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Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Vignette 3

            “Why are we at the junkyard?”
            “My car sucks. No woman is going to be impressed by a 1990 Honda Civic. So, we are here to get me a new car.”
            “This still doesn’t make sense.”
            “I can’t afford to buy a new non-sucky car. So, we’re going to steal a nice looking one that doesn’t work, put it in the front of the house, and I’ll tell the ladies that it’s mine.”
            “If you’re going to steal a car, why don’t you steal a working one?”
            “Being a secret agent, I don’t need the cops on my ass. Nobody’s going to go looking for a car taken from the junkyard.”
            “Okay, genius. What if the ladies want to ride in your car?”
            “I’ll tell them that I’m working on it. Women like guys that work on things.”
            “But, you don’t know anything about cars.”
            “Yeah, like they do.”
            I climb over the fence of the junkyard and my natural awkwardness leads me to softly land straight on my neck. It took a few seconds of running around to regain my wits. Quentin, my housemate and technological support, waited until I told him it was all clear. I wasn’t going to check to make sure that we where alone but to find something nice and blunt. Ah, that will do.
            “All clear.”
            As he comes over the fence, I chuck a car battery at his head. The battery smashes into his head and disintegrates into a thousand pieces. He somehow unfazed, successfully lands on this side of the fence.
            “That was supposed to hurt you severely. But no, you stand there mocking me with your unharmed head. That battery must have been rotten. The battery acid doesn’t even burn anymore.”
            I touch the splattered acid on his face and my finger burns, which causes “shit” to leave my mouth. He nonchalantly wipes the acid from his face. To counteract his defiance, I pick up a pipe lying at my feet and swing it at his head. The pipe shatters on impact.
            “Can we just get on with it? I have other things I want to do today.”
            “Me and your head will have our reckoning. But now, we shall find my chick-attracting car.”
            After looking in vain for the better part of ten minutes, the better part was spent thinking about how hot I’d be; if I myself was a chick, I came upon something better then an actually working car of sweet lookingness.
            “Hey Quentin, get your ass over here.”
            “One more object hitting my head and I’m hotwiring your car and going back home.”
            “I’ll bash your brains in later. You got to see this.”
            “Ok, what is it?”
            “If I’m not mistaken, this horrible monstrosity that lies before us is a god.”
            “It looks like an octopus mated with a water heater.”
            “No, it looks like my ticket to everything I ever wanted and a bunch of stuff I could care less to have.”
            “You don’t even know if it’s an actual factual god.”
            “What else could it be?”
            “An abomination of nature.”
            “I got a god vibe coming from it.”
            “Ok, say it is a god. What are you going to do with it?”
            “I’m going to take him back to our place. Then I’m going to start a religion so people may worship my god and then, being worshiped, he will grant me power and cool swag.”
            “Nobody is going to worship that thing. It will scare children and old people. People like to worship divine beings with a certain image. God has his benevolent grandfatherlyness and Buddha is cuddly.”
            “They’ll worship it because of fear. You don’t worship it; it will kill you. Look at that thing, does that not look like something that would kill people? Hell, you don’t worship it; I’ll smother you with a pillow while you sleep.”
            “The divine wrath thing is played out. Why do you think the most of the Christian groups got rid of it a long time ago?”
            “The media and politicians use fearmongering all the time to control the stupid masses. And they can’t paint a picture as scary as this thing over here.”
            “OK smart guy, how are you going to get this thing home and where are you going to keep it.”
            “I’m planning on luring it into our basement with a trail of kittens.”
            “Where are you going to get enough kittens?”
            “We’re going to break into the animal shelter. Most of those cats are going to die anyway; they might as well die for the great Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.”
            “You’re naming it after…never mind. Lets just go steal those cats, so I can get on with my day.”

Monday, March 21, 2011

Un-Rewarding Day

          Puck foam idle skuzzy watermelon dipity doo! I’m so angry I’ve lost the ability to swear. I’m not sure if there’s a scientific scale for swearing, but if there is my losing all notion of bad words when I try to swear has to be pretty up there. Minotaur rabbi watercress sandwich! I just came from Better Purchase and they wouldn’t take my reward program certificate. I found the certificate in my neighbor’s trashcan; after I broke into their house to go through their things to make sure they are not a threat to me. But, Better Purchase doesn’t know that.
Nail gun flute!
            I think it all has to do with Better Purchase’s totally unfair corporate policies.  Like for instant, if the certificate has been used or is passed its expiration date they won’t honor it. That is totally Newton’s third law of thermal dynamics. That’s not my current inability to swear flaring up, I say that all the time in moments of frustration or when bowling balls drop on top of my head because of some comical contrivance. I don’t need some fancy British dead asshole to ruin my life by telling me that everything is going done the cosmic toilet and that’s there is nothing that we can do about it. In fourth grade I was going to make a perfect system. I’d be set for eternity, but my teacher had to destroy all of that with knowledge of universal laws. If my job paid well: I’d go over to London, desecrate Sir Isaac’s crypt and knock his rotted teeth out. Getting back on topic.
            Let’s say that you’re an enterprising young man and you want to get a good deal on some premium electronics, but alas you have no coupons and membership card. But, your young swift handsome toned mind knows that several other people do ,in fact, have those things. Maybe you find it on the ground, or after breaking into someone’s home. Shouldn’t that person be entitled to that discount anyway, by virtue of fate? Better Purchase did care for that argument, and before I could get into how they are unfair, I was beset by overpaid and overweight security guards and had to rabbit out of there.
            I’m currently having a compatriot of mine in the computer division hack into to their ordering system. Next week the shelves are going to be overflowing with copies of Speed 2, Pluto Nash, and the Pocket Fisherman’s infomercial. I’d like to see them sell that crap before inventory.