When it gets right down to it, all of life is a fucking fable.
Something happens, you get fucked over, you learn a "lesson".
If you don't learn then that's when the shit starts to suck. The more often you ignore these lessons, the sooner your life starts to fall to shit.
Eventually, if you're not a moron or completely retarded, you begin to learn.
Look before you leap. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. He who hesitates is lost. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Shit's gonna fuck up. You live long enough and something is bound to go wrong. The trick is to try and walk away from the experience with something more than a bruised cheek and a battered ego.
Saturday 25 August 2007
Friday 24 August 2007
Thursday 23 August 2007
The Boy Who Cried...
Little Billy was a good boy. He always listened to his parents, attended his Catholic Church regularly and knew that when danger was spotted he should tell someone he trusted. However, he was raised on a steady diet of "Stranger Danger" tales and did not trust anyone he did not know.
One summer day, Little Billy was playing with his toy cars in front of his house. A car drove up to his house and a man motioned for Billy to come over. Little Billy carefully walked over to car. The man in the car asked Billy a question. "Do you know how to get to Apple Street?". Little Billy knew what this man wanted... he wanted to kidnap him!
Running and crying, Little Billy ran into his house and told his parents of the man's plan. They sat him down and told him that this man probably just wanted directions. Little Billy thought to himself that his parents did not believe him.
A few months later school had started. Little Billy was walking home from school one day and noticed he had a few dollars in his pocket. As he was bored and had some money he decided to stop at the video rental store to see if they had any new movies for him to rent. He wandered the store for quite some time until a store clerk approached him. "Do you need some help?" she asked. Little Billy knew what this lady wanted... she wanted to rob him!
As Little Billy's parents did not trust him, he ran to the police. The police are your best friend he was always told. He went to the police station and told the officer his story. Hey looked at Little Billy and laughed. "Young man, I believe they were wondering if you were looking for a certain movie and were trying to assist you". Little Billy had enough of this, no one believed him.
That Sunday after Church, Little Billy felt he only had one person left he could talk to: the priest. He was taught that the priest is one of the closest people to God and Little Billy felt he was the only person who would listen and understand of his problems.
Little Billy approached the priest and asked if he could talk to him. "Why of course!" the priest replied.
"Father, no one listens or believes me" exclaimed Little Billy, as he told the priest the prior instances where he was not believed.
"Little Billy, you can come over to my house and we can eat cookies and you can talk all about it" the consoling priest replied with a mischievous grin on his face...
A Few Hours Later...
Little Billy left from the priest's house with tears running down his face. He ran home to tell his parents what had happened.
"Mom, Dad, I went to the priest after church and... and...", Little Billy paused...
"Yes?" they both questioned.
"He touched me!"
His parents did not believe him. Where did the boy come up with these wild ideas? Was it the movies and television he watched?
"Go to your room! How dare you accuse Father TingleFingers of doing such things!" his dad yelled.
Little Billy refused to go to his room and ran out of his house. "The police will believe me!" he though to himself. But when he arrived at the police station and told the officer of what the priest had done, he did not believe him. Only a few days earlier Little Billy had told this officer of how a store clerk wanted to "rob" him, so obviously something was wrong with the boy.
Little Billy realized no one would believe him and walked home. On his way home Little Billy realized that no one would ever believe him ever again.
The moral of the story: Don't go to a Catholic Church, a priest might molest you.
Sunday 5 August 2007
NervousMan Goes to the Store
NervousMan nervously looked through the newspaper looking for a work-at-home job. NervousMan knew that he needed more money and that the best way to get money was a job. Well, maybe it wasn't the best way. But it seemed to be the way that most people went. Usually though, people had to go someplace else to work everyday, and be around other people who were also working. The thought of doing that made NervousMan nervous.
On the front of the paper were stories and pictures of a bridge that fell down in Minnesota. NervousMan wondered how such a thing could happen. Weren't there people out there who were taking care of the bridge? Wasn't that their job to do that? Perhaps, thought NervousMan, those people were nervous too and didn't do a very good job and then the bridge fell down. NervousMan looked at the pictures of cars strewn about in the water like so many kids' toys in a mud puddle. The pictures made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan left his home and walked to the store. On the way there, he decided to buy a sandwich so he would not 'shop hungry'. If he were hungry he might buy too much food and NervousMan didn't have much money. However the sandwich would cost money too. Maybe the amount of money he would save by buying the sandwich was about the same as the sandwich. NervousMan hesitated nervously outside the door of the sandwich shop for a few minutes, wondering if he should go in.
