"Things I Like" with Dave

 It's that exciting time on the blog once more, where the fantastical turns into... 

"Things I Like"... with Dave. 

This is the show where there are some "things I like", and I'm Dave - the very same Dave as in the title of this show, a show titled... 

"Things I Like"... with Dave. 

Although if it were a different Dave that sure would be fun too. 

I mean imagine the intro to the show THEN! 

'This is "Things I Like" with Dave - and I am your host Dave - no not the Dave from the title, another one - and this is the show where there are things I like with Dave, presented by me, a different Dave to the Dave who likes the thing". 

Now thats the kind of show I want to watch. 

It's got everything. Things. Likes. Daves. Other Daves. 

How MANY Daves? I don't even KNOW anymore. 

Is that a Dave over there? MAYBE. I am not going to ask his name. What if we've met before and I don't remember. That would be embarrassing. With Dave. 

Thats not a chance I am going to take. Or am I? 

Now we also have MYSTERY and SUSPENSE. 

Ok, I didn't ask his name. That's RESOLUTION baby. 

But his name may still be Dave. MORE mystery! 

In fact I enjoy the idea of this show so much - I am going to declare "Things I Like with Dave, with your host Dave, no not the one from the title, another one" - to be todays "thing I like" with Dave, in this case this one, as in this Dave, as in the Dave from the title of the show we are currently on, not the miscellaneous hypothetical Daves from the new show which has at least one more Dave than this show has, and is the thing I like today, rather than the show we are on at the moment. 

I like it. 

                                                         A Dave? The Dave? No one KNOWS!

Well I think we have answered this one:

- There may be more than one Dave. 

- But no one knows for sure. 

- Which is great, because mystery is great.  

- There may be more than one Dave. 

- Was that last line an intentional repetition or an accidental repetition? 

- I don't KNOW. 

- Ooooh, mystery. 

- "Oooooh, mystery"... with Dave - would also be an awesome show. 

- Repetition is great. 

I like it. 

Ikea: The Big Questions The Mainstream Media Refuse To Ask

It's been a huge week for Ikea. 

Their stores AROUND the WORLD are still a thing, PLUS in a huge twist of glee, in the story that EVERYONE has been talking about, 30 odd people this week were forced to spend a night in an Ikea in Denmark. And not, as most would assume, because they couldn't find the exit, even though they swear, they "HAVE been following the arrows", but in fact, because of a snowstorm. 

You can read all about it with the below link. Or I can sum it up for you. Here I go. There was a snowstorm. A bunch of people got trapped. It wasn't too bad because Ikea has both beds and food (possibly meatballs - although that is not confirmed nor denied in the story). The End. 

Snowstorm Trapped Customers

It's a lovely story. And probably the biggest story out of Denmark all week (or millennia). 

And when stories this big happen, you get professional journalists AROUND the WORLD asking questions. Big questions. Big questions like: 

- I wonder if they got to sleep in the beds?

- Oh I see it says here that they did. So, um, how about that weather? 

Excellent questions journalists. I enjoyed them immensely. I also enjoyed the answers: 

- Yes, it says on the press release there, they did. 

- Snowy. Did you not get the press release? 

Excellent stuff. Story over. 

Um not so fast Ikea. I am ALSO a journalist, and I have some questions too. In fact I have some big questions. Questions which the mainstream media REFUSE to ask. 

1. Every time I have been to an Ikea, I have always had the same thought - "I bet a dozen people live in this store and no one has noticed". Well where did THOSE people all go this particular night? 

2. Surely when they were picking beds at least one person said "you can't have that one, that's the one I always sleep in, I mean, that's the one I am going to sleep in for the... first time... tonight", right? 

3. It says in the story that six customers got stuck. SIX? No no no. Every Ikea on earth has at LEAST ten thousand customers at all times. What happened to the rest of them? 

4. Why don't any of the stories I have read about the incident even mention meatballs? 

5. Plus the stories don't mention the one customer who couldn't help but joke around with gems like "If this lasts I know who I am going to eat first" and "I guess we better start repopulating the earth"? It is not possible there wasn't one dude doing that. So what happened to him?

