"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." - Dr. Seuss
6.30.2010
Muscle Lover
6.28.2010
6.21.2010
6.20.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 12
The train station was an impressive oblong structure strung out of mud, bamboo, wood and corrugated metal that reached three stories into the sky. From the ticket office, I could see that the train was already quite full so I bought a first-class ticket and hurriedly boarded. This was the first and last train of the day and it was leaving in forty-two minutes. I could have taken it slowly, but I couldn't trust myself with the time, and besides, the spring cushion seats in the carriage were much more comfortable than the wooden benches on the platform which were covered in bird shit. I sat next to the window and took a nap.
When I woke up, the train was whizzing through the dessert. Nothing but flat terrain, sand and rock. An elderly gentleman sat opposite, to the right of me, hunched over a newspaper on his lap; it was a local one, The Daily Spirit. He was wearing a tie-dye tee shirt and khaki knee length shorts. He stroked his facial hair, about two months growth, while he scanned the words with a smile his face, at first I thought that it was something amusing in the article, but after about half an hour, I noticed that the smile hadn't budged a millimetre, and came to the conclusion that the grin was perhaps a permanent landmark on his face.
The door opened and another tourist came into the compartment. The elderly man looked up and the woman smiled back at him. They both ignored me. She set her plump bottom down next to me; the seat cushion wobbled as the springs underneath redistributed their loads to accommodate the new mass. She fumbled around in her handbag and extracted a small colourful packet. She pulled open the package, and put one of its contents into her mouth; it rattled against her teeth. “Would you care for a sweet?” she waved the bag between the man's head and newspaper.
“I thought you'd never ask!” They laughed. He took a red ball, and placed it into his mouth after a quick admiration of the product. “Mmmm, very tasty! What flavour are they?”
She spun the bag around in her hand and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Hmm, not quite sure. It doesn't say anything except Ooboo Ooboo and everything else is in Biggadese.”
“Well, it doesn't matter as long as they taste good, right?” He grinned as he spoke, a juggling act of lips, teeth, tongue and unidentified spherical object.
I laughed and they glanced nervously at me then pretended that I wasn't there.
“Would you like some of my paper to read, madam?”
“Is that the Daily Spirit? I love to get my daily dose of Daily Spirit!” she guffawed.
He plucked a couple of sheets from the front and handed them to her, “I haven't read the back yet, but the middle should keep me busy for now.”
She leant back into the chair and once again pushed up her glasses to read. I caught her squinting at me and she hid behind with the paper. The front page headline read, “Serenity Boy gig cancelled by disruption!”
Something slid off my head, bounced of the opposite unoccupied seat and landed on the floor in front of me with a loud clonk, narrowly missing the old man's knees. I heard a high pitched yelp and a rustle of paper from next to me. The fallen object was my suitcase; I'd forgotten that I was balancing it on my head for safe-keeping while I slept.
to be continued ...
6.18.2010
6.17.2010
6.15.2010
6.12.2010
The Terror Bear
The terror bear is based on an ancient aboriginal myth of a bear that would coil your tongue around its body then insert the tip in its ear then stick a tree branch into your eye.
6.10.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 11
There was a knock at the door. I looked at the open window, the billowing curtains beckoned me to go through it; I picked up the suitcase under my arm and headed towards it. There was more banging at the door, but this time it was accompanied by a familiar voice, “Hey Tog, open up, it's me Jason.” He must have followed me back last night. “I left my sunglasses on your dressing table.” Sure enough and as right as rain he was, there was a pair of sleek black shades that hadn't caught my attention before. How did his glasses get inside my room? Suddenly, a flashback. Jason had indeed followed me back last night – Ah, how could my brain have lost so much information? But the memories flooded back as if I had scored the jackpot and retrieved a bunch of items from a lost property office.
Last night, I had run all the way home; in my panic, I hadn't even bothered to turn around and check if anyone was following me. I was splashing water on my face when there was knocking on the door, “Hey Tog, open up, it's me Jason.” I opened the door.
“I hope you don't mind, I followed you all the way back,” he paused to pant and catch his breath, “wanted to check if everything was okay?” His mouth tossed a line of spittle across his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“Oh hey! You're ... uh,” I pretended to search my mind for a name, but was actually wincing at the sight of a swollen zit on his nose which looked ready to explode any minute on it's own accord, “Jason, from the boat, right?”
“Yeah man.” he replied monotonously.
I grinned, “Well come in then, dear boy!” I swept a path in the air to welcome him inside, “Long time no see, I hope you're doing well?”
We had hung out, all night, drinking the bottle of whisky that I kept in my suitcase, and smoking his weed. I knew he would eventually ask my motive for attacking the guy, and when he did after several more full swigs, I told him that I kicked him for farting, we laughed and drank some more. We did some more stuff and I passed out on the floor … Hold on a minute … Did some more stuff, what stuff did we do? I felt my pores prickle with cold sweat. One thing I was sure about was that I didn't do weird stuff, no sir, I'm normal.