The lady at the cash register rang up NervousMan's sandwich and he ate it by the window of the restaurant. He thought about how the lady didn't really look at or talk to him when he paid his money to her. Everything seemed so mechanical. Maybe she was nervous doing her job, he thought. NervousMan was nervous too.
Sitting at the window, NervousMan watched the people pass back and forth outside the place. Back and forth, back and forth. Some of the people looked mean. Others looked tired. Some looked nervous, but not as nervous as NervousMan.
Arriving at the store, NervousMan walked through the aisles. In the produce section, NervousMan looked at all the bright colors and held his breath. He could feel the cool air of the refrigeration on his skin. They were having a sale on strawberries. Two bushels for three dollars. NervousMan got one of them. NervousMan liked strawberries. He also needed to get some salad, and some milk and some bread.
The aisles of the store, NervousMan thought, were very close together. Sometimes he would reverse his direction and go to another aisle if someone were in the aisle that he wanted to go down. NervousMan didn't want to make anyone else nervous with his nervousness.
NervousMan thought to himself (which was his favorite way to do so) "It seems like they are all looking at me. Logically, I know that they are not. But it feels like they are".
NervousMan imagined what it would be like if the store were being looted. Like, if there was some sort of emergency in the world and things in general broke down. Like the bridge had. Then, NervousMan thought, if that happened, the mean people would come and get all the strawberries and things like that first. They might even beat up NervousMan. How could NervousMan ask the mean people for strawberries after the looting? They would laugh at NervousMan and beat him up again.
The thought of being beat up by the mean people made NervousMan nervous. So NervousMan tried not to think about it. But in order not to think about it, he had to first think about not thinking about it, and that meant thinking about it.
NervousMan sighed.
NervousMan stared at the canned beets. Did he want canned beats? Why was it so hard for NervousMan to figure out if he wanted canned beets or not? Other people around him did not seem to have that trouble. They just walked in to the store, got what they wanted and walked out. What was the problem? What was wrong with NervousMan?
NervousMan was nervous.
Glancing to his left, he watched a woman in a green apron stocking shelves very quickly. "She sure seems to think fast" thought NervousMan. NervousMan looked back at the canned beets and regarded them. What if he worked at this store? he thought. What if he had to stock shelves like that very very quickly or else he would be fired and not have any money? What if his boss were mean?
At the checkout counter, NervousMan nervously put his items onto the conveyer belt. The checkout person was a good looking young man who did not seem nervous at all.
"Hey man. How's it going?" said the man.
"Fine, thank you" said NervousMan, forcing himself to smile slightly but looking away from the checkout man. He seemed to remember reading somewhere that smiling at other people put them at ease, and also looking at them too.
"I should look at them and smile, pleasantly" thought NervousMan. But NervousMan did not want to look in the eyes of the checkout man too much or else the man might think that NervousMan was nervous. Then, he might seem suspicious and he would ask for NervousMan's I.D. when he tried to use his ATM card, and that would make NervousMan even more nervous.
Was it best to look away from the checkout person or look at him? Which would seem less suspicious? NervousMan thought about this as he slid his card through the reader. NervousMan's hands shook nervously. The checkout man said something to him.
"Excuse me?" said NervousMan.
"Paper or plastic?" the checkout man asked NervousMan again, smiling.
"Oh... Uhm... plastic please" NervousMan said.
NervousMan always said please and thank you.
When NervousMan's groceries were bagged he told the checkout man 'thank you' yet again.
"Sure man, take care," the checkout man said and he smiled at NervousMan again.
It seemed like the checkout man was thinking something about NervousMan but NervousMan did not know what that something was. Maybe it was something pleasant.
NervousMan didn't mean to, but as NervousMan reached out to take the bags from the checkout man, NervousMan's thumb briefly touched the back of the checkout's man's fingers as he did so.
