Breaking News: The term 'itsy bitsy' banned at the water spout

The cheers heard around the world's most famous water spout today have now echoed through the chambers of progress after, in a coup for differently sized spiders, officials officially banned the term 'itsy bitsy' near their spout with an official (yet scary to many in attendance) whack of a gavel. 

The head of the committee in charge of the campaign to ban the term, Rodger, a Goliath Bird-Eating Tarantula, was quoted as saying 'suck on that you stupid little spiders, I'm sick of being shamed because I'm not as svelte as you. It's not fair. It's not at all fair. Why is everyone so obsessed with size? Judgmental assholes. I shouldn't have to be treated differently just because I'm different! But we beat the dicks, and this was a quick campaign with swift success, which is good, hard work is not my forte, and besides I'm getting a shipment of just hatched raven babies delivered from my butcher tonight and I plan on serving them raw with a sauce of puréed praying mantis larvae, and stuffing my face with that till I can't walk for a week. Hopefully I can find a nice ladies favorite pair of shoes to sleep it off in'.

When reached for comment the world's most famous itsy bitsy spider, itsy bitsy himself was understandably distraught, crying into the phone 'being itsy bitsy and climbing that water spout has been the focus of my life for decades, what am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do? I don't know who I am anymore? I don't even remember my real name. Was it Steve? Oh fuck please don't let it have been Steve, Daddy Long Steve already has a stronghold on the world of famous spiders named Steve. I can't rebrand now. I just had seven thousand new t-shirts printed for my next tour. This will ruin me, RUIN ME????'

Then the phone call ended abruptly with a loud bang. We're pretty sure he didn't shoot himself, the little guy was way to small and weak to use a gun. He probably just got whacked with a shoe. We probably shouldn't have organized for him to take our call at that 'Clowns with Arachnophobia' benefit, but we also needed to get a quote from Bonkos  on the recent changes in clown law making it illegal for children to laugh 'at' clowns, with only 'with' laughter tolerated now, which lead to the recent mass execution of most attendees at Suzie's fourth birthday party, and we didn't want to fork out for two phone calls. 

A list of alternative ways to describe spiders of different sizes wishing to climb water spouts was requested with the response coming 'I don't know, just because we violently objected to something doesn't mean we've spent any time considering an alternative, that's not how the world works you dicks. YOU come up with it. But it better not offend us, or we'll take you to court, and watch out, because we can be offended by just about ANYTHING!'

After losing several millions of dollars in lawsuits from our suggestions of 'size unimportant', 'a size that fits in the rainbow of sizes, and 'sized somewhere between grab the bug spray to we're moving house', our fourth suggestion of 'differently boned' was immediately accepted with quote 'cool, did you just come up with that? That way I can say "Don't call me fat you dick, I'm big boned!" Yeah that totally works'.

Please Note: Bonkos official quote was 'the laws didn't go far enough, I'm told that sometimes those laughing "with" are ALSO doing it for the wrong reasons. I just don't know if I'll ever be able to trust laughter again. What am I going to do, what the hell am I going to do?' Then the phone call ended abruptly with a loud bang. 

Please Note Two: Three spiders have since become stuck and died in the water spout. When reached for comment the lawyer at the head of the ban the term itsy bitsy campaign was quoted as saying 'it's not our fault, maybe if the fat fucks laid off the flies and went for a walk occasionally they'd be okay, although if you call them fat in your story I'll sue the shit out of you, the official term is "big boned"'.

Please Note Three: A leading Arachnologists has now warned that if spiders, a traditionally boneless species, are now evolving to not just have an exoskeleton, but also bones, and already sometimes big bones then, quote 'we are all fucked, spiders will soon take over the world, there's probably one in your bed waiting to get you as we speak'.

Please Note Five: After a recent announcement made by an Arachnologists for some reason a swarm or a 'pratfall' of clowns has been seen 'freaking the fuck out'.

Please Note Six: The Coulrophobia (fear of clowns) Society has issued a statement saying 'we told you clowns were evil and would one day go psycho and try and take over the world, we TOLD you, but you all just laughed at us, you dicks. It's not nice to treat people differently just because they're different. There should be a term to describe idiots like you, I know, let's call you "dicks", yeah I like that. Ha ha, let's all laugh at the stupid "dicks"! 

