Podcast 1B

Yes, Podcast 1B is finally out. And this time, there was planning involved.

My goal is to bang out 2-3 podcasts every month (from now on), and for each podcast I will write, perform, and record an original poem, story, and song.

As always, they will lean more towards the absurd side, the ridiculous, the abstract, and of course, the weird.

Podcast 1B focuses on the soundscape and its influence on life. The narration is calm, collected, and bumped up an octave.
I do hope you enjoy it.

If you've not yet subscribed,
you can do so by clicking here:

And now...

The top 10 reasons you should check out The Incurable Allure of Carrots Podcast:

10. You're not about to die like this.

9. it's incurably alluring

8. How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb?
Fish.

7. Beaver

6. Jesus told me to

5. Electronic Tuba is almost as good as the real thing.

4. To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

3. It's a welcome change from the monotony of compulsively checking your e-mail, facebook, or myspace account.

2. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

1. Forty Two.

There you have it. The choice is yours.

-AP

as always, comments are welcome.
Aaron@collaboraction.org

Purple is Gone

So, you may or may not care. You may or may not even know him. But, I feel the need to inform the world that Purple is, in fact, gone.
From Chicago, that is.

Yes, my sister and I drove him to O'Hare Airport Tuesday morning, and as far as I know he wasn't arrested or anything, (though I wouldn't be surprised.)

The long and short of it- it wasn't working out for him monetarily, so to speak, and he had to back ten and punt. Now he's in Ft. Worth, Texas. Yes, that's right, the revolutionary Communist has gone back to Texas, where he grew up. (I know, it has us all mystified.)

I've gotten over my grieving period, and am in the process of searching for another roommate, for, although I could pay all the rent myself, I would prefer not to live alone at this stage in my life. It's boring and depressing, and I don't like being bored and depressed. It sucks.
So, now you know the skinny on my situation. As for that podcast I keep meaning to do, it'll probably be a little longer in the coming. It's alot harder to do a podcast by yourself once your co-host has all but been destroyed.
So, more interesting posts to come, but for what it's worth, here's Purple.

GLOBAL ORGASM DAY!

Yes, it's true, folks. Friday, December 22 is Global Orgasm Day.

To get the skinny on this (so to speak), check out
http://www.globalorgasm.org/

So their goal is a bit new-agey for me, but I'm all for their implementation of it.
The idea is that everyone on the planet has an orgasm, either private or with an other(s), and in doing so the world is made a more harmonious place. Whoopee.

But I think this is a good idea though. I mean, if everyone stopped worrying for just one day, stopped selling crap for Christmas, stopped doing business, stopped blowing each other up, stopped arguing, etc., and just took a day for sex and masturbation, it might improve everyone's general outlook.
So, tomorrow (I guess technically today), do yourself and the world a favor: have an orgasm.
(I mean, honestly, how often can you help the world by ejaculating? Better do it while you can.)

Projections for the future (we all know these are true... I mean, come on, people)

Ok, first, I want to say, if you haven't listened to the podcast yet, wait. Another one is coming very soon. I just got a new computer and the previous podcast was pretty crappy (gimme a fuckin break, it was my first one!) so I'm recording a new one as soon as I get my mic hooked up and I figure out how the hell to record something. Otherwise it'll all be read by a computer voice, which might actually be kind of cool now that I think about it...

Anyways, here goes.

PROJECTIONS FOR THE FUTURE:

1. Outdoor streets will soon be a thing of the past in large cities. Anyone seen "iRobot?" or read anything else by Isaac Asimov, for that matter? Yeah. Streets are history. Here's what's gonna happen--
In large cities, such as my beloved home of Chicago, Illinois, there's no more room to build. As the years go on, and expansion continues, high rises will begin to grow together, branching out over the crowded city streets, and in the end covering them all together. It's already starting to happen in New York, Seattle, Chicago, and Des Moines (what the hell?)
I don't know why the hell Des Moines is doing this, but hey, we all loved the little engine that could, right?

2. THE ICE CAPS ARE MELTING, PEOPLE!
It's true, and if you don't believe it, fucking step outside. It's the middle of December and it's 60 degrees. Doesn't that seem a little wrong to you?
I understand I'm in the midwest, and yes, the weather here is erratic, but fuck, we're all gonna die.
Ok, maybe not die, but lots of other animals will. The polar regions will continue to get warmer, making it impossible for the phytoplankton and zooplankton that feed the majority of the animals in the arctic and antarctic regions to continue living. Their consumers will perish, and suddenly no one can find any polar bears.

Also, floating ice melting means water levels rising elsewhere. I'm not just talking about New York and Florida. If you have a condo in Venice, sell it.

Appalachia will become the new coast on the east, and everyone in southern California's gonna have to move east to the mountains, but Reno and Las Vegas will be underwater, so they'll be bored, except for the rich eccentrics who've already planned for this sort of thing, and are living in an underwater hotel in what used to be the desert. Right.

3. Life will be discovered on other planets.
Ok, so this one's on the list more out of hope than anything else. But I can back it up.
Life's not actually going to be discovered on another planet, it's going to be discovered on a moon. A moon, mind you, that is of comparable size to Earth.
And where, you ask, does such a moon exist?
around all of the Gassy Giants, doofus.
But the one I happen to be talking about is Europa, which orbits Jupiter.
Europa, Jupiter's 6th moon, is the smoothest object in the solar system. It's surface, we think, is made of sheets of ice (this is the quick "get to know Europa", mind you) and underneath that ice is believed to be a subsurface ocean. And as we all know, where there's water, there's life.
Europa was pretty important to NASA during the Galileo hype. It flew by, took lots of pictures, and did top secret things we'll never know about. Yeah.But really, Europa is the logical next step in the search for life in our solar system. I'm not the only one excited about it. Check out:
http://www.resa.net/nasa/europa_life.htm
or, if you just want to learn about the lovely moon,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Europa_%28moon%29

4.CAPITALISM WILL FUCK US ALL UP THE ASS!
Ok, I can't say that I like it, but I can see it coming. So unless someone invents a better form of government, and finds a means to impose it on the world's greedy, we're all fucked.
for this prediction, I refer to a book by Max Berry.
This book is called Jennifer Government, and I beleive it paints a fairly realistic picture of the world to come in about 50 years if we don't all get up off our asses and do something about this goddamn product driven world.
Jennifer Government was pretty popular with the nerds and the techies. In fact, a whole online community called NATION STATES grew up around it.
http://www.nationstates.net/The idea is that in the not too distant future, government has pretty much collapsed to the point that it serves about as much function as the royalty in Britain.
Taxes have been abolished, and corporations rule the world. Yikes.
Everyone has a job, which stands for their last name, and provides their means for existence.
i.e., if I worked for say, Intel, my name would be "Aaron Intel", and if I was fired they could legally have me executed. Doubleplus Yikes.
Anyways, the point I'm driving at is, if America and it's big allies continue to make people believe that everything can be solved with money, we might as well tattoo the barcodes on our foreheads right now.

and finally...