6. I'll just say it - what IS in those meatballs? Cause they are delicious. 

6. Doesn't it snow in Denmark all the fucking time? 

7. By all accounts everyone was treated delightfully by the staff, and they all had a good time. Are good natured Ikea shopping experiences how Denmark consistently finished atop of the list of the world's happiest people for a good decade? 

8. But also the last three years they have lost that spot to Finland, so what the fuck is happening in Finnish Ikeas? 

9. Plus Ikea is Swedish, how are THEY not number one?

10. How do I turn my automatic windscreen wipers back on in my Volvo? 

11. Ikea sells One Billion Meatballs a year, One Billion! And yet when I go to the local supermarket, at least in Australia, why is there is no one competing for those big meatball monies?

12. For shame big beef! Or big pork! Or big beef and pork and etc blend depending on what it actually in those things! 

13. Actually, now that I think about it, I can think of a half dozen chicken product companies in the supermarket - Ingham, Steggles,  Lilydale, the one with the rooster for a logo, the one with a lady chicken for a logo - but I can't think of a single equivalent for beef or pork products. CONSPIRACY!

14. Fuck, does that not exist? Thats a potential HUGE market just there waiting! 

15. Invented by me, right now, copywrite, trademark, no takey bakies. And 

16. How do I get my phone to automatically connect to my Volvo? 

So answer me Ikea. Don't make me come down there to investigate in person please. I can never find the exit, and yes "I HAVE been following the arrows, I swear". 

PS. Apparently people also got stuck overnight in the neighboring toy store. Which has been practically ignored by the media. Um Um Um? 

- Did it turn into the movie Big Two? 

- Was Tom Hanks there?

- What ever happened to that kid who played his friend? 

- I liked him. Or did I?  

- Wait a second, wait a second - Bigs girlfriends other love interest was the dad from Home Alone. First he loses his girlfriend to a kid, and then just LEAVES his kid behind. Um CONSPIRACY! 

Celebrations, and other things you should stick in a bowl and eat

 Well it's happened. 

That's right, good people of the Expansion Fantastical universe- we posted our one thousandth blog the other day!

That's one THOUSAND times, I, David Tieck, have had a bunch of thoughts, and thought - you know what, these are thoughts that I think the internet will think are worth thinking about. 

And I was right. The internet thought - yay. And they turned those yays into clicks. And they turned those clicks into reads - in fact, we also just hit our 990000 read!

Who'd have thought, that thoughts like these thoughts could reach so many thousandths of thinkers? Yay. 

It's a time to celebrate, sure. But it's also a time to reflect. And with reflection comes questions. So I put it out to the universe - ask me anything you want to know about the blog. And the universe... responded. 

"Ok, so, but like what the hell is the blog actually ABOUT"? 

People have been asking me this question for decades. On planes, on bikes, on trikes, on trains on rails, on railway style trapeze home game editions of the price is right, on homing pigeons with their settings set to "human size parcels", on Parcels United Brand skateboards, and even on NON transport devices like in cars or on Star Trek style "transport" pods. 

And my answer to this question has come on lunar modules, in buses, on planes, and even on Star Wars style "transport" pods. 

And that answer has been a resounding - YES. 

Because the blog is about THIS!

But it's also about other things. Many other things. Many other things like...

Helmets, and carpet, and the crushing defeat of the corn starch industry’s infiltration of rice bubbled cereals - HEY corn starch - FUCK OFF! 

Rice bubbled cereals are RICE's backyard - and you can get the fuck off rice's yard!

I mean, come on corn starch, keep to your own lane. Plus why do you even want to be in Rice's yard, when you have a whole LANE, and it's a great lane. 

Consider these amazing things ALREADY in your lane:

 - Cornflakes

- Corn Bubbles 

- Corn Starch Marching Men From Venus

- Corn Krispe Bites 

- Corns In a Bowl With Milks

- Corn Horngers 

- Corn Flavored Corn Corns and 

- Corn Flaked Bubbles of Corn Clusters 

Oh fuck. I have just been informed that not a single member of the list above is a real cereal. Not one. Yet each and everyone is spectacularly AWESOME. 