Please Note Seven: It turns out Bonkos possibly did not shoot himself. Apparently little Suzie's mother was upset about the official complaint Bonkos had made about Suzie and most of her party guests, and had sought out Bonkos looking for 'revenge'. Seriously revenge? It's sickening, some people are just so damn sensitive. 

A beautiful Valentine's Day poem

Joel had a plan for the best Valentines Day present imaginable! 

He was going introduce his girlfriend Sally to something for the first time ever. 

Something splendid and wonderful.

Something gorgeous and radiant. 

Something elegant and ornate and awesome.

Something delectable and delightful and devine! 

He was to introduce her to cheese!

It was going to be epic. 

cheese.

Cheese.

CHEESE!!! 

But it turned out she'd already tried cheese.

It ruined his whole plan.

He was planning to say to her 'how have you never tried cheese before? Are you fucking crazy. It's cheese. For fucks sake, cheese. Cheese. CHEESE!!!'

But it was ruined. 

So they just had sex instead.

It was the worst Valentine's Day ever. 

And now, with love, here is an illustrated history of a piece of cheese 

Dream Success - A poem

Candida, a farmer from French Guina, claimed she 'never, ever, ever, totally, ever, ever, ever, never want to step foot in a museum!' 

Fortunately for her, her captors wanted nothing more than to shrink her head.

Loud Run

'Don't scream at me!!!' Screamed Helga. And it was TOTALLY out of character for her to be so flippant.

Yet barely anyone even remembered that it had happened. 

Which would have been strange in itself. If this incident hadn't happened three seconds before every human right eye on earth turned into a living baby elephant.

Plus Helga had just been screamed at for merely asking her sister to call their brother for once.

Which was a totally reasonable request.

So that may also be why no one remembered her also screaming.

I guess we'll never know which. 

Eight - Splashing To The Back Half

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I had pondering about retribution to do. And I needed to ponder BIG, and it had to be NOW.

So naturally I decided to first ponder over the last time I'd pondered, and see if I could remember if that pondering had achieved the goals I'd hoped to achieve, and if so were there therefore lessons I could remember to implement in this current dire situation, because if so this would allow me to ponder whether I wanted to repeat that success or try and find a new fresh solution, which obviously is something which would require some quite serious pondering.

Lucky there was a fish tank I could tip over to make a pond to ponder by, which I did immediately.  A kid yelled at me for spilling it on his head, but what the hell was a kid doing standing next to a fish-tank?

As the fish began their merry flapping dance I was hypnotized back into the back of my mind, I knew I'd hung on to that part of my brain for a reason. I don't get why so many people sell theirs. I know the look is in, but so were eyeball candles for a few years, but we all got over it when the trend moved on to wrapping your sexiest scarfs around a tomahawk, and then hacking it into your shins and leaving it imbedded in. And burned out eyes are easy to replace, you just nick some off a fly, they have hundreds. But where are you going to find the back half of a brain with your own memories in it?

I'll tell you where, at my new store 'Brian's Back Half Of Brains'. Hire me, and I will source the back half of a brain, jam it into my own head, then re-live up to a hundred of your favorite memories, then cut it out and jam it into your head. Let's see. For say $39.99 for up to fifty memories, and $22.99 more for anything above fifty? The only problem I can see is that my name isn't Brian. Not sure I want to change my name just for a brilliant business scheme. Hmm. I'll ponder it. Either way - copywrite.

Back in the back of my brain now I was remembering the last time I'd pondered....

I was around at Kev's place showing off the fedoras I'd installed in place of my kneecaps, as was the style that week, when Kev out of the blue verbally attacked me!
'Looks great dude' he said 'then again seems like any trend that comes along you can join in and make it your own in a fun yet cool way, I'm jealous' he smacked me with.
'Join in, seriously Kev, you dick. I've only seen ten or twelve other people do this so far, I don't join trends I START them!' I yelled back. Then I kicked him hard in the kneecaps.
'I bet now you're going to say I just "joined in" kicking you in the knees because that's what your father always did disciplining you and it's the reason behind the severe emotional damage you told me that your therapy and medication can't seem to overcome?' I said.
'Well no, I think I want to say thank you. I think you just snapped by right kneecap back in place. That's been bothering me since dad kicked it out when I was twelve. Oh my god. I can bend my leg properly again, thank you, THANK you! I'm finally free of this horrible ordeal that's plagued every day of my life for over twenty years!!! Thank YOOOOUUU!'

