jueves, 11 de noviembre de 2010
I had never been kicked out of a home before (save the elderly one..."Sure I'm your grandson..."), that is untill today. Fate has struck yet another cruel blow to my cushioned life, sending goose feathers a flyin’. We was a poison to the house, a menace to the micro-society....a bloody nuisance. Thus, my mentally fragile landlord, emotionally eroded by the constant reminder that he just does not fit, announced:
“I need use your rooms (my compatriot's and mine) for make office and sleep room,” he muttered pathetically to us the other night.
(This space I’ve created here______is reserved for the silence that inevitably followed. Silence is important)
“Ummm, what was that Pablo? You want to use the bathroom? Yes, I presume there is an abundance of loo role; help yourself,” I retorted jovially.
(This space what I´ve created here_____is reserved for the imaginary image of my condescending smile, which I tied on the end of my sentence, like a frilly, patronising ribbon)
“No, I mean say you need leave house soon.”
“Well, well, well Pablo. Firstly, what you have squeaked since sticking your ratty little head around the door has made absolutely no sense....at all. But, because I’m intuitive, I’ve come to realise that when you say you want Lebensraum, you really you just want our raums...and ultimately, our constant absence.”
(This space what I´ve created here_____is reserved for the brooding, man-power look I shot at him. This space what I´ve created here_____is reserved for the Orlando Bloom gaze that actually took place)
“Uhhhh, no no no...I sorry (he wasn’t) but need use rooms for work (he didn’t).”
“Please leave this raum now Pablo. That is all." I shot back at him, eyes on fire, skin ice (ice baby) cold and hair tousled conservatively (political peluquería joke, do I dare?) to the left side ( yes, I do).
So, it has come to pass that after the changing of two glorious seasons and one not so toasty one, I must step down from my throne of Constituciónal power, set aside my sceptre, sheath my sword (weyy, lad on tour) and mount my steed (yes, still on tour). I head to greener pastures and yet I feel an aching remorse in leaving behind those I've come to treasure: my Peruvian castle of fruit and veg, my expeditionary force of recyclers that dwell on the corner, loyal servants to cardboard and aluminium....and last but certainly not least, my high-heeled “nights” of confusion that lift my spirits and feed my ego with their faithful cat-calling. A few shall be bitterly missed, all remembered.
So my moral of an episodic chapter will finish by quoting a dear corner-dwelling friend who, whilst softly smiling, whispered: “Freddie, dip a toe in your neighbour’s bath, the water might well be different...but the feeling’s the same.” Time to pull the plug.
Publicado por F.U.F en 6:56
lunes, 8 de noviembre de 2010
"Ok, I lied. I´m 45, balding and have single-handedly collected the entire series of Star Trek on VHS. I tend to spend my Saturday nights at my taxidermy club; I’ve almost finished glazing the eyes of my last dog, Captain Spok, which died aged 4 (I couldn´t wait another 10 years).
Anyway, you look much prettier in real life than in your photos....call me or send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org. (or I can pop round your house sometime...maybe when you´ve finished refurbishing; I personally preferred the paisley patterned curtains).
Lots of love...for ever,
James (but Captain Spock calls me J-Dog...which I think is ironic).”
This is the kind of message that would ensure an early end to my new career in the world of online dating. Yes, I have a new job. Yes, it’s helping Americans find the recognised counter-part of their soul in another human being....or just to prematurely ejaculate in a motel south of Inbredville, New Milton Keynes. Either way, It’s incredibly rewarding.
“But Freddie, surely this goes against all your values regarding reproduction and the North American population?”
“Interesting repost. Rest assured, oh Satan´s champion of me mind, that my priorities still follow the same beaten track. I’m merely employing a touch of damage control: minimising the percentage of children who´s father is also their first cousin once removed.”
“Oh, ok, fantastic news. Well done.”
“Thank you. I think so.”
You may or may not be interested to hear that my bedside reading has been dominated not by the breathtaking prose of D.H. Lawrence but the exciting proposals and inevitably empty promises of such authors as David DeAngilo and Grant Adams, most famous for his work “Net2Bed”. I’ve also done a little research in this area. I am hoping to release my product, titled “BackstreetPharmacy2BedOrBush”, in the not too distant future. Each to their own eh.
So, laissez faire attitudes to unconsented sex aside, I’m busy helping those that find it difficult to find a balance in their lives. “Being a CEO of two companies, that I started, all before the age of 35, means I often find it hard to mix work and play.” Poor chaps. I believe it’s about helping those in this world that ask for it, not those that most need it, or get someone else to ask for them.....thank you very much Red Cross for tarnishing the precious two minutes I have between episodes of Frasier to be brainwashed by the frilly materialistic trappings of my beautiful Western world.
“Moral of our Monday Morning Story”: Charity starts in The States....but tends to finish in one. Write that down...or click ‘save’ somewhere on your screen (Yes, I’m aware it’s been quite the sibilance session today....and what? I like alliteration, who doesn’t).
Publicado por F.U.F en 9:52