Knowing that there is more than one way to make soup, I decided to move out. The intricacies of the whole situation are too complex to outline here, but I must say that the decision was for my own well-being. The regulations of the society wherein I resided were such that without relocation to a new geographical area there was no way to move. But I was worn-out, tired of the life rut I found myself in. My situation was such that I couldn't relocate, but I was suffocating where I was.
In addition, I knew things. Secret thing, word-of-mouth things, personal things. How does one fit in with a group they know so much about? I was a wheeler-dealer, a Salvation Army volunteer who stood in front of a grocery store at year-end. You may smile and make light chit-chat. But do you have and intentions of inviting them home for dinner?
Such was my position. And such was my dilemma. Unable to leave. Unable to stay. And so, after many months of pleading and planning, Management gave the green light. The loop-hole could be exploited, an exception could be made. I could live in one place and move to another.
And here I reside, in a beautiful home with a wonderful wife. The decision I made to follow the recipe in my own was has proven to be the greatest choice of my life.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Spoonerisms
A crushing blow. That was how it ended. Whether it was the fowl's pride or the foul cheese that fell harder, no man can say. You see, that's the problem with investing so much into a wicker basket, as the saying goes. Spread the eggs around a bit, if you will pardon the pun. Birds and eggs and all. See, once you got yourself some real pretty eggs stored up, some feller might come along and smash your basket, so to speak, just cause you've got yourself a couple too many eggs more than you aught.
And that's what happened here just now. That bird out there has taken to singing quite pretty like. The wife began paying in cheese for private performances, just the two of us. Three if you count the dog. A few more than that if you count the cattle and chickens. Anyhow, we was just ending one of these performances so to speak, when I guess old Butler got a hankering for some of that cheese the wife was giving the performer. Gouda or some other cheese smells like it came out the wrong end of a dairy cow if you catch my drift.
Now I never accused Butler of having a particularly high functioning brain, but what I just saw him do just may make me reconsider. So this bird is snacking away at his payment when Butler starts whimpering at the bird. Like the kind of whimpering that he gives when he wants an encore or needs to go outside to take care of some personal business.
Well that bird, in my opinion, had invested too much into singing and felt some notion to give another performance. Soon as she opened her beak, there goes the cheese and there goes Butler. And now I'm left sitting here with the wife and a blushing crow.
And that's what happened here just now. That bird out there has taken to singing quite pretty like. The wife began paying in cheese for private performances, just the two of us. Three if you count the dog. A few more than that if you count the cattle and chickens. Anyhow, we was just ending one of these performances so to speak, when I guess old Butler got a hankering for some of that cheese the wife was giving the performer. Gouda or some other cheese smells like it came out the wrong end of a dairy cow if you catch my drift.
Now I never accused Butler of having a particularly high functioning brain, but what I just saw him do just may make me reconsider. So this bird is snacking away at his payment when Butler starts whimpering at the bird. Like the kind of whimpering that he gives when he wants an encore or needs to go outside to take care of some personal business.
Well that bird, in my opinion, had invested too much into singing and felt some notion to give another performance. Soon as she opened her beak, there goes the cheese and there goes Butler. And now I'm left sitting here with the wife and a blushing crow.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Weirdest Dream Ever...
I was in my usual hunting attire which, for some reason was full plate armor complete with a large shield and a spear (don't ask). I was tracking my prey through a dimly lit glade covered in tall grass with sporadic pockets of densely packed fir trees. I didn't really know what I was hunting, but I sensed that I was getting close.
I was darting from one patch of firs to another with all the stealth of a jungle cat which seemed to make sense at the time but it really shouldn't have considering the suit of armor. As I was about to make another silent dash towards another pocket of fir trees I caught a glimpse of another knight behind me, just barely ducking out of sight. I knew by the colours he bore that he was an enemy. It appeared that the hunter was being hunted.
Gathering all my strength and will power, I dashed the remaining 100 yards to a secret alcove beneath one of the large bushes. To my great surprise, there was my prey; a large badger. Even more surprising was the fact that he was wielding a pair of double-barreled paintball guns. I also noticed that the spear I carried was dripping with paint at the tip.
The Badger gestured to a sign hanging on the wall which read, "Out of Season." Beneath this sign was a picture of the badger along with an old picture of me in high school. Also on the wall was a sign indicating that the enemy knight I had seen only moments ago was in season. With a silent nod the badger and I joined forces and sped from the alcove to pursue our prize.
As we approached his vile lair, the badger and I shouted our battle cry, "To Ancient days of Yore!" We rounded the final corner- and stopped...
