Yaahbut! Yaahbut!
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Posted:Feb 8, 2008 6:33 pm
Last Updated:Apr 24, 2008 9:35 pm
8015 Views
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I overdrew my checking account by twenty-nine cents today. So I know for a fact that the dollar can't be worthless, cuz that little fraction of a dollar has cost me mucho casholla.
I knew it was going to be close after nursing the truck into the shop a few times last month, but I was almost certain that I could scrape by without a pain in the ass trip to the credit union reserves.
And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for that meddling charge on the check card. A mysterious and previously undisclosed, forty cent charge for foreign currency conversion.
Yeah, I like to run my checking account down to almost the last cent, cuz I like to live on the edge.....of vagrancy and destitution.
But then this fee jumps in and tosses my house of cards about like a single-wide in a Texas Twister. Where did this come from? Was it the Japanese Porn Sites? The Ukranian Chat Strippers? My Swedish Penis Pump tech support calls? How could they do this to me, their greatest fan?
Are my greenbacks no longer worthy of worldly smut?
Well, I just wanted to pass this along so all of you are aware of this threat to your financial stability. Because I want you to go on and be big financial successes; so that I might call upon you in my decrepitude, when I need some cash.
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I'll Just Stick This Here
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Posted:Feb 5, 2008 8:33 pm
Last Updated:Feb 11, 2008 7:07 pm
7636 Views
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Before it has an accident. LMAO
Profile for spinmedown : frog in a blender
Creative, mindless, irreverant, shy, lanky lunatic seeks warrior priestess for bown-chicka bwow bwow
Whatever.....
You see? When you're a frog, life is pretty easy. All you need is a cool place to stay hydrated, three squares a day; and most importantly, you need to keep your keister out of the blender!
Let me go back a bit. I was born a small tadpole in a quaint bog that was, unfortunately, on the wrong side of a rather poorly maintained nuclear power plant. And by "the wrong side" I mean, downstream.
It was a strange and wonderful place to morph, mutate and slightly mature. But sadly, it wasn't to last. They shut the plant down, cleaned up the stream, beautified the bog, and completely ruined the place for a little freak like me. Those Bastards!
So I grabbed my king size bottle of Neutragena and my SPF 50 Bullfrog sunscreen and a can of Red Bull, bid adieu to the bog what had bored me and got the flock outta there.
Landing in the real world after all that red bullshit wore off, I found myself in a strange, new world. A world full of mysteries, hyperboles, metaphores, allegories, blenders, bold-face lies and challenges.
The first challenge was that there weren't any maps, directions, instructions, tourist guidebooks or Zagat Guides to be found. Well, ones that were worth a tinker's fart anyway.
( Insert scary music of your choice here: DUN TA-DUN-DUN...DUNNNNNN or bwon chicka bwow bwow )
What's a frog to do?
My Ideal Person:
I'm probably not the guy you've dreamed about your entire life. Or the one you have decided you wouldn't mind settling for. I'm the one you never knew existed.
I don't want to be the sun. I don't want to be the moon. I want to be that moment when you stop whatever it is you are doing, look up into the sky in the middle of your usual day and see the moon and think, "Hey! I didn't know it could do that!"
Oh yeah, about that blender. How could I forget?
I've pretty much experienced all of the different butttons being pushed and pushed and pushed...except for one.
I'm okay. I got some ointment.
That's such a fucked up word, OINTMENT!! HA HA HA
OINTMENT!!
The lone, unpushed button is?
Survey Says!! --------- blend
BLLLEEENNNND. Does sound kind of smooth. Doesn't it? I think I might like that for a change: to blend.
Why didn't I think of that sooner???
They did name the stupid machine after it. Duh!
Where did all the funny women go?
I usually only correspond with people who post to my blog, but I will make exceptions. You better be exceptional and not a high maintenance, blender drink kind of girl, unless you have a really terrific keister. Might even share the blender and the ointment with you then...
Only took me two and a half years and 10 trys to finish it. 
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5
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VD Haiku Discharge
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Posted:Feb 4, 2008 4:08 pm
Last Updated:Feb 24, 2008 3:12 am
7532 Views
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Dinner cooked so fine
Flowers, candy, lots of whine
No card? End of line!!
.
So des, ne!