5. THE EGGNOG IN THE BACK OF MY FRIDGE WILL FINALLY EVOLVE INTO A SENTIENT LIFE FORM, AND KILL MY ROOMMATE
It's true. The shit's been in there for nearly a year. See, I thought he'd just bought it, because you know, it's holiday time, right? Eggnog, yay.
Turns out no. It's the eggnog I bought last year, and it's been incubating there, behind the stuffing and corn salad for over 12 months. I'm amazed the smell didn't tip us off, in fact, it appears to be odorless, which can only mean one thing. It's learned how to use deodorant.
We're screwed. We really are. Because, while I'm away for the holidays, that Nog is going to rear it's ugly head and smite Purple (my roommate) when he leasts expects it. I'm only glad I escaped in time. I tried to call and warn him, but I guess El Nog-o Del Diablo has cut the lines.
So, when I return to Chicago on the 23rd, (which happens to be my birthday), and find Purple hanging from the window with all the blood drained from his body, I'll know who did it.
Nog, if you can read this, listen up. I'm comin' after you, fucker.

Discontinued Jelly Bean Flavors

10. Roommate
9. Plankton
8. Gang Bang
7. French horn
6. Koala
5. Grandma
4. Elvis Costello
3. Tire Swing
2. AIDS
1. Detroit

The Super Bowl Mumble

This is a little ditty I recorded along with Yuri Lane in association with our friend Jeff Ruby for Chicago Magazine. That's me on Tuba and backup vocals.

The world has decided to rape me tonight

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Ok... Now our Podcast works. I think.

Ok, so I think we've finally got it to work.
If you want to listen to us (and we hope you do)
Here's whatcha gotta do:

-Open up good 'ol itunes
-Click on the "Advanced" menu bar at the top
-Click "Subscribe to Podcast

-and in the little box it gives you, paste this:
http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/HKvN

Then Click OK.

That'll subscribe you to The Incurable Allure of Carrots, Podcast 1A

This week (our first) has purple and I conversing (like we do). We also read the death scene from "Othello" (I'm Desdemona), and he tells a story about a small horse while The Internationale plays.

I do hope you enjoy it. There will be much more to come as the weeks roll on. Please subscribe!
And if you like it... let us know!
E-mail me at Aaron@collaboraction.org

Podcast 1A

Yes!
It's true!

Purple and I finally have a podcast.

It's very interesting, you should check it out.

You can subscribe to it here:

The Incurable allure of Carrots
...until I figure out the logistics of everything and make it easier. Go there. It'll hook you up.

All the best,
-Aaroneous

Everyone loves the Flu!

Or maybe it was Raymond... I get that mixed up sometimes.

So anyways, I ventured home for the giving of thanks last weekend, and on friday went to the doctor to recieve my yearly flu shot. I told myself that this year I absolutely had to get one, because last year I didn't, and I got the fucking flu... which sucked major yak dick.
The flu escalated and soon I found myself with Mono and Pneumonia as well. I pretty much lost two weeks of my life. I watched a grand total of 42-1/2 movies (mostly strange art flicks), but don't really remember any of them too well, because I was doped up on codeine for most of the time. I vomited copiously, and the only thing I could stomach was "Slim-Fast!", which I got real tired of real quick, but it stayed down.
I missed my birthday (dec. 23), all of chanukkah, and new years. The sun rose on January 1st, 2006, and I thought I was still in middle school.
But I made it out alive.

So, as I was saying, this year, got my flu shot on friday, I'm driving back to Chicago on Monday and I feel like shit. It turns out that you can get the flu from a flu shot. Doesn't usually happen, but it can.

So I recieved the very thing that I paid $25 to prevent. Woohoo!
So what if I'm bitter? You fuckers are healthy, and know nothing of my anguish. The only thing good about this is that if I want to watch "Wallace and Gromit" 500 times in a row, I fucking can.

Don't

Don’t drink coffee, it’ll stunt your growth

Don’t eat candy, it’ll rot your teeth

Don’t watch TV, it’ll fry your brain

Don’t read in the dark, it’ll ruin your eyes

Don’t chew with your mouth open, it’ll disgust others

Don’t do-

-hey

Don’t interrupt, it’s rude

Don’t:

Jump on the bed, talk to strangers, use bad words, drink water before bedtime, climb on the furniture, run in the house, yell and scream inside, spit, eat raw eggs, put things that aren’t food in your mouth, walk up the slide, hit, kick, punch, be mean, steal, be a tattletale, eat cookies when no one’s watching, put your head inside a plastic bag, swim for thirty minutes after eating, talk about people behind their back, keep your place in books by folding over the corner of the page, put salt in someone’s milk, make people wait for you, be ungrateful,

Are you even listening to me? I bet you have no idea what I’m saying to you! Oh really? Well then repeat exactly what I just told you!

Don’t ever forget to write someone a thank-you-note, squirm when you’re supposed to sit still, walk inside without wiping your shoes on the mat, spoil your dinner, tease your sister, stay up after bedtime, wet the bed, forget to flush, pick your nose, wash a red sock with white shirts, forget to brush and floss, leave the phone off the hook, bang on pots and pans, eat something that’s been on the floor, litter, leave the lights on after you leave, touch the walls with dirty hands,

I swear you do that one more time and so help me god I’ll turn this car around right now and we’ll just go back home, do you hear me?!!?

Mister, don’t’ talk about things that are done in the bathroom, take advantage of those less fortunate than you, run with scissors, play in the mud, be fussy, refuse to take a bath, gargle your drink, throw rocks, stick gum under seats and tables, be impolite, feed the dog chocolate, hide your vitamins, go out when it’s cold without a coat, complain, repeat everything people say, be annoying, be obnoxious,

If they’ve told me once, they’ve told me a thousand times

Don’t you hide when it’s time to clean, put metal in the microwave, leave open jars in the fridge, hold it when you have to go, be naughty, sneeze on someone, cough without covering your mouth, walk with a sucker in your mouth, shoot rubber bands, use band-aids as a fashion accessory, pretend you’re sick when you’re not, touch light bulbs when they’re on, leave the milk out, bite jawbreakers,

And don’t be bad.

Just don’t fucking do it.

After the Show

Uh oh

…Swoon

No way of seeing

There are two

…Too

…Twoooooooo

The unpronounceables are friendly on this sweaty night of cold concrete in the bush where I lay my head in brambles behind the fallen corridor of splendor

Splendor has no place in this corridor of cold

my Peace wafts behind me

Like a sword in the night

A gale is with me Windless

We move at the same speed, perceivably motionless

And there’s a dog, and a house, and a wicked witch followed by a Tuscan raider at dawn.

