Shyt, Piss, and Enema
2001-02-25 - 05:52:55
Diaryland: �It�s like a tape recorder. It listens to what you want it to hear, and eventually it talks back.� �Nemo
There are days when I look like shyt. And then there are those rare days when I look ever-so-slightly better. This is one of the latter. It�s usually on days like this that I get e-mails from qoo people...I got one from a little Birdie last night an hour before midnight. So I read the Birdie�s diary. Nice diary; the little chef guy is the AA�bomb (double A because it operates on a 9-volt battery, very small bomb, but cool-as-a-bomb nonetheless). And there�s some damned-good (er blessed, whatever) good poetry in there.
And now, it�s that time of day for...the �This Never Happened Show�! Starring...well...we really never know:
�Enema department, Julie speaking...�
�Hello Julie, this is Jason. Do you do house calls?�
*click*
�Enema department, Julie speaking...�
�Hi, I was just wondering what flavours you have...�
�Excuse me?�
�Flavours. Like chocolate, strawberry, mint ��
*click*
�Enema department.�
�Wait, what happened to Julie?�
*click*
�Enema department, Julie speaking...�
�Yea, I have this coupon for one free enema at Joe�s Enema Parlour, and I was just wondering if it�s redeemable ��
*click*
No, there really aren�t call-ins for enema departments. Get that idea outta yer head.
I have rather viscous spit. It�s from all the Coke and lemon juice concentrate, I�m sure. But, very viscous. So I was in this restaurant yesterday, and I spat in a cup. I spat in my plastic glass of water until I had formed a whole little art gallery of semi-human fluids. And this is why I pity waiters/waitresses so much. Which is why I leave high tips. Poor, poor slaves of a fast-food world...
Today, I went to the mall in Bangor. I took a random sampling of people to see who believed in chickens. Some people believed in the power of chickens, some in their mere existence. One guy said he only believes in chickens on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, even though he believes in eggs every day of the week. And then another said, "Does it really matter, in the Grand scheme of things?", so I stopped asking. Then I rediscovered Horney Goat Weed (TM) in a health food store (I�m not kidding, there really is a market for Horney Goat Weed). I figured out how to mess with fountain soda machines so that they just give you syrup, without the carbonated water. I even got a chance to use my fake ID, because you have to be 18 to buy a goldfish in the state of Maine. In short, I had fun...but I would have traded my whole day for a half-hour of feeing Lucy chicken soup.
*uses the IUT to send a mental �get well soonsoon� card to Lucy*
Tip#8: If you put bottlecaps on the base of your wrists, they slide a lot easier on a wooden table. It makes typing very qoo. Futuristic even. And you get little hikies on your wrist at no added charge.