Then, without a word, the checkout man turned to help the next customer.
Later, as NervousMan walked home, he felt the rays of the hot yellow sun beat down on his arms and neck. NervousMan sweated.
"That man at the checkout counter was nice," thought NervousMan. "Much nicer that the lady at the sandwich shop".
As Nervousman ate his strawberries at home, he thought it was nice that there were nice people in the world. People who were nice, and not mean. People like the checkout man.
And thinking this thought made NervousMan feel a little less nervous.
NervousMan thought: As the world becomes a scarier place, then must I too become scarier in order not to fall victim to it?
Perhaps, Nervousman thought, the challenge is to love, as much as one can, in the face of fear. To hold onto one's heart. Maybe that is the greatest challenge, Nervousman thought.
And without knowing why, NervousMan wept.
On the front of the paper were stories and pictures of a bridge that fell down in Minnesota. NervousMan wondered how such a thing could happen. Weren't there people out there who were taking care of the bridge? Wasn't that their job to do that? Perhaps, thought NervousMan, those people were nervous too and didn't do a very good job and then the bridge fell down. NervousMan looked at the pictures of cars strewn about in the water like so many kids' toys in a mud puddle. The pictures made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan left his home and walked to the store. On the way there, he decided to buy a sandwich so he would not 'shop hungry'. If he were hungry he might buy too much food and NervousMan didn't have much money. However the sandwich would cost money too. Maybe the amount of money he would save by buying the sandwich was about the same as the sandwich. NervousMan hesitated nervously outside the door of the sandwich shop for a few minutes, wondering if he should go in.
The lady at the cash register rang up NervousMan's sandwich and he ate it by the window of the restaurant. He thought about how the lady didn't really look at or talk to him when he paid his money to her. Everything seemed so mechanical. Maybe she was nervous doing her job, he thought. NervousMan was nervous too.
Sitting at the window, NervousMan watched the people pass back and forth outside the place. Back and forth, back and forth. Some of the people looked mean. Others looked tired. Some looked nervous, but not as nervous as NervousMan.
Arriving at the store, NervousMan walked through the aisles. In the produce section, NervousMan looked at all the bright colors and held his breath. He could feel the cool air of the refrigeration on his skin. They were having a sale on strawberries. Two bushels for three dollars. NervousMan got one of them. NervousMan liked strawberries. He also needed to get some salad, and some milk and some bread.
The aisles of the store, NervousMan thought, were very close together. Sometimes he would reverse his direction and go to another aisle if someone were in the aisle that he wanted to go down. NervousMan didn't want to make anyone else nervous with his nervousness.
NervousMan thought to himself (which was his favorite way to do so) "It seems like they are all looking at me. Logically, I know that they are not. But it feels like they are".
NervousMan imagined what it would be like if the store were being looted. Like, if there was some sort of emergency in the world and things in general broke down. Like the bridge had. Then, NervousMan thought, if that happened, the mean people would come and get all the strawberries and things like that first. They might even beat up NervousMan. How could NervousMan ask the mean people for strawberries after the looting? They would laugh at NervousMan and beat him up again.
The thought of being beat up by the mean people made NervousMan nervous. So NervousMan tried not to think about it. But in order not to think about it, he had to first think about not thinking about it, and that meant thinking about it.
NervousMan sighed.
NervousMan stared at the canned beets. Did he want canned beats? Why was it so hard for NervousMan to figure out if he wanted canned beets or not? Other people around him did not seem to have that trouble. They just walked in to the store, got what they wanted and walked out. What was the problem? What was wrong with NervousMan?
NervousMan was nervous.
Glancing to his left, he watched a woman in a green apron stocking shelves very quickly. "She sure seems to think fast" thought NervousMan. NervousMan looked back at the canned beets and regarded them. What if he worked at this store? he thought. What if he had to stock shelves like that very very quickly or else he would be fired and not have any money? What if his boss were mean?
At the checkout counter, NervousMan nervously put his items onto the conveyer belt. The checkout person was a good looking young man who did not seem nervous at all.
"Hey man. How's it going?" said the man.