It’s so nice to know I have soft

It’s so nice to know I have denim

It’s nice to know I have ears and eyes and all the senses to get where I’m going with my quick companion of silly names like “handahgooboo” and “Peter” and “Snugpugluffdrug”

Yes, it’s nice

And we’ll wrap that denim around our thoughts and let it take us to spigots

Unknown by many

Clouds neverending of blue and royal purple like that which only

Brake mechanics have seen…

A truly royal purple. All others are just waiting in line for the throne that’s been thrown out of their reach long ago by some mighty peon at “Crayola”

It’s been scientifically proven that you can’t make a decent candle from crayon shavings.

Even though that’s what I wanted to do.

“Pipe down” they said so it seemed obvious there was fleeing to be done, so it was executed.

And walking down that brick path, y’know?... just didn’t do it for me

And plus those bricks weren’t really the right shape anyways…

They tessellated off into the sunset and were never heard from again

Just like my crayon candle in the wind.

But the glass parts and I found soft and I found denim.

It sure is nice to know…

Borat

So I've finally just seen "Borat", the smash-hit, critically (and publicly) acclaimed film by Sacha Baron Cohen. A notable Jew from Britain. He is an actor and comedian. A nice Jewish boy.
Yeah, so anyway, Purple and I saw the movie, and I'm terrified. I'm absolutely terrified that this movie is going over so well across the entire nation.
Ok, so fuck me, I'm a sourpuss. Right, I didn't think it was funny.
Purple agrees with me. I feel that we may be alone in our dismay at this film.
Let me explain further:
This film was recommended to me by many people I hold in quite high esteem, as well as respect and enjoy the company of. They will remain nameless. I'm not here to tell people their opinions suck.
I went to the theater with quite high expectations. I understood that it would be low-brow humor, probably cheap laughs, but again, I hearkened back to those that I respected that recommended this film to me.
It was not the film itself that upset me so greatly, it was the audience reaction to the film. It seemed that throughout the entire movie, Purple and I were the only ones not laughing.
What on earth was it that everyone in this theater was finding funny, yet Purple and I were not?
It was not original, it was not insightful, it wasn't intelligent, and it certainly wasn't witty.
What was it that we were looking for? Lets talk about the opportunities he had.
The man had a goddamn interview with Fucking Alan Keyes! A fucking black republican!
He carried a rooster in a bag throughout the entire film and didn't make one single cock joke!
Ok, but so much for missed opportunities, there were other humor outlets, right? WRONG!
This film did nothing!
Now don't get me wrong, when it comes to absurdest culture and ridiculousness, I'm totally there, I'm all for it. But this wasn't absurdest, this was cheap, and it played off peoples inability to question their own faults. I felt that by laughing at this film, I would be ripping up all traces of moral character that I've fought so hard to gain throughout the years.

It had the audacity to attempt a dramatic plot, which if it had achieved what it was gnawing at, would have been entirely unneeded.

Halfway through, Purp leaned over to me and said "I feel no compulsion to stay"
However, I felt that to make an intelligent decision, I needed to see the entire film. I had to take something away from this! Certainly there must be something I could glean from this screening that would lead me to the reason why America laughs at mindless drivel.

Ok, I'm gonna get down off my high horse now and just speak my mind.
I'm really fucking scared that everyone laughed so much and I did not. Do my peers think that bad stereotypes are funny? That foreign people who cannot learn social customs should be laughed at?
Now it's obvious Borat isn't stupid, it's just humor, right, I shouldn't be so goddamn fucking uptight.
But the truth is, I'm really scared about this. The movie wasn't funny.
How do you have a naked fat guy in a movie and not make a single cock joke?!!? Honestly?!!?
It was disgusting, perverse, embarrassing, predictable, terse, and shortsighted.
I really can't put my finger on what it is that worries me so much.
I think it is perhaps that most of the public, as well as many people I like and respect enjoyed the movie so much, but neither Purple or myself gleaned a single redeeming quality from it.
I'm truly scared.

Animals with people faces!

I just thought I'd post a few graphics I've done of animals with faces of people. I'm always taking requests (I get the copyright) so if you like them, let me know!

(I've been into fish lately)

Master B

You’re clean. Honest. You’re clean.

It was Fred Browning’s big day. Today was the day that his ad firm was unveiling the “Chiquita” ad campaign. Fred was going to get the city, as he put it, “back on bananas”. Produce sales had dropped immensely in the last five years, and Fred was going to single-handedly bring them back up. He was refreshed, he was excited, and with his laptop and projector powering on, he was ready.

Fred had been working on this project for almost a year now. In front of him sat the CEO, the Chairman of the Board, and his entire ad and design team, as well as liaisons from all the major distributors in the area. And they were all looking at him. This ad campaign was going to make him fucking rich. No “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.

The CEO nodded to him. “Well gentlemen, I think we can begin.”

Fred began his presentation. He blazed through the intro, but on slide 8, the banana thumbnails had been replaced with something else… they looked like porn…

He clicked forward, no one saw it- he was ok. Right?

Someone in the back snickered. Shit! He kept talking. He couldn’t let that mess him up. Some goddamn intern was going to pay for that.

He clicked. PowerPoint closed, and up popped a folder holding files with names like “Boob32.jpg”, “Pussylckmeldy108.bmp”, and “Dicklab.gif”.

What the hell? This wasn’t his shit! More snickers from the back.

“Problem, Browning?” It was the CEO.

“Sorry, technical, just a moment”

“Well for Pete’s sake, Browning, you should have had I.T. take a look at your machine before you began.”

“Next time, Sir.”

PowerPoint was back. Fred’s brow was sweating. He clicked to bring up the ad proofs for “Bananas have Peelings, Too”, but instead a video began to play. It was dark.

“Browning, is this a joke?”

“Um, no sir, this isn’t my presentation!”

The video seemed to be of two young women engaged in sexual intercourse with a donkey.

“Browning, if you think this is funny, You’ve got… well, you’re wrong.”

“This isn’t a joke! Honestly! Something must have gotten on my computer!”

A voice from the back, “Why don’cha whack off at home! Don’t show us this smut!”

Deep in the Ethernet, there was a grumble. No one could hear it, but it was a grumble alright. It was a laugh- a deep, guttural laugh that came from a thick, sweaty, rotund beer belly that hadn’t moved in ages. It was the laugh of Master B.

On the screen one of the girls screamed “Oh! Give it to me! Give it to me good, you stubborn Ass!”

The donkey brayed with ecstasy.

Master B lives in the ether. The internet, the World Wide Web, anything with a connection is home to Master B. Passwords, Firewalls, Virus Scanners… they are nothing to Master B. He has all the keys, all the tools, he can get anywhere and do anything on the Ether, and he does.

Master B likes to embarrass. He loves to humiliate. He enjoys making people squirm uncomfortably, shift their eyes, and try to pull the attention away from themselves.

But Master B is always in control. He knows what you fear, and he turns your volume all the way up and broadcasts gay porn over the monitor.

He has two kinds of victims. There are those that are embarrassed, and those that are intrigued. He intrigues the frigid housewife, the twelve year old boy, the nighttime janitor, the quiet businessman. He embarrasses the high school principal, the female psych student, the advertising executive. Both goals are of equal importance, and Master B knows that there will never be a shortage of innocence or intrigue. There will always be those that hate what he forces on them, and there will always be those that love it. Such is the world. This is known by Master B.

