie got stuck to the windshield with blood, one of the girls heels flattened a tire, almost as flat as the tire made her face, and their last words to each other were. 

'Let's run it'll be fun'

'Weee, we're better than all the other couples'

'Nothing bad will ever happen to us'

'We are lords of the universe!'

Then they got hit by the car. 

In my mind at least. 

Wait this has taken a dark turn somewhere. I think maybe when I mentioned the jaywalking? That is illegal. Or when I used the word 'teed' which is a golf reference and a sport often monopolized by rich stereotypical caricatures that make people 'caddy' their 'clubs', what's that all about? Or maybe it was the smart casual reference, if they're so smart why don't they wear comfortable shoes damn it! I don't know, it's a mystery. Hmmm, maybe it was when I said I had an answer but never really had a question? Or when I imagined them getting hit by the car? Nope. No idea. 

Wait wait wait wait, I totally got off track. Don't run through speeding traffic in hard to run in shoes people! It really freaks people watching out. 

A vintage best day journey - too tall timber

Do you ever think about how the notes played on a beautiful hand crafted vintage classical guitar with a surprising modern experimental tuning, and the delicate timber sound released as a railway bridge makes first contact with a too tall speeding semi-trailer big rig, actually have very little in common with each other? 

I mean think about it. It's obvious isn't it? They have almost nothing in common. But how often do we really think about that? I'm betting for most of us no more than three or four times a week, maximum. Ok, maybe five times if you happen to drive your truck into a railway bridge. Six if your truck happened to be hauling a shipment of guitars, or a live flamenco band. 

Still that's not that often. There's probably a metaphor about life in there somewhere. Probably a metaphor about fairy penguins who get lost and end up pitching ideas for new types of pesticides for papaya trees in the Philippines too, which actually has a lot in common with classical guitars but only those with classical tunings, something most people only think about on average three or four times a Luna cycle. Maybe five times if you happened to spot a penguin hitchhiking on your way to the moon. 

Still, that's not often enough to me. But I did think about them today. And it was the best day of my life.