If I were a prison Warden,
I’d be picking up the phone pretty darn quick to see if I could make a deal
with Jack Astor’s Bar & Grill whereby I would take all of the broken
crayons off their hands at no charge.
Instead of pencils or pens, both of which can easily be fashioned into
some sort of weapon to be used against me, I’d give my prisoners the broken
crayons to write letters to home with.
Let’s face it, there isn’t too much damage a prisoner can inflict on me
with a broken crayon, except for maybe the inflammatory comments and drawings
they doodle on the walls of their cells at my expense, but those would cause
more emotional pain than physical, so you have to take the bad with the good I
suppose. A prison Warden needs to
have thick skin, otherwise he’d probably be depressed a lot of the time, what with being
in a place where most of the people don’t like him and all. And every Tuesday afternoon when I go
on my crayon collection run over to Jack Astor’s, I could keep my fingers
crossed thinking that maybe this time they might even throw in some free garlic
bread. I like garlic bread. But if I’m not going to eat it right
then and there, I think I’d ask them to put that garlic butter that they pour
all over it in a little cup on the side, otherwise my garlic bread would get
all soggy, and there’s nothing worse than getting home and opening a container
filled with soggy garlic bread mush.
If I wanted porridge I would have asked for porridge, but I don’t like
porridge, so I probably wouldn’t ever ask for it. I’d much rather have pancakes. But don’t even think about putting fruit into my
pancakes! No way man, I like my
pancakes left alone with no other ingredients getting in the way. Just leave them nice and thick and
spongy so they can soak up all the maple syrup, because the best part of having
pancakes isn’t even the pancakes themselves, it’s the syrup. The pancake is nothing more than a
vessel that transports the maple syrup from my plate to my mouth. Sometimes the maple syrup drips onto my
shirt, and that makes me mad. A
lot of people like to smoke when they’re mad, but not me, I don’t smoke. I think the only reason people even
take up smoking is for the additional work breaks, because really, why else
would they do it? Smoking stinks
and makes your fingers turn yellow, so no thanks I’ll pass. I like to pass drivers who are smoking
as quickly as I can, because for some reason smoker’s drive slowly. Maybe it’s because the car window is
partially open, and they don’t want to mess up their hair. Bald smokers don’t have that problem,
but they do have to wear sunscreen or a hat when they cut the grass. Some people like cutting grass, but I’m
not one of those people. If I was the
prison Warden I’d make the prisoners who were interested in the grass cutting
position submit resumes to me written in crayon, and then hire whoever uses the
green crayon most effectively. I’d
have to be careful though, because the prisoner I hire could try to cut the
grass slowly to maximize his time outdoors, so somehow I’d have to find a way
to eliminate the turtle speed on the riding lawnmower, and rig it so that there
is only the rabbit speed. This
isn’t a Sunday afternoon drive, this is prison, so he needs to get it done
fast. I don’t want the other
prisoners getting jealous and starting a riot. Quiet Riot was a band back in the day, but I don’t know if
there is such a thing as a quiet riot.
Riots are normally loud and out of control, or the equivalent of a big
party, but with periodic violence.
Everybody have fun tonight, everybody Wang Chung tonight! But don’t Wang Chung with nun-chucks,
‘cause that could cause some serious damage. I seem to have gotten off topic. What was I talking about again?
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Smacky Jones: Noisy Eater
There I was, innocently eating my lunch,
when along came Smacky Jones, who upon scanning the room, decided to sit
directly behind me. I don’t know
if Smacky Jones was his real name, but one thing I know for sure, he quickly broke
into my list of Top 5 noisiest eaters I’ve ever had the misfortune of
encountering.
I don’t know why the sound of other people
eating irritates me as much as it does, but it does. At least if people chew with their mouths closed, I can
tolerate them, but Smacky Jones was not a closed mouth chewer. No, Smacky Jones had apparently never
learned table manners at all, and almost appeared to be flaunting that fact. If Honey Boo Boo had a secret older
brother, so unrefined and unable to live up to the high etiquette standard of
that family, who if America even knew existed would bring shame upon Mama and
Sugar Bear, Smacky Jones would be that brother.
Bite after bite, sip after sip, the sounds
travelled, making it feel as though he was mere inches away from my ears. I was left helpless, unable to defend
myself against the sounds of chewing, and the gradual moistening of food in his
mouth. Each smack of his chops,
and each slurp of his lips caused my back to seize up tighter, my eyes cringing
in disgust.
I’m not a violent person, but I must admit,
thoughts of a Smacky Jones shaped hole after I threw him through the plate
glass window went through my head.
Alternatively, I would not have felt the least bit remorseful had a
large black ACME anvil fallen suddenly from the sky, landing directly on top of
his open-mouthed head, or if in his wild feeding frenzy, he unknowingly
ingested a large stick of dynamite, which upon exploding, left his mouth
saliva-free, unable to produce the noises that were bothering me so.
Alas this is not a cartoon, this is real
life, so I got up, and with a quick “Meep Meep!!”, left Smacky Jones to scarf
down the rest of his lunch, well beyond the range of my hearing.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Fifty Shades of Grey
It was just past noon, and there I was,
innocently minding my own business and enjoying a quick bite to eat, when two
flies suddenly decided to land on the hood of my Jeep. I watched for a few moments as they
gracefully danced around one another, before eventually losing interest and
refocusing back on my lunch.
Several bites later, I looked up once more,
surprised to find those same two flies still there. I watched intently, and before long, noticed a change in
their demeanour, that once playful look in their eyes, having now turned to
lust. They moved slowly, but
deliberately closer together. One
male, one female, their intentions became quite clear.
The sunlight glistening off their naked
bodies, the seductive dance continuing a few moments longer until slowly, ever
so slowly, they embraced, wrapping their legs around one another. Their bodies pressed together, she
caressed her chest against his, his hands wandering to wondrous places,
exploring her body, their wings fluttering in ecstasy, as two became one. The male momentarily pulled away, then re-embraced
her, this time mounting her from behind, and with that, began thrusting,
plunging his tiny fly penis deep inside of her.
I looked to my left, then to my right, wanting
to see if anyone else was witnessing this public display of insectual
intercourse. Am I being rude? Should I look away? Unsure of the protocol, I decided to
turn on my radio. To my great
delight, the radio was already set to the special month-long Dave Matthews Band
channel on Sirius. I couldn’t make
this up if I tried, but wouldn’t you know it, the song being played at the time
was “Loving Wings” (not the full band version either, I’m talking about the more
intimate Dave Matthews solo version from the Benaroya Hall show). Seemingly appropriate, I reached over,
and turned up the volume.
“I
give to you my everything, You’ve given me these loving wings…”, I listened
to the tender melody, gently whispering the words inside my head, and as I ate
my the rest of my lunch, watched these two flies going at it doggy-style on the
hood of my Jeep.
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