Master B has no form, so they say. But some know Master B as a glob; a glob of a man who sits in his sweaty La-Z-Boy recliner before his computer. Now Master B was not always this way. Oh no. Master B was written many years ago by Garibald, a crazed tech major sitting in a computer lab at MIT. He was later expelled on the grounds that he was insane. But upon leaving, he brought Master B with him.

Master B was nothing then, just a silly little virus that wouldn’t harm a fli-adapter cable. But as Garibald worked and clicked away at the keyboard, he began to take shape. He began to take trips to the ether and back. Soon he was jumping to entire networks in just minutes. Master B grew and grew. Finally it became clear that if Garibald was to set Master B free, he would first need a home. So Garibald set him up with a cozy little port in an erotic domain, and Master B was quite happy. He began to eat. He ate the temporary internet files people discarded before their spouses returned, he ate the dirty e-mails, the passwords, the credit card numbers. Master B began to get fat. He rolled through his domain, placing a pop-up ad here, a trashy e-mail there, but then one day Garibald lost interest in him. Master B waltzed back onto his desktop, but he didn’t greet him. He sent Garibald an instant message, but he was ignored.

Garibald, it seemed, had been hired by a company to design software, and no longer cared for his obsolete projects.

Master B felt alone, he felt unloved. He drug his feet through the ports back to his domain, curled up into his La-Z-Boy and cried big wet tears that muddled with the IP address, mixing up connections in an adjacent database and ended up sticking $4.13 into some guy’s bank account in Portugal.

Garibald left, and Master B felt cold and alone for the first time in his existence.

He withered. He had nothing to live for. Now that Garibald was gone he no longer had someone to report his mischief to. He had nothing.

But then came the kicker. Master B awoke one morning to find that his domain had been deleted. He was without a home, the final insult. Garibald hd gotten rid of it during the night to free up some space on the mainframe, and Master B was left to fend for himself.

But this time, instead of crying, Master B got angry. He had been given the skills, he’d been given the tools, all he needed was to use them. His creator had destroyed him, and now Master B would destroy his creator.

It was relatively easy. He knew all of Garibald’s weaknesses, and just like that, he filled the new server with smut and traced it all back to Garibald. He lost his job in six hours.

Having ended his first victim with almost no effort expended, Master B began to toy with people. He filled his arsenal with files and in no time at all he was popping porn onto people’s computers and ruining relationships. He never looked back.

Master B enjoys porn. Smut. Perv stuff. He likes cock, cooter, cunt, cooch, clit, dick, shit, tits, hoochies, ass, carpet, hooters, scrotums… He embraces straight, gay, lesbian, bi, bestiality, furries, showers of all kinds, gaspers, necrophiliacs, dentrophiliacs, pedophiles, technosexuals, teratophiles, katoptronophiliacs, everything! Master B loved it all and embraced it all. He puts these things on peoples computers when they aren’t looking, and he enjoys nothing more than to watch what happens.

Master B was waddling across the ether when he came across a sobbing victim. The man was huddled at his desk with big wet tears streaming from his eyes. Master B loved pushing his victims farther into sorrow, so he began a download and suddenly the man’s screensaver showed several couples fornicating and vomiting all over each other. Master B chuckled. Most people were revolted by Roman Showers, and this man was no different. A giant grimace appeared on his face and he began to click, escape, shut down—

No! It would not work! Master B backed off for a moment, and the screen returned to normal. The man wiped his tears away. His office was empty. It was very late, not even the night janitor was in. He was working on an ad campaign to replace one he’d lost earlier. Master B prodded again, a video of some “Furries”. Two mascots, a bear and a pig, were groping the other’s missing naughty parts. The man looked quizzically and began to laugh.

“No, that wouldn’t do” thought Master B. He changed it… Foot fetish, hand fetish, leg fetish… the man was dumbfounded, he seemed almost content to watch Master B scroll through his list of revulsions. What else could he do to press this man’s buttons?

Hybristophilia! …no, that wouldn’t do, all he had were several pictures of people holding guns and giving each other sultry looks. Oh, yes, he had just the thing! Mysophilia. Up came a picture of a woman shoving a conifer sapling up her shaved vagina. It was working. Master B was back on top as the man grimaced once more and tried to click away the image. But Master B wasn’t finished, oh no, he was feeling malevolent this eve, and he was going to end this man. A few clicks, a connection here and there, he began to inch onto the man’s motherboard.

Then boom! Algolagnia! Videos of women cutting off their fingers during intercourse! Faunoiphilia! Naked mole rats having sex! Pyrophilia! A young boy was setting his rock-hard genitalia on fire!

The man was repulsed, he was distraught! He jumped up to make sure no one had entered. But Master B knew there was nothing the man could do. Control Alt Delete? HA! That hadn’t worked since Windows 3.1! He was more interested now, inching more and more of himself onto the man’s computer.

Vorarephilia! Women skewered naked being roasted over flames!

The man was beginning to panic, and Master B was laughing.

Macrophilia! A man receiving oral sex from a 700lb woman!

He was typing furiously! His face was turning red! He began to whimper! It was time! Master B broke out the big guns! He pulled out videos! Turned the volume all the way up!

Klismaphilia! 60-year-old men getting enemas and screaming in pain and ecstasy!

BDSM! People with limbs cut off, vampires fucking, and men with oversized libidos thrusting them into eye sockets!

There were screams, shouts, gasps of pain! Orgasms of every shape and size! The volume was so loud, the man was afraid people on the neighboring floors might be able to hear, but he was powerless to stop it!

Murders! Slayings! Fantasized Rape! Sex with Children! Women consuming feces!

And Master B pulled his whole body onto the man’s circuit board, total control of the shaking figure in front of him!

Finally there were women and men shoving cockroaches into every orifice! They screamed and screamed and screamed and—

The plug dangled from the man’s hand. He lifted the CPU, walked down the hall, and dropped it into the incinerator, where it blazed in a green flame for a brief moment.

He stepped back, breathing heavily, looked around, then walked back to his desk.

He pulled out his laptop, logged onto the network, and checked his e-mail.

Everything was fine.

He’d just gotten a virus, that’s all, everything was fine.

…for now.

oom-pa-pa

I have work again!
Yes, my mood is beginning to improve, because many interesting things are happening. I've got a gig next week, and I'm also working on remodeling my friend Yuri Lane's bathroom. (yes, I know it's not glamorous, but it pays well and he's the shit) I actually enjoy doing manual labor. It's fun, plus I can make gorilla faces while lifting heavy objects such as a clawfoot bathtub forged from wrought Iron! (Ungaya!)
Oh, and I'm finally buying that tuba I've been pining for. It's a great little half-size BBb I found out in elmhurst and it's totally affordable. It sounds like heaven and i do believe it's the new love of my life. I'll be playing with Mucca-Pazza (just sub and backup at first), which will be dandy, but I've decided on something else as well.
I'm going to start my own marching band. I need collaborative musicians. So my next quest is the search for them. I shall seek creators.
Holy fuck, I just realized the time. Fucktard.