Well I think we've answered this one: 

"What the hell is the blog actually ABOUT"? 

It's about I, David Tieck, finally being declared the new LORD of cereal! 

And it's about getting me, David Tieck, finally officially DECLARED KING of CEREAL IDEAS, and possibly getting my name legally changed to David "CEREAL KING" Tieck. 

First next step: Call me Kelloggs and/or the other one (or ones? Who pays attention to cereal?) - I am ready to take my RIGHTFUL place at the HEAD of your cereal research and development department! No one knows the game better than me! 

First Job: Change the department name to - The Cereal Kings Workshop (please note, I just come up with the ideas, someone else can "work" them out). 

Wait wait wait, I just had another idea - new shipping method - Homing Pigeons with their settings set to - Cereal Sized Packages. 

I can't be stopped. 

Hire me FAST Kelloggs and/ or the other one (or ones), or this guy thinks that you'll have thoughts about how you should have thought to hire me, sooner! 

I think. 

Ps. Thanks for the reads. YAY! 

And now, finally, reasons why "The Sangriham" is a bad name for a Sandwich

 There's a lot of good names for sandwiches out there. 

- The Ruben 

- The Club

- The BLT 

- The BLAT

- The BLAT but replace the T with a G please - what "G" sir? - I don't care, I just want to hear you say BLAG, ha ha "Blaaaaggg". 

- The Meatball Sub 

- The Number 2

These are sandwich names that have lived on in folklore, been referenced in great films, been referenced in mediocre films, and possibly even television shows (I'm not sure, I only researched films for this blog). 

We love these sandwich names. And for good reason, they are GREAT sandwich names. Solid, rich, descriptive, and sometimes, with some minor adjustments to ingredients, HILARIOUS. 

But then, oh yes... then... along comes.... The Sangriham. 

 

Oh it seems like a good sandwich name... at first. It starts with "the" which is PERFECT. It sounds fun, sophisticated, epic but also accessible, regal yet also a tad like an old motel which has seen better days in a town which has seen better decades. It burst onto the stage, and the stage seemed crafted for it's arrival. 

"I'll have The Sangriham", people imagined characters in films saying. Mediocre films AND great ones, and possibly even TV shows, although we didn't research that. 

"Sorry we're out of The Sangriham" we imaged the reply, in gritty dark dramas. Or "Great choice, coming right up" in witty, possibly New York or San Francisco based romantic comedies. 

Did that happen though? No it didn't. Why? Because, sadly, it turned out The Sangriham was a BAD name for a sandwich. Some even say "really" bad. 

And now finally the reasons why it is a bad name, (or as some say "really" bad) are to be revealed, exclusively here. 

The Sangriham

1. The name sort of hints that the sandwich may have ham in it. But does it? Yes. It's an optional extra. Well fuck you, I don't LIKE ham dicks. 

2. Is there just one single The Sangriham on earth? Nope. Fuck you, I wanted an exclusive. 

3. "Where's my mummy?" 

"Um, I don't know Maam, why do you ask?" 

"Well I'm not going to asks for a The Sangriham, am I. The grammar is AWFUL". 

4. Or is it the "word order" rather than the "grammar". 

5. Fuck, now that I think about it I don't think me actually knows what grammar actually is? It's not spelling, it's not punctuation, or is it both of those things? 

6. And why do people care, it's all just words. 

7. And dots and dashes and shit. 

8. Plus - dot? How the fuck did the dot get to be the "and that's final" punctuation. "I'm not going to buy a bucket of sand ever again period. They have them for free at the beach. If you bring your own bucket". Being a sentence with prime use of both the word "period" and it's punctuation representative the dot, to represent the phrase "and that's final". 

9. Fuck that - dot does not deserve this power. 

10. I mean what is a dot? Is it like the point of an arrow. Because that's the scary bit of an arrow, and I am FOR removing that. 