Out of breath and dripping with sweat, face to barrel with a paintball cannon. The explosion caused me to jerk awake. Weirdest dream ever!
I was darting from one patch of firs to another with all the stealth of a jungle cat which seemed to make sense at the time but it really shouldn't have considering the suit of armor. As I was about to make another silent dash towards another pocket of fir trees I caught a glimpse of another knight behind me, just barely ducking out of sight. I knew by the colours he bore that he was an enemy. It appeared that the hunter was being hunted.
Gathering all my strength and will power, I dashed the remaining 100 yards to a secret alcove beneath one of the large bushes. To my great surprise, there was my prey; a large badger. Even more surprising was the fact that he was wielding a pair of double-barreled paintball guns. I also noticed that the spear I carried was dripping with paint at the tip.
The Badger gestured to a sign hanging on the wall which read, "Out of Season." Beneath this sign was a picture of the badger along with an old picture of me in high school. Also on the wall was a sign indicating that the enemy knight I had seen only moments ago was in season. With a silent nod the badger and I joined forces and sped from the alcove to pursue our prize.
As we approached his vile lair, the badger and I shouted our battle cry, "To Ancient days of Yore!" We rounded the final corner- and stopped...
Out of breath and dripping with sweat, face to barrel with a paintball cannon. The explosion caused me to jerk awake. Weirdest dream ever!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
10 October 3010
Personal Log
After a long and laboriously boring briefing with General Beckman, I was able to successfully negotiate (aka-bribe) my way out of the galaxy.While it is true that I have now spent the last 10 years in a cryogenic sleeping pod in the cargo bay of an otherwise unmanned space shuttle, I had not choice. I had to get out of there. Night after night of countless requests: "Will you help me with my hair?" "How does my makeup look?" "Does this dress make me look fat?" Being the only former fashion critic in the corps is a nightmare! And Beckman is the worst! Always calling me into her office to discuss the "Operation." I had to leave.
"Officially" I am doing recon for a new Alpha site just in case the war efforts turn south. "Unofficially" I am looking for a nice place to run away with General Beckman. Secretly I am retiring. I figure I've got enough food to last me several years. In a couple weeks I will radio back that there was an accident and I need more supplies. If Beckman asks, I will simply explain that the planet is slightly radioactive and that the meds I'm taking to counteract the radiation is causing an intense increase in my metabolism.
Eventually I'll "discover" that there was a leak in the cryogenic chamber that combined with the delta waves from the wormholes. The combined radiation has created a radiation cloud increasing at an alarming rate. According to my calculations the entire planet will be consumed within a couple years. There's really no hope to rescue me. The only thing they can do is make occasional supply drops for the next 25-50 years.
The result: 25-50 years to myself on a tropical alien beach with no one to ask me about their clothes, makeup, or implants. I cannot think of a happier retirement.
End Log
After a long and laboriously boring briefing with General Beckman, I was able to successfully negotiate (aka-bribe) my way out of the galaxy.While it is true that I have now spent the last 10 years in a cryogenic sleeping pod in the cargo bay of an otherwise unmanned space shuttle, I had not choice. I had to get out of there. Night after night of countless requests: "Will you help me with my hair?" "How does my makeup look?" "Does this dress make me look fat?" Being the only former fashion critic in the corps is a nightmare! And Beckman is the worst! Always calling me into her office to discuss the "Operation." I had to leave.
"Officially" I am doing recon for a new Alpha site just in case the war efforts turn south. "Unofficially" I am looking for a nice place to run away with General Beckman. Secretly I am retiring. I figure I've got enough food to last me several years. In a couple weeks I will radio back that there was an accident and I need more supplies. If Beckman asks, I will simply explain that the planet is slightly radioactive and that the meds I'm taking to counteract the radiation is causing an intense increase in my metabolism.
Eventually I'll "discover" that there was a leak in the cryogenic chamber that combined with the delta waves from the wormholes. The combined radiation has created a radiation cloud increasing at an alarming rate. According to my calculations the entire planet will be consumed within a couple years. There's really no hope to rescue me. The only thing they can do is make occasional supply drops for the next 25-50 years.
The result: 25-50 years to myself on a tropical alien beach with no one to ask me about their clothes, makeup, or implants. I cannot think of a happier retirement.
End Log
The Beginning
We the writers of text, in order to form a more perfect story, establish characters, insure audience acceptance, provide for the universal enjoyment, promote the happy(ish) endings, and secure the blessings of laughter to ourselves and our audiences, do establish this blog for the literate people of the world...
As long as they speak English or have access to a translator.
PS - Thanks Neubauer.
As long as they speak English or have access to a translator.
PS - Thanks Neubauer.
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