On Page 64. LMFAO
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2
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Hatful of Tallow
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Posted:Jan 25, 2008 6:03 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2008 4:56 pm
7943 Views
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I was having a conversation with myself the other day. I had a guest speaker scheduled; but they cancelled at the last minute. These things happen.
The topic for that day's conversation with myself sans guest speaker was mercy and compassion. Okay, I had issues. Topics, I mean. Plural, yeah it was a busy day.
I was wondering with myself about the basis for mercy and compassion. Not plural, we convinced ourself that they are the same thing after much debate. But I'll spare you the details and stick to the schizophrenia. It's more engaging that way.
The basis of both was agreed to be pain threshold. Or to be more precise, as I remind myself, the balance between internal and external pain thresholds.
We had a tough time getting our minds around the concept of an external pain threshold. But the idea that external pain should create a sympathetic internal pain seemed to stick. So we stuck with it. Maybe that's the compassionate mode: awareness of external pain creating internal pain. This requires the ability to step outside of yourself and into another's reality and depends on how deeply rooted you are in your own reality. Given that I'm rather foot-loose with our own reality, this comes rather easy to us. Perhaps too easily.
Strange story: My parents went to Ireland for a week to find me a wife. This search extended into a two week vacation as most of my father's time was spent on business in Sligo leaving my mother to continue the search without his sensible lead. Now I had given Mom strict instructions that she must find me someone who is her complete opposite, and this must have caused her no end of difficulties. And while they were gone, for the entire two weeks to be more exact, the lower ribs on my left side and my right wrist hurt. And I had a headache. I figured it was God's way of letting me know how Adam must have felt, and that I had wasted far too much time jacking off ( rather than looking for a wife ) in His sight. I put the headache down to the onset of malnutrition from having to feed myself for two weeks. So I awaited their return with bated breath and a rumbling stomach, and when they did return I noticed Mom was walking towards the house with a pained expression and a brace on her right wrist. Turns out that they had a nasty accident on the way from the airport to the hotel, a truck or lorry hit them squarely on the side and flipped the rental car over onto its roof while they were in an intersection. Mom spent the entire two weeks in an Irish hospital ( which she actually enjoyed since it made her feel like she was back at Catholic university with the nuns taking care of her ), and they dicided not to tell me because they didn't want to upset me. They also didn't tell me that Great Grandma was dead until after she had been visiting me in my dreams for six months, but that's another strange story for another strange time. But after I realized that I was experiencing sympathetic pains from my Mom's injuries, the pain stopped. So if they had just told me from the start, they could have saved me a boatload of discomfort - not to mention all the guilt about all the jacking off in God's sight. And now Dad's a fugitive from Irish justice, so he can't go back and find me an Irish wife. And I'll be damned if I'll let Mom go without him. ( Dad's an ass-man like me, BTW. So I trust his judgement. )
Okay. Feel free to return to the comic relief portion of the post as needed. I marked it in red for your convenience. Now we'll return to the schizophrenic discussion.
Where were we before we so rudely interrupted ourselves?
Oh yeah. Compassion. You have to be able to experience another's unknown pains to be able to act with compassion. That's the point.
Or to put it more simply:
One must experience internal pain caused by awareness of external pain for compassion to exist. And the depth of this compassion is limited by one's internal pain threshold.
Another Strange Story: I don't have because both my Mom and Big Sis have manic depression. Mom was in her manic phase all the way up until my sixteenth birthday, then she went depressive. Deep, dark cave depressive. Scary shit, would cry her eyes out every time she saw me. Big Sis' bout hit about two years prior to that. She always seemed like a moody bitch anyway, and I was kinda pissed that now she had an excuse. I'm kidding...it was a really crappy time. And it made me wonder if I was next. I spent quite a few years closely monitoring every single emotion I felt and analyzing it to see if it had any validity. So I developed kind of a mind within a mind to oversee the operations, logical and chemical, of the original mind. I didn't smile much. I didn't laugh much. I didn't feel much.
After a few years of this, I decided it wasn't much of a way to live; so I tried to kill myself.