11. Now, "A pointless arrow", now that's a killer name for a sandwich. It's witty AND it makes you think. 

12. "The Sangriham" on the other hand would be an awesome name for a building. Possibly one where people gather. "I'll see you at The Sangriham" would be something people would say. Then they would discuss specifics, like time, dress code, and possibly details about the other people whom may be gathering there. Hell Yes! 

And lastly because. 

13. The Mustard was passed use by date. Yuck. 

Well I think we've answered this one. 

- Someone should name a building The Sangriham, with a sandwich shop, which sells a sandwich called A Pointless Arrow, and with IN date mustard. 

- Fuck off dots! 

- Blag - ha ha! 

The surprising truth about being mistaken for a beaver

Well I think it goes without saying, it's pretty dang nice to be back here, at the blog, on the blog, and for those of us who are not here, (perhaps they are over there, out the back or maybe even somewhere in the  elsewhere zone), I think we can be sure, they too are happy, to be here. 

It's nice. It's nice to be chosen to write this blog that I created. It's nice. 

I'll tell ya what is probably NOT nice though... being mistaken for a Beaver. 

Consider this: 

"Hey Beaver..." 

"Who me?"

"Yeah you, the beaver" 

"Oh sorry, I am not a beaver, I'm actually an adult human-being. Plus we are here in Australia, a country with no beavers" 

"What about at the zoo?" 

"You have me there pal - and it is definitely nice to be reminded occasionally that swift assumptions can often be wrong and harmful to my OWN self - in terms of the way they make me foolish - or worse swift to judge - or worse still something worse, like maybe a thorn in the toe, or even a toe in the thorn, no one ever thinks about it from the thorns point of view -

    'Hi I'm a thorn'

    'Here, go in a toe' 

    'What... a TOE? I can't get a rib? A kidney? Even an ankle? Give me an ankle at least man, I can't go home for Christmas and tell mum and dad I ended up as a fucking toe thorn!"

"Yeah, that's AWFUL sounding - so I thank you" 

"No, I thank YOU beaver man" 

Nope - see, I proved myself wrong. Being mistaken for a beaver is clearly actually the pathway to great learning, and is therefore great for humanity, and should in fact be the cornerstone of the educational system from now on. 

Well I think we've answered this one. 

- Being mistaken for a beaver is rad. 

- Being a thorn in a toe is fucking awful. 

- And being here on the blog is nice, even if we're not here at all but in the elsewhere zone, it's just great that that is some how also here. 

Help Save Education - Mistake an adult human for one of these TODAY 

Ps. This might be a gopher, I can't tell the difference. 

Hollywood finally explained!

Welcome to the fanatical, 

This is the blog where we’ve discovered that blogs are awesome -  and this one in particular is both awesome AND deep down in a steadfast march towards one MILLION reads, something we’d like to achieve so we could say 

“We’ve had a million reads, ACE”. 

Sometimes on the blog we check in on that quest! 

And other Times we don’t even mention the quest! 

 Which creates suspense. 

“Will it be mentioned?”

“Not sure pal” 

“Oooohhh suspenseful” 

Is how we imagine conversations about this take place. 

Sometimes we wonder if we’ll one day be invited to participate in one of these conversations, or perhaps even be sent a free ticket to a dramatic recreation of one of those conversations repurposed as a play! 

Perhaps a play full of intrigue, humor and drama that’s sure to set the avant-garde underground theater movement into full joyful hysterical glee! For finally the 21st century will have produced a play that fits nicely alongside Artaud, Bracht, Shepard and that one guy that did that thing with the banana that were not supposed to talk about publicly, only in basement coffee shops filled with intellectuals and drunks that can’t get up the stairs. 

But we have not yet been to that play yet. Which means that it hasn’t happened yet OR our tickets got lost in the mail. Which one is it? We don’t know ….

Suspense….

“Which one is it?”

“Not sure pal” 

“Ohhhh suspenseful” 

Is how that conversation just went down in the office. 