You wake up with no arms

So I finally created a MySpace account for my music. It's under my DJ name (Aaroneous Truths).
Thus far the only song posted is "You wake up with no arms"

So I was jamming a couple of years ago with a guy named Noam Katz, when this melody began to wheedle it's way into my brain.
You know when you wake up and your ams have been under your pillow, and the pressure from your head has slowed the blood flow and removed all feeling from them?
That's this song.

Noam-- No-Arms... yeah... you get it.
The song can be found here:
You wake up with no arms

Please enjoy. More to come soon.
-A

The Shoe Tree

My dearest Yossarian,

I haven’t written in weeks and for that I am sorry, but I figured, why write if you don’t have anything to say? Hence my silence. But now I’m writing you.

Last week Purple and I decided that to celebrate the end of finals, we’d finally break open the Fifty Sack he’d brought up from Texas last month. So, being us, we had to search for a suitable spot to hit this dubage.

There was a dirt road about a mile down from Pisarik’s stables. We decided to check it out.

It’s about 7:30 and the sun is beginning to set as we venture onto the road and into the cornfields. No end in sight.

We walked for maybe half an hour, forty five minutes, when suddenly the road turns and just stops. There’s nothing left but corn.

“uh… what now?”

Purp (being Purp) says “dude, get on my shoulders”.

So I climb up there and as I poke my head up above the cornstalks, I see this tree in the distance. It’s gigantic. It looks like an apple tree, or maybe pear, either way it definitely has fruit.

“Dude, we totally have to get high there”

“Man, it’s like instant munchies!”

“I know man”

We run and after several minutes, the corn parts and there it is. It must be a hundred and fifty feet tall! In the setting sun I can just barely make out what kind of fruit it is…

“man, it looks like bananas or something…”

“Dude, they’re shoes! There are like a hundred pairs of shoes in this tree!”

“Fuckin A man.”

I start to climb up and grab one.

“Man, hold it.”

And he hands me one of two 8-inch joints he’s prepared for the evening. He pulls out his football shaped lighter.

“L’Chaim, man”

“L’Chaim. To life”

Our joints crinkle as we toast, I take a hit and pull down a pair of bright white ice skates.

I cough “dude, there’s a note in here!”

He’s pulling from the joint, the end cherry red. “Well what’s it say?”

I pull a tightly rolled piece of paper from a skate.

Lydia,

So it’s come to this, has it? As I look around myself I can see there’s no turning back. This decision’s been quite a long time in the contemplating. Why the hell are you so stubborn? It’s really a moot point, but I can ask it again, can’t I?

By the time you read this, I’ll be long gone from here. Say goodbye to Caleb for me. And tell him something, make something up. I don’t want him thinking his father was a coward.

“The ink’s run after that”

“That’s all it is?”

I take a hit. This is heavy shit. “Why would someone put a suicide note in a pair of ice skates?”

“Dude, it’s not a suicide note. The guy’s just leaving.”

“Man, it’s totally a suicide note.”

“Don’t buy it for a second”

I unroll the note in front of him as he pulls from the joint.

“It says ‘I don’t want him thinking his father was a coward.’ Dude, this guy’s not coming back. He hung himself from this tree!”

Purp turns to me like I’m full of shit. “No he did not!”

“Yes he did man. Listen, it’s this dad whose gotten in trouble with the mob or something, he decides that rather than wait for them to come gully him or something-

“Gullying is what pirates do, not the mob”

“-fine, then concrete shoes or something. Anyways, he kills himself to save his wife and kid.”

“You’re full of shit”

“Listen man, maybe it’s the ‘baked goods’ talking, but I think that’s the story.”

“Dude… we’re the baked goods.”

“I’ll toast to that” We crinkle. “Pull another one down, see if any more have notes”

He jumps and misses the branch. He grunts as he hits the ground.

“I can’t reach it man”

“Well that’s cuz you’re a goddamn pussy”

“Fuck you, Pussy McPusserface”

“It take one to know one”

He jumps again, he grabs hold, but only with one hand, and you know Purp, he’s a big guy. The bark rips off and he falls back down.

“Shit man, I think I messed up a joint.”

“Looks alright to me, still lit.”

“No man, I mean my shoulder or something…”

“…oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I take a hit.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He takes a hit

In shaking the branch he managed to knock down pair of old Adidas. He picks them up.

“Nother note”

“read it”

Dear Miguel,

Fuck off, you lying sack of shit. I hate you so much I’m going to shoot myself.

BLAM!

Lisa

“What the hell?”

He takes a hit. “What the fuck kind of a suicide note is that?” I say. He sucks the smoke back in after exhaling. I’m starting to feel a little baked by now. He’s making smoke rings like a goddamn expert.

“I’m telling you man, these aren’t suicide notes. That one was a vent.”

“a what?”

“A vent. People vent when they’re angry but they don’t actually do anything. That’s that.”

“Whatever. I’m getting another” I start to get up.

“Wait man, we have to toast first.”

“To what?”

“Um… To Miguel, the lying sack of shit”

“Cheers” We crinkle and pull. I cough a bit. My throat feels hot, like it’s getting smaller. I take a drink from my Nalgene. It’s apple juice. We always drink apple juice when we get high. It’s like ambrosia.

I start climbing.

“get one from up high, man”

“Why?” I shout down.

“They’ve been there longer”

“What makes you say that?

“String Theory”

“Bullshit”

“Yeah, whatever, just get one from up high”

“Purple! We’re both high!”

“Very true my Jewish amigo! Very defi-totally true.”

“Like… I’m in the tree… and you’re on the ground, but we’re both fucking high!”

“I am the monarch of the sea!”

“You and your goddamn HMS Pinafore”

“I’ll cover you with British Tar!”

I’m about halfway up by now. Climbing a tree while high is surprisingly difficult. I’m reaching out but these branches are so interesting. I spot a speckled moth, which is like the coolest thing on the planet, by the way, because it is a living thing that blends in with another living thing just to keep other living things from seeing it and eating it. It like totally trusts the tree with it’s life…

But I make it to the top as Purple’s singing “Hardly EVER!!! I’m hardly ever sick at SEEEEAA!”

“Man! Sketchers! Taste the rainbow!” I grasp my pair of shoes that I have climbed so high to find.

“That’s skittles, pooper!” He shouts up. He’s laying on the ground now, looking at his hands.

“My bad!” and as I am holding on to the shoes, the branch beneath me suddenly gives out and the only thing holding me up are the shoes. “Shit! I think I’m hanging here!”

“don’t hang yourself man, you have too much to live for!”

“No, I’m hanging by the shoes, I’m hanging by a thread. My branch broke!”

“Dude, Jump into my arms! I’ll catch you!” He’s on his back with his arms stretched out.