It didn't take. But it did kill off most of the overseer mind within my mind, so I learned how to laugh, and feel and smile again. And I learned to be appreciative for everything I felt, good or bad. And to smile at both almost equally. And looking back, way back, I realized that I used to have sudden horrendous bouts of crying for no reason while I was in grade school that ended with the onset of puberty and acne. So acne never really bothered me unless I ate too much coconut and got a huge zit right in the crack of my ass that I couldn't pop. Those suck. So I figured I was off the hook, and the shrinks told me I was fine and only bumming cuz I figured out that life sucks at a young age. Oh yeah. The point of all this is that I never wanted to have because I couldn't bear the thought of passing along this stuff to another generation. I didn't think I was strong enough to bear watching someone else go through what I had, and knowing that I was to blame for their misunderstood anguish. I was too chicken. But now Big Sis and Favorite Sis have Ella-girl...
And shit! I should have had .
Okay. That wasn't so comic, but it was a relief for me to finally get that out. It's good. I'm fine. How are you? Go read the red story again. HA..can you see me with an Irish wife?
She'd kick my ass.
Now we're gonna talk about mercy. If you followed us thru the compassion part of this little, schizo episode, you should have a grasp of our idea of external and internal pain thresholds. Now to understand mercy you will need to follow along as we discuss balancing of one's internal and external pain thresholds.
Or to put it more simply:
Causing external pain must result in an equivalent level of internal pain for mercy to exist. And again this is limited by one's internal pain threshold.
If you aren't able to experience pain internally from the pain you inflict externally, then you're a mean person. Mean people suck.
But I know that everyone also has one of those impartial overseer minds within their mind that is aware of the pain that they cause externally and feels it internally even though their original mind isn't aware of it.
But it still affects them.
What you create, comes back to you.
It's called karma. I believe in karma.
What was the point of all this?
I need to hold my niece. We have good karma.
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Alas & Allay
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Posted:Jan 10, 2008 8:53 pm
Last Updated:Feb 9, 2008 5:43 pm
7572 Views
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Alas: and the sheets skittered
Allay: and the pillows pounced
Alas: and the mattress meandered
Allay: and the frame flounced
Alas: and the floor fidgeted
Allay: and the walls wiggled
Alas: and the ceiling cavorted
Allay: and the roof rambled
Alas: and the clouds careened
Allay: and the sky shambled
Alas: and the galaxy giggled
Allay: and the universe ululated
Alas: and the won wondered
Allay: and are we through?
Alas: and are we two?
Allay: and are we done?
Alas: and are we one?
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6
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High Tea at The Ritz
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Posted:Jan 7, 2008 8:05 am
Last Updated:Feb 4, 2008 11:09 am
7651 Views
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You really shouldn't take me just anywhere.
Everything and everyone was just so and so.
Conversation was light and breazy.
Tea was served: mine, Earl Gray - neat.
Nice service. Royal Doulton?
Conversation was light and breazy.
What's this? Toast?
Scratch it with my fingernail. Nothing.
Look around for a clue. Nothing.
Conversation was light and breazy.
Well. Okay. I touched it. I guess I have to take it.
Gingerly picking it up, cool and hard and smooth, and plinking it onto the edge of my saucer.
Conversation was light and breazy.
Well. It's mine now: whatever it is.
Plink, plink against the saucer. Clink, clink agains the cup.
Conversation was light and breazy.
What's with the big-ass crouton?
Did I say that out loud? I feel a draft.
Had a certain affinity for them ever since....
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3
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The Headless Horseman
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Posted:Jan 4, 2008 7:45 pm
Last Updated:Mar 31, 2008 8:12 pm
7780 Views
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I've been on this site for a few years now. I've met a few people from here in person: socially - never for sex. Even when they stayed the night: fun times - never for sex.
Most of my time here is blogs, profiles, cams and chats. I feel more like a researcher than a rake; gathering information about the site and how and why people interact here - getting the lay of the land, so to speak. Ha!
I finally have to admit: I think women are completely in control when it comes to sex. Seriously. Women have complete and utter control over sex. Strange thing to admit, probably. I didn't want to believe it after thinking for so long that men and women played an equal part in controlling sex.
I'm doing a really bad job of explaining this, aren't I? I'm still working on it myself.
Maybe this will help....
It takes two to tango.
True enough. One person tangoing would be....pacing with flair?
Now during this tango, the man leads. Or does he?