"Fine, thank you" said NervousMan, forcing himself to smile slightly but looking away from the checkout man. He seemed to remember reading somewhere that smiling at other people put them at ease, and also looking at them too.
"I should look at them and smile, pleasantly" thought NervousMan. But NervousMan did not want to look in the eyes of the checkout man too much or else the man might think that NervousMan was nervous. Then, he might seem suspicious and he would ask for NervousMan's I.D. when he tried to use his ATM card, and that would make NervousMan even more nervous.
Was it best to look away from the checkout person or look at him? Which would seem less suspicious? NervousMan thought about this as he slid his card through the reader. NervousMan's hands shook nervously. The checkout man said something to him.
"Excuse me?" said NervousMan.
"Paper or plastic?" the checkout man asked NervousMan again, smiling.
"Oh... Uhm... plastic please" NervousMan said.
NervousMan always said please and thank you.
When NervousMan's groceries were bagged he told the checkout man 'thank you' yet again.
"Sure man, take care," the checkout man said and he smiled at NervousMan again.
It seemed like the checkout man was thinking something about NervousMan but NervousMan did not know what that something was. Maybe it was something pleasant.
NervousMan didn't mean to, but as NervousMan reached out to take the bags from the checkout man, NervousMan's thumb briefly touched the back of the checkout's man's fingers as he did so.
Then, without a word, the checkout man turned to help the next customer.
Later, as NervousMan walked home, he felt the rays of the hot yellow sun beat down on his arms and neck. NervousMan sweated.
"That man at the checkout counter was nice," thought NervousMan. "Much nicer that the lady at the sandwich shop".
As Nervousman ate his strawberries at home, he thought it was nice that there were nice people in the world. People who were nice, and not mean. People like the checkout man.
And thinking this thought made NervousMan feel a little less nervous.
NervousMan thought: As the world becomes a scarier place, then must I too become scarier in order not to fall victim to it?
Perhaps, Nervousman thought, the challenge is to love, as much as one can, in the face of fear. To hold onto one's heart. Maybe that is the greatest challenge, Nervousman thought.
And without knowing why, NervousMan wept.
Thursday 2 August 2007
The Farmer and the Stork
The cloth felt softer against my skin every time I wore it. That lady on the commercial was right, this was possibly the brightest white I have ever seen. I knew the rest of the guys were going to be super fucking jealous. Obviously we all made fun when one us turned up in dowdy grey robes, that kinda gloopy off white you get when you don't spend the extra 50 cents at the market. Well not today, not me, I was going make them all look ridiculous by comparison.
The keys to my truck were... wait, where did I put those damn things. Not in my pockets, always put them on the little table by the door... they're not in their place... that’s weird. CHURCH PANTS! Of course, left them in my church pants. Great service last night, I wasn't really paying that much attention but that's not the point. As long as I keep going and I’m straight, I got a one way ticket to those pearly gates. I'm really glad about that too 'cus my buddy Bill dead a few weeks back and I’d love to play poker with Bill again, he was a good guy, all the guys held a big wake for him. I got so drunk I ended up fucking that one legged girl who lives outside'a town. Sally her name was... or Sarah. Nothing' funnier than watching that little stump flicking all over the place while she's bent over the hood of my truck, tight little ass on her too. Had to try really hard not to laugh though, you know what these cripples are like, all "I love you" and "You're different". They eat it up every time, you know like "eat it up" Git er done!! Haha, I love that Larry the Cable Guy, he's a funny sumbitch.
Anyway, big meeting tonight, gotta be careful not get my robes dirty. From what the guys were telling me last week the Grand Dragon will be here tonight. Apparently something's going down, not sure what but you always know there's gonna be a big turn out when he shows up.
Fuck me, there's a lot of people here tonight, the chants have started already... "Who do we hate? NIGGERS! When do we hate them? NOW!!" I sometimes wonder who writes these chants. Some of them are pretty lame, I mean I aint gonna say nothing, but I bet I could come up with some better ones. Like... i dunno... "Hey nigger you're so black, you’re so black you blow my mind. Hey Nigger!!" although I might have heard that somewhere before... Anyway the Grand Dragon has taken the stage, he looks nice.