Fucking Kev. What a dick. Today was supposed to be about my fedora caps. Not his kneecaps. What a sheep, almost EVERYONE had kneecaps. What I was doing was fresh and new. But they were tainted now. So I needed them out. And that's when it happened, I pondered, and my pondering, like all good pondering, was focused like steel, and right to the point with flawless levels of intelligence and clarity as clear as a window made from fresh new air!

'Sticking Trilbies in there would be fresh and new, and the current surgery wounds are still fresh and new, so it would be easy to get it done today!'

I needed to get them put in NOW, and Kev had a BIG car which was helpful since I was in a wheelchair (and would be till I had real kneecaps put back in when the different type of knee hat trend would end later that week).

'Hey dick! Drive me to the hospital!' I yelled at Kev.
'Of course buddy' he replied. And off we went.

That was then. Now I snapped back out of my pondering about pondering. Like the fish before me snapping back to life as staff rushed to put them in glasses of water. Dicks, that was my pondering pond.

So 'doing something "fresh and new" had been the solution the last time I had pondered. And it had worked out great. So why not just do that again. I knew what I had to do. Kick the waiter in the kneecaps. And I had to use a BIG kick and I had to do it NOW!!!

Probably to be unfurled further*

*Depending on whether I instead pursue this other genius idea I just had, Willie's Windows Made From Fresh New Air! Let's see, 39.99 for up to fifty windows, and 29.99 for anymore after that up to a hundred? The only problem I can see is that my name isn't Willie, not sure I want to change it just for a brilliant business scheme. Hmm. I'll ponder it. Either way - copywrite.

Champions

It had been going on for eighteen solid hours. 

Blisters had formed, grown and popped.

Blood had spilled. 

Voices had worn more horse than a sad woman at the races who'd been screaming because she'd lost her big final bet on the final race by a nose. 

A horse nose.

Which aren't even cute. 

Depending on the horse.

And your personal proclivity toward this particular brand of majestic hoofed animal snout. 

Witnessed called it the most epic battle of Ring A'round the Rosie anyone had ever seen. 

And now, Roger, legs wobbling from exhaustion, but soul soaring with gloating arrogance, was ascending the winners podium ready to give a victory speech he planned to echo through the valley and vibrate into the already crushed and vulnerable spirit of the loser, Gary.

Yes this had a been a battle fought dirty from the get go. 

Skin had been scratched, eyes had been poked, hair had been pulled, and the trash talk was so brutal three spectators had even threatened to intervene with a fire hose.

An unprecedented act on the circuit, but one that many felt needed to happen. 

Especially after news had come in earlier that day that the local dam had burst and that residents should try and use as much water as possible 'shower twice if you have to' the news had said. 

An unprecedented amount of showering. 

But now Roger had won, and was ready to be showered with praise, but more than that he now hoped to take eighteen hours of built up pain and loathing and shove it deep down Gary's losing fucking throat. 

Yet Roger knew not yet of the dirtiest act that had been played of all. 

A move had been made more dastardly than even the worst move made during the entire horse nose trials of 88.

And who hasn't vomited on themselves thinking about that?

Before the trophy could be handed out, first the official had to test the participants for banned substances. 

And at some point during the battle.

Greg had managed to taint Rogers 'pocket full of posies' with a single Daisy.

Enough to have Roger quite definitely disqualified from this match, and possibly even banned for life. 

But it was only to get even worse.

It would turn out Greg had only even challenged Roger to a match so his accomplices could use the time to ransack Rogers house. 

Also one of these accomplieces was banging Greg's daughter, who'd helped orchestrate the whole thing, and was currently doing it in her dads bed. 

Also the 'throb of victory' that Roger currently felt in his chest would turn out to be the start of a heart condition that would traint the rest of Rogers life

Although few people felt sorry for Roger. 

Everyone on the circuit thought he was only EVER in it for the money. 

And had no real love for Ring A'round The Rosie. 

In fact it had been heard that Roger had once been heard to say 'why "Rosie" anyway, it's a rose, just fucking call it that'.

