the return of Me Myself and I
2000-07-31 - 23:20:14
Over 'vacation', I went to a food bank. For those who are not-in-the knowing about donatory services, I shall indulge thee. There are things called soup kitchens. In a soup kitchen, the needy line up, and each receive a from the givers (usually a group of elderly, or organization of charitable people, sometimes volunteers, such as the person who is writing this). Meals are served once a day if possible. The meal is always healthy, and typically staple-ish, although not always soup. Food banks are not soup kitchens. At a food bank, the needy arrive once a week to receive food, and can only take 'x' amount of plastic bags, laddidaddi. Anyways, my mother is one of the people who attends such a food bank. She has been hospitalized for 'unstableness in the mind' several times, but is not considered a threat to most people, so she is allowed to live at home with her cats (Scrubb, Misserable, Pain, Panic, Mooch, and Tiggs), and she lives off government checks, because it's very hard to get a job if you are classified as 'legally insane'. I am constantly amazed by some of the people that go to these charities. Some of them are more traditional: scrawny people in clothes they bought at a yard sale down the road, with scruffy hair and a badly shaved 5-o'-clock shadow. And then there are the piggs. These people make themselves known by their sheer size and loudosity. Their double-chins impede talking, so they have to tilt their heads back to wobble their jaws (read: scream and chatter, chatter and scream) at each other. They waddle on legs farr to large for humans, and complain that their Pepsis have gotten warm. In all likelihood, they have never had to cry themselves to sleep, knowing that their children are starving. They complain about the humidity, or the act of walking, or the limit on bags of free food. These are the piggs. The sloths that live off charity and government funds, simply because they abhor working, or really think they need to shove another free meal in their gullets. They do all this while standing in line with the starving and truly poor people, who would likely be dead without charity, and respect it for what it is...*sigh*
And out of the orange, an old woman says to me: 'If I were younger, I'd be all over you, like butter on cream cheese.' I would like to state foremost that butter and cram cheese should NOT be mixed. I have no idea where this woman was going with the analogy, but I believe I got the gist of it. *many nods and fake smiles to her, and a couple 'blinkity-blink' sounds as well*
I found an old police radio in my mother's house. She said I could have it next year, when I goto college. Anyways, this radio gets the best stations. It picks up frequencies from London, and Tokyo, and the Vatican. And American stations that play very old music, "Come Mr. Tallyman, tally me bananas..." like the Banana Boat Song. "...and yes we've just begun..." There's a movement in the English government to make people wink more. "I'm crazy for tryin', and crazy for cryin'..." Very qoo radio. If I could get it to actually pick up police frequencies, It'd be better tho.
Very short conversation earlier this week:
Me: 'My corn-on-the-cob isn't bleeding, Mum.'
Mum: 'Well MINE is.' *continues to munch on her corn-on-the-cob, and quite possibly, her tongue and fingers*
Yes, my mother is a nutt case. But this was farr too disturbing to not be shared.
Warning: The following is not real, never happened. It's a conversation I wrote to myself, while keeping me out of the conversation altogether. (Yes, they are still deaf dumb and blind; but not in that order, of course.)
Post Cavus: If the above statement Amuses, Befuddles and Confuses (the ABCs of ignorance) you, then refer back to my former entry in which me myself and I were discussed in length.
Me: What would you say if I said 'I love you'?
Her: I wouldn't say anything, at first. I'd *smak* you, and then...
Me: Nono, not thet kinda 'love'. More of I-really-enjoy-your-company-and-I-always-want-us-to-stay-in-touch-because-you're-so-funn-to-be-with, and less oh-will-you-please-just-oil-me-up-and-have-sex-with-me-now...
Her: Hahaha. Well in that case, I'd call you cute and say 'I love you too'.
Me: Goodgood. Let's make a pact then, to always stay in touch, eh?
Her: Sure...and I suppose you want to seal it with a kiss?
Me: Naa, kisses are for marriages, and we both know a lot of marriages don't last. We'll have to pinkyswear.
Her: You're so cute.
*pinkyswearing activities*
Me: Although, a kiss wouldn't hurt...
Her: I really should *smak* you...
*kissing activities*
Me, in afterthought: And that, sear Sirs, is how you keep your donut and eat it too.
Me, in afterthought of the afterthought: And maybe even get a nibble of a great many other delicacies besides...
...And thusly it was that myself and I engaged in a metaphorical (and rather phallic) conversation between myself and I concerning buttons and bonuts, and other such pastries, and cream fillings, and many other things besides, which was deemed unsuitable for small children.
Oh, something I wanted to point out what happened last week:
America: 'Down Napster, down! Die! We hate it when people get free music that they enjoy!'
Japan: 'I just released new invention. FM radio with hard disk drive. Record songs off radio for up to four hours. I sell to Americans for 88,000 yen.' *smiles*