“I don’t think so, Purpetraitor. I think I might die.”

“You will not die.”

I swing. It’s my only hope I go back and forth and back and forth until I’m finally on a branch that I think may have been there all along, but was just feeling sneaky and crept up to save me at the last minute. I grab the shoes and swing down like the monkeys I’m descended from.

“got a note”

“read read read read read read read”

First I must make funny faces. So I do. For several minutes. Then I unfold the note and read loudly and clearly.

First of all, I want to say I’m sorry for showing up yesterday and I’m sorry for trusting your father for so many years. I thought he could help, but now I realize that the only one who can help me is me. Sharon, I know you will go on to bigger and better things. You are the one true love of my life and for that I have been ever grateful. You are a remarkable human being and you will create wonderful things in your lifetime. I want you to learn and to not make the same mistakes I did. I have plenty of life insurance (that’s your father’s doing), which will help you get on your way. Plus, with me gone you won’t have to pay my health insurance anymore. You should take a nice vacation. Go somewhere with palm trees. Get the hell out of Iowa, Sharon. Just get the hell out. I want you to take Mickey and find him a good home. Some place with a lot of space. He’s still young. He needs places to run. He’s in the den in his Kennel. Don’t worry, he has plenty of food.

I know you want to know why, and I can’t really find the words to say. It just feels right. I’ve been living in a world of wrong and finally something feels right, so I’m gonna take that path and see where it takes me. I’m sorry I won’t get to see you again. I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. Don’t show this to your father, and don’t let him see me, please.

With all the love in the world,

-Mom

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right. What a buzz killer.” He’s sitting up now.

“I mean… fuck.”

“I wonder if these all have notes in them”

“I think we should come back and investigate this further once we are in a state of mind that is less high and more sobriety”

“You mean when we’re sober”

“Yeahhhhh…”

He points his finger up. “I have an idea”

“What’s your idea?”

“We should come back with Yosie”

So, Yos, I’m formally inviting you to come back with us when you visit in two weeks to figure out the deal with this shoe tree. We’ve decided not to come to any conclusions until you have come to the scene and discussed it with us. I mean, honestly I know you’d totally want in on this. So write me back and we’ll check this out.

Hope all is well with you.

Word up, Dawg,

-Aaroneous

Move-in day

My new apartment is dank. It is sordid. Morbid. Disgusting. The walls are white and dirty. It smells like paint. Sick.

Today was supposed to be our get together day. Our move in day. Our finish up day. Our get the fuck organized day.

I arrive at eleven o’clock in the evening and I am pissed. It’s still dirty, paint on the floors, dirt on the walls, roaches crawling everywhere. We’re still lacking a stove and a refrigerator. Fuck this. Honestly.

Today I have flown 600 miles from Kansas city AND opened a show. Yesterday was Yom Kippur, for Pete’s sake! Come on God! Cut me some fuckin’ slack! I atoned!

I’ve decided that god is an asshole.

WHY IS MY PLACE OF HABITATION A SHITHOLE?!!?

I am sick and tired of not having a home. I haven’t had a home since my parents were divorced, and that’s when I was 15. And now my new home is trash. It’s a bunch of pus in rotting vomit. Fuck.

Now the reason I say all of this is because I want you to understand my motivations for my actions following. I’m not crazy, I was just under a lot of stress at the time, and sometimes completely clear-minded people just snap. So sue me.

After my agony has overtaken me, I’ve collapsed in a heap in the center of the floor. My head sprawls out and I look at my boxes. Sticking out of the top of one of them is my black machete. The one I bought for camping and picking cacti. It’s a good machete.

My eyes also wander over to the 2-inch-long cockroach crawling across my floor. My Goddamn floor! So I do what any sane person would do. I grab the machete and cleave la cucaracha in two.

It’s still moving. La Cucaracha won’t sit still. I slice again. The head. I slice again, the thorax, I slice again, the antennae.

Why won’t you fucking die?!!?

Before I know it there are hundreds of ridges in the floor from all my thwacking and la cucaracha is now pureed.

My upstairs neighbor begins playing Ozzie Osborne with his bass turned all the way up and I realize that la cucaracha has a few brothers and sisters.

Thousands of roaches pour out from the ceiling tiles, escaping the bass from Ozzie’s double-necked 12-string.

And I snap. I’m not proud of my actions, but they were justifiable. I cannot have vermin in my house. And they always say “fix the problem- fix the source”.

So I went to fix the source.

I grab El Machete and blade gleaming, I walk upstairs and knock three times.

Knock Knock Knock.

“And we’re flying off the rails on our crazy traaa-aaaiinnnn!”

He can’t even get the lyrics right.

I knock again, this time louder.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

And as he opens the door, I slit his jugular. He falls and I smite his ribcage and cleave is heart in two.

I turn off Ozzie.

But the roaches are still there when I return.

I can’t have vermin in my house.

I turn on all the lights and they try to scatter, but there’s too many of them. They can’t scatter. The crawl on each other as a massive ball of roaches rolls across my floor.

My floor.

We have no stove, but we do have a gas line. So I light that instead, and burn La Cucaracha’s brothers and sisters into the Mesozoic era.

I exit the building just as the windows in my new apartment are cracking from the heat.

My next door neighbor whom I have not yet met is on fire and he flings himself from the second story window. He dies as he hits the ground beside me with a thud. His muscles spasm with the heat.

I guess I’ll stay at my girlfriend’s tonight.

The Shareholders

And the shareholders screamed

"We want Ice cream!"

With their eyes that gleamed

And their bellies that teemed

But no one listens to the shareholders these days

Well, not when they act like that, anyways.

The Washroom King

Gerald entered the washroom…

The scruff and grime of three and a half weeks on the street covered his face and body. He looked around, disgusted. There were no towels. How could it be a mansion if the washrooms had no towels?

Fuck it. He’d use their quilt. Yeah, that’s right. These fuckers who pretend to make the world a better place by taking in the local homeless for the night. Who the hell did they think they were, anyway?

The shower was bigger than any he’d ever seen. Made of stone and glass, it gleamed like an iceberg in the Caribbean.

He twisted the knob and the hot spray gushed out onto the polished granite basin, filling the air with steam and damp wishes.

He glanced at the soap, and out of habit reached to pocket it, but then realized he had no pockets cause he was nude.

He admired himself in the mirror. Glancing at his manhood, he flexed. Once, twice, cracking a smile at the handsome chap in the mirror looking back at him.

And he stood there for a moment, waiting for the water to get warm, feeling the spray every few seconds. Then in he stepped and the water burst onto his body and blessed him with a robe of steam.

The mirrors fogged up, and he was lost in thought for a while. He washed and lathered and rinsed and then repeated (for good measure).

He tightened the knob and the royal stream ceased.

Then he grabbed the quilt-turned-towel and mopped the lasting wetness from his body.

It took a while, cause he was pretty wet, and the quilt was pretty old.

Patches began sticking to his skin, peeling off the quilt like damp wallpaper, or pieces of American cheese that weren’t individually wrapped.