Although this particular atrocity had never been corroborated.

Most agreed that 'if I'd heard him say that, I'd have killed him on the spot'. 

I think we all would have. 

I know we all would have. 

Unless he was wearing his trademark horse head mask at the time. 

Who could hurt a horse.

Have you seen their noses? 

Soooooo cute! 

A Solid Step

It turned out Craig had been lying all along.

A statue had NOT come alive just to give him a high five.

I mean duh.

It had actually come alive to kick him in the balls. 

Seven - Response Buckets

'Answer me this, If your tears tasted like chocolate milk how much would that affect how much you'd cry the day your favorite pet dairy cow died?' I asked the waiter. 

'When you really want to make a monkey irate do you call it names or just act like you're not bothered by the names it calls you?'

'How many cubes of ice do you like on your spaghetti?'

'Do you consider doors to be more like giant misshapen straws or more like a leaky pool at a waterpark?' 

'Do you ever take a photo of something pretty without immediately making plans to take photos of that photo, and if not why are you even taking a photo, you wasteful dick?' 

'Do you buy your nuclear waste on the black market or through a worker with the official channels working off the books?'

'When you snap at people do you normally choose a towel, a rubber band, or their own legs post dipping them in fast drying elastic plastic'? 

'Who is your elastic plastic guy, and does he work on Good Sunday?' 

'How do YOU misspell Aruphamt?'

'Out of Lemurs, Manatees, and Toucans, which animals blood do you find changes stickiness the most on full moons'? 

'When in the rainforest what gage nets do you prefer to be trapped in?'

'What about when you're in a far less humid yet equally as vegetative environment?' 

'What's your favorite type of wood-chip to use to thicken up your baths?' 

'If your phlegm tasted like Parisian artichoke soup, how would that affect how much you'd cry the day your favorite flu-germ harvester got fired from his day job as an Aruphamt and therefore has to start charging you fifty percent more per bucket'? I asked the waiter. 

These may all seem like obvious questions to ask a stranger you're trying to get to know, but I wasn't asking them for that reason. No these were obvious yes, but they were also pertinent, and perticnity was very impertinent to me right now, I was trying to get a hold on his personality, his likes and dislikes, what made him tick, and what kind of explosion this ticking is leading to, and how dare he risk our lives by ticking like that near us? (And on a side note I was also trying to find a new elastic plastic guy, mine's decided to start taking off religious holidays, what an idiot, surely those are his busiest days!)

You see I'd paused a moment before putting my order in, knowing just how important this order would be, and the waiter had taken it upon himself to 'recommended' the, and I quote, 'tacos, they're great, but the enchiladas are some of my favorites too'. And I needed to know him inside and out before I could make a decision on whether to trust his recommendation or whether to spit it back in his face, possibly with some chewing tobacco mixed in, which would be hard because I didn't have any on me, and I had important stuff to attend to here, stuff that needed to be done in a BIG way, and NOW. I really did not need a trip to the tobacconist right now. Besides, my regular tobacconist was in a different county, and I'm not a disloyal dick. 

His answers, as it turned out, said a lot about him! And a lot is WAY more than hardly ever, possibly even a LOT more. They were as follows. 

'What?'

'Huh?' 

'Seriously?' 

'Come on!'

'Stop it'

'I said STOP it' 

'I told you earlier I don't want to answer your stupid questions'

'Just order something please'

'Or don't, I really don't give a shit'

'What? That's disgusting!' 

'I'm not even listening anymore'

'La la la, shut up or order something or I don't care'

'AAAGGHHHHH' And 

'Seven percent, is that what you want me to say, fucking seven percent!' 

Yep those answers said a LOT! A ton even. And even a ton in a situation when if someone asked you 'how much is a ton in this situation?' You'd answer 'a lot'. Yep those answers told me everything I needed to know about him. And they said it loud and clear -'I'm hard to get a handle on'! 

There was nothing I could do but think about this more. I could not even begin to think about what to eat with this hanging handle that was hard just dangling in front of my face. This was clearly going to take some serious pondering. And I HATE pondering on an empty stomach 'oh for crying out loud, just get me something BIG to eat, and get me it NOW!' I screamed him.

I mean I had retribution to take from him, and here he was making ME  ponder, what a dick! And retribution I would take, BIG retribution, and as soon as I had my food I'd take it NOW! 