Suddenly, the long haired hippy who was standing on the other side of the door, assumed a monstrous appearance inside my mind. He didn't have a beard, but I pictured him with one, holding a floral bouquet and standing with the happiest grin of his life in a white wedding dress. I gagged a bit. “I must do the right thing and open the door.” I said to myself?
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, be right with you, just getting dressed.” Ah, I woke up with my clothes on, so that means nothing happened. I opened the door with a wide grin. “Hi!”
He crept under my arm and went for the sunglasses. He wore them on his head. “You going somewhere?” He noticed the suitcase.
“Depends.” I leaned out into the corridor to check for cops.
“On what?”
“You've been out today, what's the word on the street?”
“Huh?”
“The cops," I closed the door quietly, “they looking for me, right?”
“No.”
“Really?”
He walked over to the window, “nice view,” he restrained the excited curtain, you can really see the street up here now it's daytime.'
“I'm thinking of leaving for Biggadoo City today.”
“Oh, The Forsaken Joy already left port last week – won't be back for another three months.”
“I've got to get out of this place,” a donkey hee-hawed loudly outside, “it's driving me nuts.” For a second, I entertained the idea of throwing a tantrum: go completely wild and start tossing furniture around the room to make Jason feel uncomfortable, and induce a premature departure for us.
He sat on the windowsill, his streamlined face sailing through the breeze which puffed the curtains up once again like sails. “You should go to Biggadoo City,” He pulled out a rectangular tin from his pocket and played with it in his hands, “but I'd like to join you there when I'm done here, is that okay with you?”
to be continued ...
6.09.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 10
A black mass cannoned the door into the publisher, winding him in the process. Robert was suddenly on the ground too. “What the …?” said the publisher as he picked himself up.
A donkey stood in the middle. It was made from dark stained wood and it's varnished gloss rippled reflections as it rotated it's head to examine the surroundings. The creature pulled it's painted red lips into a clown's grin then spoke, “Hi Tog,” Cold polished black stone eyes fixed on me, “it's real good to meet again, I see you have company.”
Robert still on the floor, had assumed a seating position and watched the wooden monster with wide-eyed curiosity as it strode toward him like an amateur clay animation. “ don't like this man,” it said, “he is vain and obnoxious because he cares too much about how others perceive him, but he makes a good servant as he will do anything for money … don't trust him.”
A weight pulled my upper body towards the ground for an instant, I didn't realize what it was until I saw that a sizeable sledgehammer had materialized, quite snugly, into my hands. The tool looked brand new, the Khan brand logo was crisply emblazoned in black on the bright yellow shaft. The metal head glinted like a wink at me. A thought broke into my head like a fat cat burglar squeezing through a window frame. A grin spread like molten cheese across my face. Laughter erupted from my mouth. The donkey had recoiled, eyes exposed like the fear that trembled beneath it's smooth grainy exterior. A shadow writhed over it like a snake and I saw the reflection of a man possessed by madness in the cold stone eyes. There was a loud crack, and wood chips shrapnelled into the air.
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Darkness with a fuzzy orange glow. The sound of car horns and engines, somewhere else. I opened my eyes. I was in my hotel room, lying on the dusty timber floor. A warm morning light invited itself into the room. I couldn't remember how I got back, but the guilt of the previous day's assault on an innocent man nibbled at my conscience – why oh why? The room span for a second as I got to my feet. There was a dusty dressing table, I wiped it's tarnished mirror, then examined myself. Okay, I looked close to mint condition, no visible signs of damage – the body is once again ready for exploration in the physical realm, maybe the other guy was not so lucky; I can't believe I kicked that guy in the butt.
I've got to get out of this place. Can't stay, the local police will be keeping an eye out for me. They probably won't throw me in the slammer, no, they're too smart for that - they don't want scumbag tourists occupying their oh-so-precious jail space. More than likely, they'd be scary horndogs who like to play it cool, but they like to teach out of town troublemakers a lesson that they won't be forgetting too quickly; you know, these moustached guys that join this small town law enforcement are all closet homosexuals anyway, waiting to wreak all those years of pent-up sexual frustration on some poor chap who just had one drink too many.
My stuff! I've got to gather my belongings … that's what they do in the movies, anyway. I grabbed my battered suitcase and threw it on the bed. A colourful assortment of travel labels adorned the case which reminded me that I had been given an “I [heart symbol] Buckaboo!” sticker upon arrival, I pulled it from my back pocket, quickly uncrumpled it, then adhered it in the largest unoccupied area, taking a split second to admire it by tilting my head at a slight angle to one side. I smacked the side of my skull with the palm of my hand, “Think! THINK!” After a momentary pause, I switched into action mode, flipped the suitcase open and flung my clothes into it.
to be continued ...
6.08.2010
6.07.2010
6.01.2010
The Dirty Hamburger Eater
If you must know, I bought an account at DeviantArt http://zombiehellmonkey.deviantart.com/ - I paid my way in, that's the way to do it.
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