I'm gonna be grand dragon some day, all my friends laugh at me but if I keep going to church and hating coons REALLY hard, it'll happen, I know it. Wait what did he say? I missed that. Man, I shouldn't get so caught up day dreaming... Everyone's running back to their trucks. Awesome!!! Jimmy just told me were going lynching!! This is awesome!!! I always keep my extra thick hanging rope in my truck just in case.
Only about a 5 mile drive into town, really exited now. We used to do this kinda stuff all the time but since the police got all liberal and stopped taking our money we have to keep it on the down low. We've stopped... everyone’s getting out... over there, three of them... dirty motherfuckers. Wait hang on a second, the one in the middle... he looks...white...
I was a little confused. Jimmy grabbed the rope out my truck and they started string all three of them up. I mean fine, string the two darkies up there, no problem with that... but the white boy? Maybe I should say something. No, bad idea... I don't want to come across as some bleeding heart pussy. We stood there for a while... bout and hour. It's strange being stood there watching these three bodies just swinging in the breeze.
I turned to Jimmy and whispered to him... I asked him why they'd strung the white kid up there too... he turned to me and said "The moral of the story is that associating with bad companions will lead everyone to believe you are bad yourself."
...too soon?
Yours satirically
A. Partheid
The keys to my truck were... wait, where did I put those damn things. Not in my pockets, always put them on the little table by the door... they're not in their place... that’s weird. CHURCH PANTS! Of course, left them in my church pants. Great service last night, I wasn't really paying that much attention but that's not the point. As long as I keep going and I’m straight, I got a one way ticket to those pearly gates. I'm really glad about that too 'cus my buddy Bill dead a few weeks back and I’d love to play poker with Bill again, he was a good guy, all the guys held a big wake for him. I got so drunk I ended up fucking that one legged girl who lives outside'a town. Sally her name was... or Sarah. Nothing' funnier than watching that little stump flicking all over the place while she's bent over the hood of my truck, tight little ass on her too. Had to try really hard not to laugh though, you know what these cripples are like, all "I love you" and "You're different". They eat it up every time, you know like "eat it up" Git er done!! Haha, I love that Larry the Cable Guy, he's a funny sumbitch.
Anyway, big meeting tonight, gotta be careful not get my robes dirty. From what the guys were telling me last week the Grand Dragon will be here tonight. Apparently something's going down, not sure what but you always know there's gonna be a big turn out when he shows up.
Fuck me, there's a lot of people here tonight, the chants have started already... "Who do we hate? NIGGERS! When do we hate them? NOW!!" I sometimes wonder who writes these chants. Some of them are pretty lame, I mean I aint gonna say nothing, but I bet I could come up with some better ones. Like... i dunno... "Hey nigger you're so black, you’re so black you blow my mind. Hey Nigger!!" although I might have heard that somewhere before... Anyway the Grand Dragon has taken the stage, he looks nice.
I'm gonna be grand dragon some day, all my friends laugh at me but if I keep going to church and hating coons REALLY hard, it'll happen, I know it. Wait what did he say? I missed that. Man, I shouldn't get so caught up day dreaming... Everyone's running back to their trucks. Awesome!!! Jimmy just told me were going lynching!! This is awesome!!! I always keep my extra thick hanging rope in my truck just in case.
Only about a 5 mile drive into town, really exited now. We used to do this kinda stuff all the time but since the police got all liberal and stopped taking our money we have to keep it on the down low. We've stopped... everyone’s getting out... over there, three of them... dirty motherfuckers. Wait hang on a second, the one in the middle... he looks...white...
I was a little confused. Jimmy grabbed the rope out my truck and they started string all three of them up. I mean fine, string the two darkies up there, no problem with that... but the white boy? Maybe I should say something. No, bad idea... I don't want to come across as some bleeding heart pussy. We stood there for a while... bout and hour. It's strange being stood there watching these three bodies just swinging in the breeze.
I turned to Jimmy and whispered to him... I asked him why they'd strung the white kid up there too... he turned to me and said "The moral of the story is that associating with bad companions will lead everyone to believe you are bad yourself."
...too soon?
Yours satirically
A. Partheid
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