To be peddled further*

*Like on a bike, a bike 'continuing' down a path*

*Paths are also great free places to store your spare buckets of flu-germ or exotic animal bloods, no one ever steals* them, I don't know why 

*Stealing being an act that makes you a dick! 

Stop the romanticism

I get it, you're hanging out with a bunch of buddies, everyone is ripping on their kids, bitching away, saying stuff like 'my kids man, such bitches, always bitching about their siblings, and ripping their clothes, bitching about their clothes being ripped, ripping on their siblings' outfits, and bitching that their siblings are bitching on them, I mean, man, kiiiiidddssss!!!' and suddenly you and your friends all realize the exact same thing at the exact same time - 'Bill, our Vampire buddy over there reading the wine list, NEVER bitches about his kids, wow, vampires must have some super progressive and forward thinking parental methods creating harmony in a typical vampire household, we should ask him about them?' 

Well DON'T!!! 

Fact: The only reason sibling relationships in vampire households are so beautifully turmoil free is because typical human sibling arguments over bunk beds and which sibling sleeps in which bunk relative to their preferred bunk (typically is the opposite bunk from the individual siblings individual preference) for them is rendered irrelevant due to the typical vampires typical choice of sleeping upside down while hanging from the rafters, and therefore negates even the possibility of arguments or negativity over bunk positions! 

(Exceptions exist of course, like this typical Tuesday night exchange in a typical vampire house:  

Kid 1: I want the left side of the rafter!

Kid 2: I ALREADY CALLED LEFT SIDE.

Kid 1: But I called NO CALLSIES! 

Kid 2: And I pointed out that you can't CALL no callsies, you have to DECLARE IT! 

Kid 1: Oh yeah? Well declare this - MUUUUUOOOMMM Jeremy is poking me with his talons! 

Mom: Talons? Those are what Hawks have! We're supposed to be bat like! If you're turning into a hawk Jeremy so help me god I'll march up there and put you in the naughty corner. The dark corner, which I'll admit is basically like heaven for a bat, but a nightmare for a hawk, unless there's a rat or two to eat, which there won't be, unless someone's been leaving crumbs around, we eat BLOOD in this house, NOT sandwiches, if I catch one of you damn kids eating a sandwich I'll SOOOOOO put you in the naughty corner! 

Kid 2: Mmmmoooouuummm if Batman is so into bats, why does he fight for humans and not vampires, it's not FAIR! 

Mom: Oh for fuck's sake Jeremy, I TOLD you Batman is not REAL, what kind of moronic loser gives anytime at all to made up things? Now go to sleep!!!

Kid 1: Ha ha, you got yelled at, you got yelled at, plus your face looks like a possum face! 

Kid 2: Mooooouumm, Stephan called me a possum face!

Mom: GO . TO . SLEEP . NOW . OR . I . WILL . POKE . YOUR . EYES . BACK . IN . SO . YOU . ARE . NO . LONGER . BLIND!!!!

Kid 1: ...

Kid 2: ...

Kid 1: ...

Kid 2: ...

Mom: Thank god 

Kid 1: Moooouumm, is it true that some vampires sleep in coffins, can we get coffins please, please, please, please!!!

Kid 2: I call top coffin!!!

Kid 1: No I call top coffin!!!

Kid 2: No fucking CALLSIES!!!!!!) 

So yes, other than on Tuesdays (a stupid day anyway) Vampires do live in households built on the firm foundation of the soft pillow that is sibling harmony, but it's only because of the bunk bed thing, so let's please stop fucking pretending that it's because of progressive and forward thinking parental methods that we could adapt to be used in regular human families in order to create a more harmonious world! It ain't going to happen you idiots. 

Oh also, stop bitching about your kids, you're the one hanging out with a fucking blood eating vampire, no wonder they're a little messed up! 

BreakingNews - Sociopath mistakenly called a psychopath

Tragedy today as a 'sociopath' named Ridge - while attempting to do nothing more than go about his everyday, routine, antisocial, mean spirited and miscreant like daily errands - was horrifically, cruelly, ludicrously and completely incorrectly mislabeled a 'psychopath' by a passing victim of one his activities. 