Is leading the same as controlling?
Okay. Let's back up to the point right before said tango.
Who proposes the tango, and who decides if proposed tango will take place?
The man makes the proposition.
And the woman makes the decision.
She's in control of the moment, and then she deftly hands control back to the man during the dance to minimize bruising to both his ego and her toes.
Much more sensible than her shoes.
But sex is much more complicated than tangoing.
Or is it?
I've always had a sneaking suspicion that every woman knows within the first few seconds of sighting a man whether or not she will ever have sex with him.
I've seen the look, even before I've reached the second syllable of "Hello", that tells me that some sort of decision has been reached. Something off topic, but still worthy of judging, has been comfortably and neatly settled - once and for all.
I see the look, and then it's up to me to decide if I want to take up the reins and start the chase to find out what it is.
I really wouldn't mind if they just told me - just a, "By the way...", aside would do nicely. I wouldn't be offended. Honest.
"Oh. Thank you for letting me go ahead of you at the ATM.... and I wont be having sex with you in this lifetime. But you can stare at my ass all you want while I get my cash. That's very nice of you."
I wouldn't mind. It actually happened once here. I got an email from a lady, and the first line read, "I don't want to have sex with you". She's probably my favorite person to chat with to this day.
Such a flirt!!
But if I want to know what that look means, I have to take up the reins and make my move. At this point, I'm in control. I can stay and play or lead myself home and forget about it.
If I make my move, I effectively hand the reins over to her. And I have a good hunch that she already knows whether she will haul the reins back and stop me in my tracks or give me some slack and let me run with it.
So she's definitely in control.
But there's still a good ways to go.
I know a lot of this depends on subtleties and interpretations and misinterpretations and such. And depending on the ultimate destination and the route taken, the reins can get handed back and forth many,many times.
I think it mostly has to do with thoughts like:
"What would he think of me if he knew I wanted to screw him the instant I saw him?"
"I wanted to feel like I'd been seduced."
"Men will screw any woman they see. I want to know that he thinks I'm special."
"He has to take me."
"If he only had a clue...."
I'm sure there are many more.
I've had the process take anywhere from a few hours after getting her number to the better part of a decade.
The destination was the same, but the journey.....AHH, The Journey.
Okay. I think I know why it has to be this way.
Men would definitely botch the journey.
Wont even ask for directions.
I saw that look!! WTF?
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5
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Rocking the Cradle
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Posted:Dec 29, 2007 7:35 pm
Last Updated:Feb 12, 2008 3:50 pm
6956 Views
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I thought I was on to a sure hit with the T shirt I got my baby niece for Christmas.
Although Big Sis and Favorite Sis got a kick out of it, they thought it might get their girl in some trouble.
Obviously I have a few things to learn about being an uncle. Been a blast so far.
My favorite bib to date, "All Mommy Wants for Christmas is a Silent Night", worn by Ella during the festivities.
The Kiddy's Table is a Moveable Feast.
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4
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The Emporer's New Macy's Card
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Posted:Dec 18, 2007 5:21 pm
Last Updated:Feb 12, 2008 3:51 pm
7646 Views
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Been a while since I reviewed the drivel that passes for my profile here. Last time I changed things around, I noticed that they had deleted my original sexual fantasy short essay extravaganza.
Kind of pissed me off, to tell you the truth.
It was the only part of my profile that I actually liked. Now it's gone. I've been stewing about this for a while and also procrastinating, so I guess I have been crockpotting about this for a while now.
What the hell? I'll rewrite it here where I have some more control over its fate....and many,many more people can read it. And I can torment my loyal readers with it.
First off, the entire "Where do you fantasize about having sex and who with?" questions had me stumped for a while. I really don't have any sort of sexual fantasy stuck in my craw. No, "Jenny Lindermuller under the bleachers during the pep rally", nonsense lingering about and maturing into anything else.
So the fantasmal fornification fixation concept was a new treat for me.
The locations were kind of unusual, and most were place that I wouldn't dream of going: in a dark alley, tramping about in a boxcar, cuffed in the back of a police car, lost in a shotgun shack on the wrong side of the tracks, locked in a morgue during a thunderstorm induced power-outage, receiving sanctuary in a convent during a cholera outbreak, rafting thru a gator infested malarial swamp. So my choices were easily narrowed to either under a waterfall or in a store dressing room.