It disgusted him, so he threw it out the window where it spread it’s great billowing arms casting a morning shadow over the front lawn before finally landing in the briar patch below.

It caught. It’s gray patches pierced by thorns.

Then, still slightly moist, Gerald pilfered the soap and defiantly walked nude through the hallway to the room he’d slept in. A lone patch with pictures of dancing bears clinging to his left buttock, then rolling off, dejectedly. He entered the room.

His clothes were gone.

They’d decided to wash them, the fuckers.

Gerald grabbed his bag, which he could have easily used as a makeshift loincloth, but chose not to. Instead, he slung it over his shoulder like a continental soldier, and padded through the house hanging low.

Everyone was gone, or so it seemed. There was the dull rumble of the washing machines and dryers billowing away down in the basement. He walked past the maid, engrossed in her copy of “The Weekly World News”, the headline reading “Jesus returns and wins big at Vegas casino!”

He walked into the grand hall, the twinkling sparkles of the great chandelier casting little dots over his just-rinsed chest hair, changing him into a bipedal Dalmatian of light.

He grasped the brass handles of the front doors and threw them open, the morning sun crashing into the crystal walls screaming “GOOD MORNING GERALD!!! For you I will vanquish any demon!”

The maid shielded her eyes and turned away from the blinding light as Gerald ventured onto the front lawn, still wet with dew. He pushed into the briar bushes, cupping a hand over his genitalia, grabbed the quilt, and draped it over his body toga-style.

The Emperor had returned, and he was hungry. Very hungry.

And with the sun crowning him with it’s halos, he strode away from the house, in search of a royal breakfast.

Aphrodite

Aphrodite was in ruin.

…To her original inhabitants, anyways.

But to everything else, she was a world just like any other. A place to live.

Aphrodite was a planet just like all the others. She’d had her fair share of play, to be sure. Mass extinctions, explosions of life, ice ages, Pollution, global warming, more mass extinctions, more explosions of life…
Lots and lots of time was what she had. Aphrodite was all about time, and boy did she have it on her side. Her sun wasn’t even five billion years old, and her dominant species had already vanished…

Aphrodite was a planet to be jealous of, of that you could be sure. She had everything. Rolling deserts filled with honey amber sands flowing into dunes that were miles high. She had great rainforests where the emerald trees reached into the stratosphere, their topmost leaves dull and papery, existing out of sheer will. Rivers teeming with freshwater fishes and mammals with fur and skin that slipped through the leafy aquas searching for a meal or a mate. Grandiose mountains reaching high and wide, with snowcapped peaks and deep crevasses. Caves and caverns, but that was just the part of her that was above the water!
Her seas… Her seas were mentioned in tails throughout the entire galaxy, for they were undoubtedly her most impressive feature. They were relatively small in comparison to those of others, covering a mere 64.82% of her surface, but it wasn’t their size that was impressive, it was their saturation.
For you see, her seas were not regular seas, sure they were saltwater, and had many great currents and tides that ebbed and flowed all over, but her waters were something different… light and life penetrated them differently… That was what made her different from all the others, but it was not what the others saw. They saw the beaches. Aphrodite’s land and water seemed to be mixed together if viewed from on high (which they rarely were these days), and that was because her oceans ran through the continents just as her rivers did, giving an inland beach some thousands of miles away from her main bodies of water. Prime real estate some would say, and perhaps they would be right, but none of it mattered to Aphrodite, for her treasures lied deep beneath the seas, far away from prying eyes. But that was all about to change…



“Sir, there’s something here I think you should see…”

“Shit! What now Johnston?”

“Um, I’m sorry sir…”

The First official Lieutenant padded onto the main bridge in his tidy whiteys.
“I said, what is it Johnston?”

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just… a planet”

“Bullshit!”

“No sir”

“You’re fucking kidding me”

“What’s a planet?” Cheryl, the lunch lady twaddled in on her heels, looking surprised. “Breakfast on the bridge today? Is that the consensus?”

“Look in the viewfinder for yourself sir…”

Somewhat skeptical, he padded over to the tiny screen.
“it’s corned beef hash today, sirs” Cheryl chimed in, “Fix those rumblys in your tumblys nice and good!”
He looked.

It was blue.

He looked again. Still blue. Once more…
“I think our viewfinder is sad, Johnston, that’s the problem”
“No sir”
And that’s when he noticed it. The small lines of white, flashing in and out in the background… well maybe not flashing, more like bobbing…

“Can you put this up on the wall for me, Johnston?”
“Of course, Sir”
He pressed a button and a great white bed sheet flapped down from the ceiling and hung there, like a big wet sail.
An oval of blue, with the same white lines covered the wall and the sheet, filling the room with its hue.
“Hmm…” The First Official Lieutenant rubbed his earlobes, as he was known to do on occasion. “I can’t make it out, I still think it may be upset, maybe give it some rose colored glasses…”
“I don’t think that’s the problem, sir”

And then suddenly, without any warning, a gigantic creature, as tall as the bridge, began attacking the bed sheet!
“AAA!”
The Lieutenant screamed and fell backwards, bumping his bum on the polished acrylic composite.
The enormous creature had six legs, was a bluish grey, and had two humongous claws.
“Johnston, how did that get in here?!!?”
Then the enormous creature jumped, right at the Lieutenant.
“AAA!”
…and splashed into the ocean.

As a great wave came and splashed over the viewfinder, the ship tilted upwards, and there was the sun, shining above them.

“Sweet Jesus, there’s a hole in the viewfinder!”
“No sir, I think that a star”
“A star? You mean like Jesse Von Heiseing?”
“no sir, like a big ball of gas that a planet revolves around”
“Oh… Does that mean the viewfinder is happy again?”
“I think you better put some clothes on, sir”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, Johnston!” And with that, the First Official Lieutenant stomped off to his quarters to change.

“Corned beef hash today, Johnston?”
“Go away Cheryl.”

And there, in the middle of the middle of Aphrodite’s middle ocean, floated the spaceship CS1234. It bobbed up and down gingerly, as if waiting for permission, but for what, it did not know.
And the Harlequin Shrimp that had climbed over the viewfinder was now drifting back down in search of the coral it lived on before the great splash had kicked it into the air. It was frazzled, and quickly eaten by a passing octopus.
Sorry Harley.

Tall

Some buildings are tall
Some buildings are short

It's next to the mall
Or out on the court

But the think I love most
about high rises and quarries

is spitting into the river
from 29 stories

The Sparrow, The Sun, and The Moon

The sparrow gingerly alighted on a branch as the sun began to peek out from over the horizon.
He cleared his throat-
"A-hm-HMM"
and coughed several times (for good measure)
He filled his lungs with air in preparation for song-
...but this morning was different

something was askew...

Because on this morning, all the sun would do was peek. That was it.
The sun brushed back the curtain of clouds ever so slightly, just to have a look...
And then decided, to hell with this whole rising and shining at six business. The sun would rather have a sleep in... maybe breakfast in bed... yes, yes that would be nice

But still the sparrow waited...