Ridge responded by completely and utterly freaking out, running around like a madman, screaming like a lunatic, burping like a maniac and ultimately having an explosion of unhinged, schizoid like craziness of such extremity that he accidentally briefly stopped being a sociopath, in fact he slipped off the 'path' altogether!  

Off the path Ridge was shocked to discover raw untouched nature - and with it calmness, enlightenment, freedom, serenity and hope. This of course freaked him out even further. So he yelled at a frog, slapped a tree limb, looked oddly at a hippy, licked a mongoose without first asking it's permission, and told a wild flower that to him it smelled like 'a god damn mass produced FARM flower, take THAT!'

All things that he immediately recognized as far more becoming of  a typical 'donkey brained monkey' than a sociopath. 

With his identity now clearly completely lost to him Ridge went on to dedicate the past six months of his life to helping the needy. Where he has been praised for his hard work and dedication. It's been a very eventful day for him. 

The man who casually (like he didn't even fucking care) just threw out a label on someone he didn't even fucking know was released from the hospital after only twelve hours and told that the remaining egg shell fragments still deeply imbedded in his skin would work their way out on their own within a year at the latest. He's yet to apologize, or even show a hint of remorse for his haphazard and unnecessary altering of the entire existence of someone else's life with this uncalled for labeling. 

When asked how they felt about this lack of remorse by this man against someone he didn't even know, a stranger we found on the street, who knew nothing of the incident other than what I've told you, was quoted as saying 'what a piece of fuckwad flavored shit, the guys a god damn psycho'.

And I think we can all agree with that. 

Please note: 

- The wildflower is being treated with state funded psychotherapy, and some anti-anxiety prescription medication and is expected to make an almost full recovery. 

- The mongoose and the frog are now dating and hoping to have at least a thousand babies, or tadmons, by the end of the month. 

- Neither the hippy nor the tree limb could be reached for comment, and of course we all pray neither of them ate the other one, or worse they ate each other, although if they did we hope they did without the need for name calling, that stuffs mean man. 

Close Call

I feel like the musical 'Joseph and the Technicolor Dream Coat' would have been vastly different if instead of a Technicolor Dream Coat is was a Technicolor Flesh Eating Bacteria, and if instead of Joseph, his name was Sir Hugs Alot.

Well I mean obviously, who's going to nick a coat off a knight? They have swords!

Six - Fight or uncaged

'Get into my office!' Yelled my boss at me one day with an angry menace being expressed by his volume of choice, in this case specifically as a yell. 

This was back when I was was a rare and exotic bird denier working for the federal department of rare and exotic bird denying. It was a plum job for the most part, the main five roles were as follows:

1. Saying 'nah, don't believe in em' myself'. When asked about our specific belief in specific birds, and with 'em' taking the place of the specific bird being specifically discussed at that specific time. 

2. Accusing professional birdologists of stuff, specifically that they'd done stuff like just painting pigeons to look like things such as different birds we were trying to deny, Lavender Crested TitHawks being a specific example. Or to be even more specific I'll tell you about one of my specific favorite days at work the whole time I was there, which was when I got to yell at a bird loving dick! And more specifically when I got to yell this - 'You're trying to tell me that THAT specific bird in that specific cage you're holding in front of me, is a Wingtailed Blue Mouse Godwit, nah man, you've clearly just glued some cut up blue t-shirt onto a different bird, in this case clearly a penguin to be specific, you lying dick, and oh look, now that I've opened the cage its flown away, definitely a penguin, fuck you for trying to fool people, you're a male body part, specifically a dick!' 

3. Doctoring all company wide memos to say at the bottom 'and remember, it's company policy to say "specific" as often as humanly possible, and anyone who fails at this will have their genitals (whatever that may entail to the specific employee) jammed into an item of office equipment, specially the paper shredder, and specifically the big rusty one by the ladies bathroom'. 

4. Making fun of the kid in accounts with a lisp who couldn't say 'specific' without spitting on the girl who worked on the desk immediately opposite him. 

5. Making fun of the girl in accounts who always seemed to have spit on her for some unknown reason.

It was a fun job. But the boss was a dick. I'd done absolutely nothing wrong on this day that he'd yelled at me to come into his office. Not a damn thing. ZILCH. 