The waterfall kind of intrigued me, and I guess I'm not the only one. I've seen it on so many different profiles. I think most people must think Blue Lagoon with its lush, tropical foliage, and the sparkling water from a deep, crystaline aquifer that's charcoal filtered by the volcanic ash and warmed by the sun until it splashes over a cliff into a secret grotto with a sugarfine, sandy bottom. I have to admit, that's a prime location for some heavy petting.
But when I think waterfall: I think of North Georgia waterfalls. Especially since South Dakota doesn't have any waterfalls. It's too flat there, unless you want to count the water spilling over the Muskrat Dams. Which isn't romantic in the least: "Hey, baby. Let's get it on down by the muskrat dam. You know. Where the water splashes over the dam, and the bullhead fishing is always so good", does nothing for me. Although it did inspire a rather popular song back in the '70s. A song that also does nothing for me.
So when I think of waterfalls, I think of muskrat dams and clear mountain streams tumbling over and down the sides of ancient cliffs. Now the mountain streams have their own problems - which fortunately don't include the risk of rabid muskrat attacks or stepping on any bullhead spines - mainly being; mountain folk, temperature, and sliminess.
Now the mountain folk are actually pretty cool. Most are kindhearted souls that tend to warm up rather slowly to strangers. And one of the absolute hottest babes I have ever met is a five foot tall, mountain girl with gorgeous, silky tresses, soft brown mischevious bedroom eyes, a perfect ass and tits in seperate zip codes. Add to that a very sensuous Hillbilly Drawl, the sound of which gets me hard halfway her saying "hello" - that would be somewhere between the second and third syllables for those of you who have never heard a hillbily before. The only downside to all this would probably be the men-folk and the shotguns.
The temperature of the mountain stream is probably somewhere in the mid-forties. Not exactly optimal for gettin'-it-on. I remember attempting sex once in chilly water; and even though erections are no problem, having the scrotum drawn up tighter than the skin of a drum is a problem.
Ejaculation is out of the question.
And having hiked around my fair share of North Georgia waterfalls, I know one thing for certain: the two most dangerous places on any trail are near the bottom and the tops of waterfalls. Something about the conditions there is optimal for the growth of slime algaes. And not just any slime algaes, the absolute slimy slipperiest of all algaes. How slimy and slippery, you ask? On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being owl shit on a doorknob: it's a 9.9. With 10 being eggnog on a freshly waxed floor and you're carrying a case of Martini and Rossi Asti Spumante out to your car. Anyway, I know there is absolutely NO way to have sex under a North Georgia mountain stream waterfall, even if her kinfolk try to help. You're in for a nasty spill.
And since I knew there was no way I'd ever be able to spirit her off to a tropical isle where we could explore our budding sexuality together in the secure confines of a secret grotto complete with tepid, charcoal filtered, sun-dappled water and sugarfine sandy bottoms and production film and sound crews; I figured I should play it safe and hope for the store dressing room.
I know where a few of those are, and they are reasonably close by. And we probably get the same sales flyers sent to us in the mail.
So...uh....here's a rewrite of my original, sexual fantasy. The one that was deleted when they changed the profile format.
Shit! How did it go? Been a while since I wrote it. I'll see if I can bang it back out again.
Cue: foggy, flashback, fade out and fade back in - without the spinny, toilet bowl flushing effect that makes me have to pee and a little queasy.......
I hate shopping for clothes with a passion. Jeans are the worst. How can there be so many choices? And how can it be so hard to find the right size? I used to be a 32 waist and a 34 inseam before the entire fashion world went insane. I could walk in, pick up a pair of Levis, make sure they were the right size and not button fly, race evryone to the counter, pay, and be driving away in twenty minutes flat. Wash'm, dry'm and be wearing them an hour and a half later.
Life was simple. Life was good.
Now I walk in and there are endless racks with shelves of jeans of every imaginable descripton as far and as high as my tunnel-vision can see.
Washed, faded, distressed, ripped, shredded, tattered, chunked, scattered and smothered. Classic, boot cut, relaxed, loose. The choices are completely baffling, and now I have to spend at least an hour trying different combinations of styles and sizes to find something that fits comfortably and doesn't mak me look even more ridiculous.