It was a nice change from wondering if Greg, in the legal department, brought in lunch or will be going out. 

“Which one is it?” 

“He brought it, he always brings it pal”

“Well that’s not suspenseful at ALL” 

Is how that game goes on. 

It’s not a very fun one. 

Luckily we have the old “ one MILLION reads” thing to entertain us these days. Something we’d like to achieve, because we’d get to say “we’ve had a million read, ace”. 

But what number are we up to today?

We’re on our phones and don’t know how to check. Sorry. 

“But will we find out tomorrow?”

“Maybe, or maybe the next day pal”

“Oooh suspenseful”. 

Is how the conversation just happened on the moon. 

But are they moon humans or moon aliens? 

We may never know…

The End

Drama

Ps. Wait. So that character on the show Entourage was an actor who called himself “drama”? Oh come on man, that’s silly, you can’t create any suspense that way. 

“Hey Drama I heard you got a new role, what is it comedy? Avant-garde? Drama? 

“It’s drama pal” 

“Ok, do you mean you got cast in a drama, or are you telling me your name again?”

“I don’t know pal, take your pick?”

“Ok, I take it back, the suspense right now is REAL” 

“Ok, great, maybe you stould turn this conversation into a play?” 

“That’s a great idea, should it be a comedy? Avant-garde? Drama?”

“Drama”

“Again, is that your advice, or are you just telling me your name again”

“Drama” 

“Ok, I think maybe it’s the second one. Hmmm, you know what, I’ll just make it a avant-garde” 

“Banana” 

The End 

Is how that conversation would go down. 

Pps. Oh fuck, on Entourage the character  Drama ends up as a cartoon character called Johnny Banana! This exact exchange must have happened which gave rise to that show within the show! I finally understand how TV is made. Woo hoo! 

Ppps. The number is at 9 hundred something something something. One million here we come! Ace. 

Pppps. If you want more information on the inner workings of Hollywood and/or the show Entourage , please leave your questions in the comments 

Pppps. I wonder what people will ask? 

Ppppps. Ooooh, suspenseful 

The Society - A poem

 

I own a shirt 

Mine's red 

Which makes me the BEST 

Or at least better than folks who don't own a red shirt 

At least during the game "who owns the most red shirts" 

In other circles 

Such as down at the Red Shirt Society of Red Shirt Owners 

I often don't even finish in the top five best 

When it comes to red shirt owners 

Which sucks because at the Society, anyone who fails to finish in the top five 

Has to give their red shirts to the top five winners

Which is a rule that I think, 

And this might just be me, 

But I think makes it hard to crown a variety of top five most red shirt owners 

Over time 

And I didn't join the Red Shirt Society of Red Shirt Owners to AVOID variety 

I'll you THAT! 

I might make a complaint at the next "How to keep everything the same" meeting. 

Oh no no, 

At the Societies Annual "wear a red shirt, variety sucks" ball. 

OORRRR. yes yes yes 

I'll raise it next weekend at the  "No Variety, EVER, if you're looking for Variety fuck off somewhere else, cause you ain't getting it here" Sadie Hawkins Dance! 

Yes. 

Variety, here we come! 

The End 

Update: They didn't go for it. They actually told me to fuck off. 

It's ok though, I've joined a NEW Society. 

The Variety Society of Variety and other sorts Of Variety Society 

It's AWESOME. 

The uniform is BLUE! 

I'm talking Birds, but not just any kind, but ones that can FLY - A poem

Tilley was looking at a bird.

He was jealous of birds.

You see Birds could fly. 

At least some of them. 

And you see those were the ones that Tilley was jealous of. 

And you see, also, Tilley couldn’t fly.

Also Tilley couldn’t walk well, on account of his Rugby career resulting in many leg injuries over the years .

To be more specific he’d sustained six leg breaks, two snapped cruciate knee ligaments, three rotted out fibulas, and worst of all one nasty ingrown toenail, all over the course of four painful years.

He did score three tries too. And make literally dozens of tackles. Although for some reason those seemed to impress less people in the pub.