And the moon, waxing gibbous, who had not yet set, peered at the sun cautiously...
The moon was wary of change. It liked to have things set and dry, even on rainy days.
And the sun, who was not at it's best in the morning, shot the moon a fiery glance that seemed to say
"don't mess with me, bucko, I'm only running on ten hours of sleep here, and I haven't had a decent cappucino in millennia"

The moon sank a bit on the horizon, perturbed at such an outward display of passive aggressiveness.

And once more the sparrow coughed

The seed

So this is what it's like...
The seed has been planted, it's been sewed deep into the mumbling thoughts and it's beginning to take root.
This could be a good idea...
So I went and checked out a new apartment this afternoon, and the girl there who I'd be rooming with mentioned that she'd be cool with pets, but she's allergic to cats
so I thought... I could get a dog!
And that was that, the seed was set, and it's been pushing it's shoots into the soil ever since.
It could be great! I set aside some money, and in return I'm never lonely! I could take it all around with me, it would be great...
I would definitely have to adopt... animal shelters are the way to go. Something small (ish?)
I don't know, I'd definitely want to take it for walks and things...
...I've always liked basset hounds
What am I doing? I'll get whatever animal is right for me when I find it... sure...
I find out tomorrow if it's a go for the place.
We shall see...

The first Official Leutenant

The first official stepped up to the podium and looked.
He turned his back on them.
"No, this won't do"
"but sir-"
Johnson was always "but sirr-ing" him. He hated it. He wanted nothing to do with it. He wished that Johnson and his stupid retorts would vanish into absynthe.

"I said this won't do"
"But sir-"
There it was again
"sir, this is the last. there aren't anymore"
"Johnson, remove them. they are not up to par."
What did he care if the prime minister's caterers were not good enough? There were spots on the apples, and the pineapple seemed to be frowning at him.

"Sir, the meal is in an hour! We cannot do this!"
The head chef began to sob
"Ah am sorry, monseur! eet weel nevair happeen agaihn!"

But it would. He knew it would. As first official leutenant he had the gift of foresight, and he didn't like what he saw.
What was it with these damn cooks? Everyone knows you shouldn't serve guava on tuesday!

"Sir, Eduardo has been cooking here since he was twelve. To send him and his team to the street would be ravenously inhospitable."

a globule of spittle perched on the leutenant's bottom lip. He kept it there on purpose for the time being. He had an image to maintain.

"Sir! Ah Hav ah wahf and twelve loubstairs at hohm!"
He knew that wasn't true. The Chef had no wife.
The Chef began to sob once more. Big sloppy tears pouring over his lips onto indoor/outdoor tarmac that covered the whole facility.

The leutenant took a bite of rutabaga. It was soggy. Disgusted with himself, he swallowed it anyways, maintaining his composure.

"Sir... the souffle..."
"I Know about the souffle, Johnson!"
"Sir... Ah cahn save eet... thair ees steel taim!"

He knew how much the souffle meant to the prime minister.
"Very well... but only because you are indespensable. Never ever forget the elephant paste again, do you hear me, chef?"

"Oui, monseur!"

"Well, don't just stand there. Go save the souffle!"

"Oui!"
And the chef scuttled off to save the night.
And the leutenant new that no one would remember him for rescuing the souffle. The name that would be in the papers the next morning would be the chef's. Action was what the people wanted, no one cared about the decision makers.

"Johnson, get me a copy of tomorrow morning's paper"
"But sir-"
"Just do it, Johnson"

And the first official leutenant was left on the floor to his own devices.
He glanced at the soggy rutabaga.
That had better be a damn good souffle, or the whole country would despair by the time johnson got back...

The story of Akimbo

There once was a man named Akimbo. Akimbo was a stonecutter and every day traveled to the mountain near his house to cut stone. After he had cut many large heavy slabs, he would lift the gigantic slabs onto his cart and haul them to the marketplace to sell them. Sometimes he would strain his back.

This was life for Akimbo, and year after year he toiled at the mountain removing great slabs of stone and selling them for profit.

Then one day during the summer, Akimbo was tapping his chisel as the hot summer sun beat down on him, the sweat rolling off his bare back in great salty rivers, when suddenly he heard a jingle. He turned and wiped the sweat out of his eyes and there on the road was the caravan of a prince. The prince was resting on a platform that sat atop the shoulders of his slaves, he ate peeled grapes and held an umbrella above him to shield him from the sun.

“Oh, what a glorious life that would be!” thought Akimbo, for he yearned more than anything for respite from the sun.

“I wish more than anything that I were that prince with that umbrella over my head!”

And the mountain, which he’d tapped on for many years, finally revealed itself to Akimbo, and the spirit of the mountain whispered

“Then it will be so…”

And suddenly Akimbo was the prince.

He sat atop the backs of his slaves, and he had his umbrella to protect him from the sun.

And he was happy. …for a time

But then the wind came, and took Akimbo’s umbrella from him, and he was hot again. And Akimbo looked up and cursed the sun for being so hot, and he said

“I thought I was powerful as a prince, but I am not powerful! Oh, I wish I were as powerful as the sun! Then I could do anything I wanted!”

And the spirit of the mountain whispered, “Then it is so…”

And Akimbo shone brightly over the earth, giving life to the plants, parching the deserts, and heating the air. And Akimbo was happy.

…For a time

But then a great cloud came and swept over the land and Akimbo could not shine on it any longer. And Akimbo said

“What is this? Clearly I am not as powerful as a cloud, for it can prance in front of me whenever it feels! I wish I were a cloud, and more powerful than the sun!”

And so the spirit of the mountain once again smiled upon Akimbo and whispered

“Then it is so…”

And Akimbo flew across the sky creating shade and caressing the land with his rains. With his vapor he could save the land and the plants from the sun, or he could storm on them and kill everything he covered. He was a powerful cloud, and he was happy.

…for a time

And then one day, he came across a mountain and he stormed upon it, but he could not change it. And he said

“It the mountain more powerful than I? No matter what I do, it does not move! I wish I were a mountain, and more powerful than the clouds!”

And the spirit of the mountain whispered

“Then it is so…”

And Akimbo sat with his great girth, covering the ground and people were forced to build their roads and buildings around him, for he was far too big to budge. And Akimbo was a powerful mountain, and none could change him. And Akimbo was finally happy.

Until one day, when a stonecutter came upon him and he heard the distant “clink clink” of metal on metal and he looked down and said

“Mountain!”

And the great spirit replied “Yes, Akimbo?”

“How is this happening? I am a mountain! Nothing can change me am I not the most powerful thing in the world?”

“No Akimbo, You are not”

So Akimbo thought about this for a moment and considered himself.

And finally, after much thought, Akimbo spoke to the mountain…

And the next morning, Akimbo rose from his bed, ate his breakfast, took his hammer and chisel, and walked to the mountain to cut stone to sell at the market.

And he was happy.