I gather up arm-loads of jeans and haul them off to the dressing rooms to be counted and scrutinized and assigned my billet of tentative trousing. Too short, too tight, too long, too low, too splitting, too freakin' weird: trying on each carefully selected bundle of jeans without success. Finally I give up on matching the length to my shoes and I leave my shoes off as I make my way back and forth with alternating armfuls of hope and disappointment. By now the fitting room attendant has granted me squatter's rights to my fitting room and given up on her once reassuring attention.
This is maddening. I'm in a frenzy of disbelief. Looking back over previously searched shelves for that magic combination of cool and comfort. Shelf after shelf. Row after row. Finally I stop. I notice the silver gleam of a needle stuck in the carpet by my foot. There's a hole in my socks, and I can see the tip of my big toe thru it, right by the needle. I sigh. At least I didn't find the needle in the haystack the hard way. I chuckle. This sucks. I need some help.
I walk around to the far side of the last row of shelves. I catch sight of a sudden movement in the corner of my eye. Looking up and over the top of the previous row, I see light brown hair smoothly settling to frame an intriguingly atractive face above shoulders clad in red gingham.
How long has she been behind me? How many of my sighs must she have heard by now? I barely stifle a chuck. At the sound, she looks up and gives me an amused half smile, a slight twinkle in her soft brown eyes.
Twinkling with what? Mercy? Mischief?
I look down at the hole in my sock and my heart beats faster. Sigh
Oh yeah. The punchline is: Why are you looking for jeans? You need shoes....and socks.
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Told Yah So, English.
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Posted:Dec 17, 2007 7:12 pm
Last Updated:Dec 17, 2007 7:16 pm
6520 Views
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Felt curiously nostalgic today. That's curiosity that resulted in nostalgia or maybe the other way 'round. Or maybe I just felt nosey.
I really do wonder about you people.
And I like it. 
.....
I did some serious back reading and linking to try to gather a few pieces of a puzzle together, something I wonder about once in a while.
I was very pleased with what I found. And pretty sure that I put the pieces together the right way.
.....
I had a friend here.
We were in similar situations.
We gave each other a lot of good advise.
We gave each other a really bad time.
.....
I told her to stay with him.
She didn't want to hear it.
She told me to leave her.
I didn't want to deal with it.
.....
Looks like we were both right.
Thank You and Congratulations, Wherever-Whoever You Are.
.......
-Closure of Happy Story-
No bridges were harmed in the writing of this post and none were rebuilt.
This is just for me, so have a Pringle or a sip of Dr. Pepper and nod.
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300
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Posted:Nov 29, 2007 1:30 pm
Last Updated:Dec 15, 2007 8:12 pm
7154 Views
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WOW
What a Movie!!
I did 9 sit ups
and 8 push ups
and practiced my mean stare in the mirror --23 SECONDS without blinking
I shall take my sack of meally apples to Wally World!
None shall bar my parking space!
No line shall hold at the courtesy counter!
I wont come home unless I'm carrying my refund!
GRAAWWWWP!!
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Can't Elope
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Posted:Nov 28, 2007 1:32 pm
Last Updated:Dec 17, 2007 4:27 pm
6803 Views
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When heaven's gates
are wisely barred.
And moonful skies
are roughly starred.
And fleshy tithes
are deeply scarred.
And passion's needs
are smartly jarred.
And fatal flaws
are justly marred.
And Wooden Folks
are straight and true.
And arrow's flight
takes me'n you.
runaways
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Alien Abduction Thanksgiving: nogginlogue 7
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Posted:Nov 23, 2007 5:51 pm
Last Updated:Jan 6, 2008 4:00 pm
7330 Views
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previously: Alien Abduction Thanksgiving nogginlogue 6
Note: end of series finally in this post - series begins:
...here: Alien Abduction Thanksgiving prologue
I continued to strut as nonchalantly as possible down the hall towards the door with the plaque that said, Human Resources. I was stopped in midstrut as my shoulders were grasped firmly from behind.
"Not so fast, pal."
"Yeah. You just sit right here and cool your jets."
I was dragged backward until my shoulder blades were pressed firmly against the wall by the well dressed, gurny pushing goons. I wasn't going to let them get the best of me this time either. Not after I'd come so far. Squinting my eyes and furrowing my brow, I "................"