The “some reason” being that that stat is genuinely not very impressive.

So for Tilley, the thought of flying seemed like a dream.

Which was why he was jealous of the birds.

Also he was jealous of their feathers, they reminded him of tickling, tee he he.

But the flying was the real desire.

A wish he'd wished for at every wishing well he'd seen since before he even noticed the developing second fibular rot.

And now.

In this moment.

As he looked at this bird. 

Which COULD fly.

And with Tilley's desire and jealousy bubbling like a wishing well being boiled from a volcano below it (ultimately melting all those coins, what a waste. Who the hell digs a wishing well without first getting a full geological study done?)

This wish miraculously came true.

Tilley could suddenly fly like an eagle, that had eaten an angel, that had been conceived in the jet-stream of bee.

'Wow, ace' he thought as he soured over a majestic river leading to a beautiful deserted beach, 'this is going to make it easier to get to the Cathedral every afternoon to tell God off for never, ever, ever, EVER letting anything good happen to me, WAY easier' he thought.

'Suck on that God, you dick!' He screamed as flew like a dream over the ocean and watched a pod of orcas swim by a previously undiscovered reef which was so vibrant it made the Great Barrier look like squished cockroach. And was somehow now owned by him.

"I mean seriously, NOTHING good, EVER?" He screamed at god. 

Meanwhile the wife of the poor guy who'd sadly passed on. (Which is a nice way of saying "died"), and through his generous organ and other parts donation, had provided Tilley with TWO fresh fibulas, sat at home forlorn while STILL awaiting her thank-you card.

She was soon giggling though.

Her new beau was ticking her with a feather.

He'd just plucked it from her pet bird which had just died.

But she didn't know that yet, so our ending remains cheerful.

Cheerful as a bee sitting proud on-top a bronzed eagle sculpted from melted coins, with a smile on its face, as it watches his bee mate sucking pollen from flowers, totally unaware that two angels are fornicating in its wake.

Awww.

The High Profile Position In The Vending Machine

Welcome to the fleeting forever expansion fantastical,

This is the blog where sometimes I post silly short stories, silly poems and other outpourings of silly silliness, and other other times we're focusing on the fact that by some miracle this blog has nearly one million reads!

This is something which I’d like to have, because then I could say stuff like “I’ve had a million reads… cool”

And I’d like to be able to say that. 

Because that seems rad. 

And being "rad" was all l aspired to be in my entire life back when I rode skateboards in my tweens in the late 80s. 

And the 80s are now themselves considered rad again

So it's total dang fate man!

Today on the count to a million we check in on how the count to a million is coming along.

Today’s stats say - It’s coming along slowly.

Which is RAD, cause I love slow things! Yay.

Consider these things that are slow…

• Tortoises
• Turtles
• Other torti
• Tonka Trucks
• Tanya in HR in her handling of your request for Tostito brand chips to be given a more high profile position in the vending machine
• Treadmills
• The music of Tangerine Dreams 
• The wait for a change of underpants when you are waiting in a portaloo
• That one movie that was slow but really profound, 
• Tuesdays

Now consider these things which are not slow:

• Space ships
• Cool cars
• Shit cars with good engines 
• Shit cars with shit engines dropped off cliffs 
• Different music by Tangerine Dreams (particularly the faster songs)
• The city of Toronto’s summer night life
• Sky diving out of a cool car falling out of a space ship (soundtrack by Tangerine Dreams, particular the cool faster songs)

Which list is more cool? 

The second one obviously- it has the word "cool" in it THREE times. 

Plus the other list seemed to suggest you’d poo'd your pants (you hadn’t actually, you’d actually got your undies ripped when you saved a child from a BEAR! You personally fought it off, ripping your underpants in the process, but then, in a moment of inspiration and glory, you said “hey bear, why are we fighting?” and started a dialogue, which ended up solving 83% of all current bear/ human disagreements- in fact you solved bear/ human relations so brilliantly that the Bear even demanded to buy you a new pair of underpants; that’s why the wait is so slow, the first three stores he went to were sold out due to pre-hibernation stocktake sales)! 