Luckily I'd predicted that this dick would pull this kind of thing one day, so I'd been sneaking into his office every day when he was at lunch and setting up little boobie traps like thumb tacks on his seat to stick into his butt, and sending emails to his wife from his company account that were addressed to his secretary and referenced the fact that she was female, and ended with pictures of his butt, which were easy to get because he was always pulling down his pants at work and dabbing blood off his ass, the gross bastard, and I'd also been stashing some snacks around in case he had a lot to say, and I got peckish. 

On this particular day he was screaming at me for some nonsense, so I went to grab the burrito I'd stashed six months earlier in the locked draw where he kept all the company cash reserves, and yet when I reached for it all I found was a draw full of mush, bugs, stank, and for some reason some tiny fragments of cash. That boss sure was a dick. 

But now, seven years later, and I suddenly knew what the ordeal that day (of having to eat the bowl of fried rice I'd stashed in his briefcase instead of my coveted burrito, while he rattled on) was for. I'd stared gastronomical dissatisfaction right in the eye and burped hard on its lips, or more specifically on my bosses lips, to prepare me for this exact moment. A moment with so much on the line. 

And having faced this pain in the past I know knew exactly what to do the second I began to look over the menu now handed to me by the waiter. 

'Just don't order the six month old draw burrito, it'd probably be mushy, 

just don't order the six month old draw burrito, it'd probably be mushy' I began to chant to myself as a perused the options. Feeling more and more calm that I could make a choice that wouldn't bring further attention to my failures that day. 

Knowledge is power. And I had knowledge. And therefore I had power. And power is powerful. And I was ready to blow my power right in the face of this waiter. 

Of course even if I hadn't had that job, I could have just drawn on some knowledge about ordering options of learned the last time I'd eaten here, about thirty five minutes or so ago with Kev. But I'd forgotten totally about that.

Not that Kev bothered to remind me, that dick, no he instead asked if he could borrow my scarf to tie around his wound and try and stop he bleeding. Why would I want blood on my scarf? He knows I don't like wearing l red on Sundays, but I don't think he even thought about that. Selfish dick. 

Also I had the same waiter as I'd had earlier. Not that I remembered. Why  would I? What kind of a loser remembers other people? A loser like this waiter, that's what type. 

'Seriously?' He said when I told him I'd never seen him before in my life 'you don't remember less than an hour ago throwing a bowl of chilli in my face and calling me a dick for not warning you that chilli was served hot?' 

Why would I remember that? Some people are so self-centered, you're not all we think about dicks! 

'I'll just have any burrito less than six months old that's never been in a draw' I suddenly blurted out, to shut him up, he'd begun to ramble on... 'you don't remember asking if any of your own butt cheek was in the food? You don't remember screaming at me to expose the secret hole of celebrities, you don't remember lighting the table cloth on fire and then accusing the fish in the tank of being selfish dicks for not offering their water to put it out?' On and on and on he went. But the next thing he said shocked me. Specifically to the core. Like seeing a completely mythical bird in the flesh, something like a peahen, and then having every bit of truth you believed in cut from under you, like cutting the legs off a peahen to see if it was actually just a sparrow with dryer fluff stapled to it. 

'All our burritos are less than six months old, and none of them have been in draws, so you need to be more specific about what you'd like please'. 

Yep he said it. And it was a dig. A dig at me. ME! Yes ME! Of all people he could have said that to, he chose to say it to me! And it was a dig. Like what you do to make a hole. And a hole is my favorite type of ground opening. Yep! He'd used the method of creating something I like to hurt ME! That self-centered dick. And now, among the numerous balls I was juggling, all of which represented a disaster, things like:

- Making sure that dick Kev got distracted by me doing something BIG and NOW, that he'd forget that I'd promised that I'd find something cool in the cloakroom. And

- Making sure everyone in the room knew that I didn't think you eat the menus themselves, and making sure they new that by eating BIG and NOW! 

And now I now also had to deal with this dig, and I had to deal with it NOW and in a BIG way. Yep, I now had to add retribution against the waiter to the list, and it would have to be specifically BIG retribution, and specifically NOW! Right NOW! 

More to be unearthed*

*Not a great word for continued, but a nice word none-the-less, it reminds you of earth, and un, and ed, all great things. Although if you ask me at least one of those things isn't even a thing, for example I'm sure earth is really just a large Diamond Taloned Condor* with alligator barf stuck in its beard. 