"Oh, don't even.... SIT."
"Yeah! Sit, pea-shooter!"
They continued to press me against the wall as a small platform slid out from the wall at about knee-level. They walked away leaving me sitting there alone on the cold metal of the little platform, my cheeks flushed with rage. They continued down the hall until they reached the mop bucket. They opened the door beside it; leaving me completely alone as they walked into the Employee Lounge.
I don't know how long I sat there in that hallway, with its white walls, its white tiled floor, and its soft lighting provided by glowing overhead panels. Just me, all alone with the vaguely familiar music providing my only diversion.
Eventually, I heard a door open and saw the well dressed janitor walk out of the Employee Lounge. His black tie brushed the floor as he stooped to retrieve his mop. He stood back up and placed it into the mop bucket, swished it around for a while, removed the excess water with the strainer and resumed his mopping of the hallway. I watched him repeat this countless times as he moved closer and closer to me, slowly leaving the white tiles behind him gleaming in the soft light.
I sat and watched. I felt no animosity towards him. He was merely doing his job, and doing it well. I waited until he was close enough for me to possibly engage him in a bit of polite conversation and cleared my throat softly. He continued mopping.
"............" He continued mopping.
I chanced a soft, "hello?" He continued mopping. I waited until he was directly in front of me and switched tacts, "You do a great job around here. This place is absolutely spotless."
He stopped, stood up, and looked at me as he leaned on the handle of his mop. "Thanks. You know what they say about cleanliness..."
Glad to finally have someone to converse with, I laughed, "Yeah. True enough. Say! I wouldn't really have... you know... the whole shit storm thing...not really... just....wanted you to know. Hope I didn't upset you." He continued to look at me, no expression showing on his face.
"You know. Reallllly wanted to avoid the...you know. And it worked. And no harm done, so it's all good. Right? I guess we showed them who's boss around here!" He continued to look at me, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. I was on to something here. Maybe I could get some answers from him.
"Yeah! And I sure showed them I wasn't gonna be their puppet with the Spirograph. I bet I shook them up pretty good letting them know what a fight they had in store if....."
With the same smile, "The Crop Circles. We prefer them to have that 'human' touch. Seems they have much greater appeal and acceptance. Wont they be surprised when they see them?"
"Sonnuvabitch" but continuing out loud, "Well. Maybe they will, but I bet they'll be grateful not to have any exploding, mind controlling Fusion Powered Toaster Ovens cluttering up their counters until D'day. How ya gonna destroy us with Teflon Shorty Shorts?"
Continuing to smile, "Ahhh. We were very pleased with your choice of parting gift. Those Toaster Ovens are hella pricey! This will probably be the last time we offer them to our guests. You could have chosen more than one gift.....most everyone else did."
"Sonnuvabitch" but continuing in a steady voice, "Well. Yeah. I'm not really into material stuff.... But, hey! Their little propaganda scare tactics with the movie. Planting subconcious seeds of powerlessness. Hoping we'll surrender without a fight. All that blasting and decapitating durnt scare us, not one bit! Promise me you wont use the singing and dancing in the streets to destroy us. That's inhumane!"
Hoping to keep my deception going.
His smile deepened, "Now, sir. There's no need for any reverse psychology here. We were glad to see that you checked "Greatly Like" by Musicals. We're hoping to bring them back and move entirely away from Sci-Fi and its budget-busting special effects. You should be seeing a new "Grease / West Side Story" combination musical in theatres soon. All those famous-singer-or-dancer-wannabe extras are dirt cheap to employ."
"Sonnuvabitch!!!" but I tried to sound nonplussed as I said, "I can imagine. So that means...."
Still smiling, he reached down to the opposite side of the mop bucket, grabbed a small sign that read "Do not disturb" and hung it on the door to the room with the Human Resources plaque on it.
Then he picked up the mop, replaced it in the bucket and gave me one last smile.
"You're missing the orgy."
Slack-jawed, I stared at him as he pushed the mop bucket back down the hall.
"SONNUVABITCH!!"
"I heard that...."
-- The End --
For Douglas Adams and his Guide that took me places I had never imagined before. Thank you!
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