And how do we KNOW that those "not slow" things are more cool than the things that ARE slow - because we COMPARED them to the slow things, and they compared favorably! 

So I think we've answered this one today. 

- Slow things equal rad things. 

- Because of how not slow things compare to them. 

- "How" being - favorably. 

- The count to the million reads is going along swimmingly (a slow sport)

Plus

- You personally are... Bear interrelationally BADASS!

PS. For the love of god Tanya, GET THESE CHIPS IN A MORE HIGH PROFILE POSITION DANG IT! 

Like a Lump – and/ or I like mine in my neck

 

    It started innocently enough.

    It was yesterday afternoon, and I was about to leave to meet some people. 

     “Honey, I’m going to neck a coffee and then leave”, I said to my partner with the tired urgency of someone needing to leave, but also innocently, so the first sentence still makes sense. 

     “Ok” she replied. She was in the shower at the time. Which is irrelevant to the story. But some of you will have now pictured this in your minds. Which was not my intention at all. But I can’t remove this section now, because if I know this fact I possibly will lose my air of innocence, and I like air. 

     I was not going to take that of course. “Ok”, what was that? My statement was just “ok”. I’m not ok with “ok”; I need MORE than “ok”! And when I need more than ok, and all I get is "ok", I do what is REQUIRED. I break out into song. 

     “How do you like your coffee, I like mine in my neck” I sang. The lyrics were a clever reference to my earlier statement about necking a coffee, and the melody came out almost fully formed. 

     “How do you like YOUR coffee – I like MINE in my NECK”, I repeated the line, this time taking the almost fully formed melody, and finishing it’s formation into Beatlesq brilliance, and with guaranteed earworm POWER. 

     “Okay” my partner replied this time. I had gotten my more than "ok". 

     It had begun. 

     And once it had begun it could not be stopped - like a pebble thrown into a vast bottomless void – it mattered not that it was merely a pebble – this fucker was flying. 

    I could not stop singing it. It was catchy. It was interesting. It was absurd yet relatable. It was smart yet silly. It was the type of song that men wanted to be, and women wanted to be with. 

     Soon, it took on a life of it’s own. 

    Sailors would sing it while sailing. Bakers would sing it while baking. And candlestick makers would sing it in the car – they couldn’t sing it at work – for the air of the song exhaling from their lungs could totally fuck up the smooth excellence of a candlestick. This is why the profession has mostly died out – too many of it’s practitioners held their breathes to fatality, trying to get the PERFECT candlestick, others just got headaches and quit to become actuaries. 

    Of course once the song exploded, so too did the misinterpretations of the lyrics. 

    Coffee sales soared. So too did neck sales. 

     Some, in a fit of fresh “throat action” popularity, took up Mongolian throat singing. 

    Sadly, others tried to actually get coffee into their necks. 

    And with this, of course came the side businesses trying to cash in on the phenomenon.

    Some weeks people reported that they couldn’t go for a pee in a dark dirty alley without Russian mob figures coming out of the shadows saying “you vant neck couffee – I got beans of coffee, unswallable”. 

    Other weeks people reported that they couldn’t have sex in dark dirty alleys without smelling pee for some reason, and without Scottish mob figures coming out of the shadows saying “put away your wee willy, I have throat beans lass, you cannae swallow them”. 

    Other weeks people reported that the regional mob stereotypes should clean up their acts, AND their alleys. 

    The song’s peak had yet to hit though. It’s influence peaked one summer afternoon, when people, in a Seinfeldesq eating snickers with a knife and fork style, began inserting their coffee directly into their neck. An act that, for some reason, REALLY made Elaine in particular mad.

    She claimed the very act of slicing open ones neck and popping coffee beans in the slot made some men “unsponge worthy”. 

    So, like so many song inspired fads of the past, hit songs such as… 

     “Do the hoola hoop” 

     “It’s ear waggle time, who likes to waggle, me me me” and 

     “I don’t like Mondays, this Monday I am going to push over this bridge, oh dang it’s too heavy, I guess I’ll just go to work”. 