*Which are of course just seagulls that someone nailed a cactus to. 

Five - crowned request

The things that change your life rarely happen how you think that they will. They may be inspired by long term plans and sustained efforts, or they may come before you've even considered a possibility of change, but when the change actually happens it usually comes swiftly, and out of the blue, like a smack in the head from a surfboard someone accidentally dropped out of a hot-air balloon, which has happened to me three times, yet only once by choice. 

Like I remember exactly where is was and what was happening the day I found out that I'd never be the King of England. It was that devastating that every detail was burned in my brain.

I was at a bar somewhere, and I wasn't wearing a jumper so it must have been summer or heated room, and I think some other people were around, although that might be my wedding I'm thinking of, which didn't end in a marriage because I forgot to go, when suddenly, pow, a movie about a King came on the TV! 

I immediately said out-loud 'that'll be me one day', possibly to people I was with, if I had been with people, or possibly to a stranger if I'd been alone, and someone, possibly someone I was with, or possibly a stranger, replied 'No you won't'! 

I didn't know what he was talking about, so I calmly began to look into it. And, well, over a few months of research, questioning my relatives, studying the history of people lying about their ancestral backgrounds, home DNA testing to test those lies for myself, then going to school to learn how do DNA testing the correct way, (after finding out that just looking at two peoples hair, skin flakes or body fluids and seeing if they sorta look alike is apparently wrong), then redoing those tests, then asking my relatives if they knew how to grow other people's hair, skin and body fluids, then doing some research into the history of people lying about their ability to grow other people's hair, skin and body fluids, I finally came to the conclusion swiftly, and out of the blue, that maybe my parents were telling the truth when they said we were not the British royal family. 

Why the truth now? They'd lied about so much in their lives, like for example:

- My underpants had NOT ended up growing into my body because I refused to change or wash them for three years. I'd been able to get them off just as easy as most scabs in the end.

- I'd actually taken TWO eyes out by throwing darts at my brothers, not AN eye. And 

- I did leave it alone, and it still fell off, my third ear that is, that was growing on the back of my neck. And I'm not even sure why they thought that I wouldn't want it to fall off. I mean I sold that thing to Luke Guff for a buck twenty five! 

So finding out suddenly like that, that they'd told the truth that I wasn't Royal was a real blow. But then many years later I discovered that in restaurants 'the customer is king'. I suddenly didn't care if I was King of England, as long as I'd get to be a king of something one day. So I kept this fact in my brain for many years, just waiting for the right time to use it to my advantage. 

'No I will not eat this glass!' I suddenly declared, while spitting out the three shards I'd already begun chewing on 'In fact, I will instead take a menu!' I stated in a deep booming voice across the restaurant, like the fact it was, with big sweaty fact knowing power, which left ripples of fact flowing through the air, one of which knocked a picture of a clown fish off the wall which landed on Kev's wailing face. Although it may also have been time and gravity that knocked it off. Almost all the art was falling off. It was almost like it was just left around by the old owners and then never touched. It was a pretty shitty restaurant. I even forgot that it WAS a restaurant briefly when the lights were in my face. Have I mentioned that yet? It was Kev's idea to come here of course, what an asshole. 

'Not like to eat though' I added as an aside, while scratching at the scar behind my neck, as it had suddenly occurred to me that the way I had declared what I'd stated kind of made it sound like I was asking for a menu to eat, instead of ordering food to eat off, assuming they were out of plates, it seemed like that sort of place. 

'What kind of idiot would eat a menu. That's absurd!' I now yelled. 

Now I felt like I was overcompensating. There was only one way to reel this back in. I'd have to prove that I had ALWAYS been hungry for real food. And there was only one way to do that - I'd have to order a BIG meal, and order it NOW. And it would have to be REALLY big, and REALLY now, cause they'd already said the kitchen was closing soon, so I'd probably not have a chance to order seconds... Or would I? 

To be more of* 

*Another way of saying that there's   more to come, seriously someone really fucked up with not having more synonyms for continued. Like REALLY fucked up. I guess it's up to me to look into that. Or is it?* 

To be explored* 

You know, like as if there wasn't already enough drama to juggle here!