    Sticking coffee in your neck died out. 

    It lives on though. 

    In direct contrast to that last sentence. 

    Yes it survives, on nostalgia radio stations, - in neck coffee shops – and on the floors of candlestick maker factories, where passed out candlestick makers have oxygen starvation dreams – dreams of a better world, dreams of a world where neck coffee still lives on, which is much like this world now, but just a few weeks earlier when it was still riotously popular. 

    Ps. My partner is not in the shower anymore, so stop thinking about it ya sickos. 

    

A bowl full of reckoning

     “I reckon” the words flipped from my mouth like a flip phone flipping off a flipping diving board set up over some pool, or perhaps the ocean, or maybe even a large bowl of soup, set up for some sort of soup diving competition, possibly facilitated by some sort of radio station, prompting even the least cynical among us to cry “if it’s on the radio, how do we even know they’re diving into soup? That might just be broth dang it, and broth aint yet soup!”

“I reckon” it felt good. Warm. Boney. A tad hydraulic. I couldn’t help but say it again. A few times. Out loud. Letting the meat of the word saunter off my tongue into the sprogets of the machine.

“I reckon”

“Oh YOU reckon”

“I sure do reckon”

“Oh say, you reckoning over there”

“I reckon I am”

The last few had elevated me. I was suddenly a British aristocrat. Sounding all British. And aristocatty.

I knew the words that were to follow were bound to be profound. For that was the exact point I had uncovered. In that moment. At that time in history. I had reckoned something, “I reckon everything said after an “I reckon” is worth paying attention to” I reckoned.

It was just a theory for now. But it felt good. As good as a soft beaker of gumption hopping into a merry field of furry friends, possibly gathering to discuss an uprising, or possibly just feasting on daisies, or possibly doing both, for who among us has not conspired to rise up while munching on the sweet petals of earths most yellow centered flower?

I needed to test the theory out. I would say “I reckon” one more time. Then I would let the next words tumble out like a gymnast on tumble day, or frankly anyone on tumble day, frankly gymnasts should piss off, they get to tumble every day, it's our turn now you bendy bastards!

“I reckon” the anticipation was like a fox, not in any particular situation, just being all fucking foxy.

“I reckon the reckoning will be FULL of people reckoning stuff!” I said, calmly, and with the passion of a jet plane’s afterbirth. I imagined how it may go down.

“What’s all that fire shit falling out of the sky?” someone may ask.

“Oh I reckon that there fire is some sort of comet” a reply may come, with folksy southern curiosity.

“Oh ya reckon do ya?” would come the challenge from a neighbor, possibly one who loved to challenge stuff, or perhaps one who had never challenged nothing in his entire life, and saw the sky on fire and thought “fuck it, it’s now or never”.

“Yeah I do reckon!”

“Well I reckon you’re full of shit. That there sky is clearly just clouds with red food coloring in them, probably from some sort of prank by some dang kids!”

“I reckon you’ll regret it if you call MY kids ‘dang’ just one more time!”

“Well I reckon your kids ARE dang – but I also reckon that’s a good thing. My kids are dipshits, and that’s a hella lot worse than dang”

“Well I’ll be, I reckon you’re on to something there. Plus I reckon 'better' is like smooth tasty butter”.

“I reckon you are definitely onto something there good neighbor – I’ll take one croissant please, slathered in better?”

“Not butter sir?”

“No need, better is like butter”

“Not in this fucking patisserie it aint, you fucking dipshit!”

 

            Is how I reckon the rest of that exchange would probably go. 

Yep, the reckoning sure is going to be rad. Catered too apparently! Well at least the patisserie will be open. Yay. I hope they sell daisies, that middle yellow stuff might be the best tasting yellow on earth!

 

The End

 

Ps. The fox is still being Foxy. Oooooh baby. 

Pps. Fucking radio stations and their charlatan broth/ soup fake outs, no WONDER its basically a dead medium.