You're In the Way

You're in the way of my car. Did you think they made the sidewalk just for you? They didn't. They made it for me. Please remove yourself from my sidewalk. I have places to go and things to see, and I don't need to be pulling your teeth out of my bumper.

You Dare Defy Me Hot Cocoa?

How dare you defy me hot chocolate. I put a cup under the spigot and you were suppose to fill the cup and not just throw hot chocolate over the counter while Southern people called me 'Miss' and pointed at you. Naughty, naughty hot chocolate. Adding one more thing to my list of ever growing things that I must accomplish in a short period of time. Yet you choose to make a mockery of me and just run all over the place and dribble down the counter onto the shelf.

I don't even want to talk to you hot chocolate.

Snooooow Angeeeeeeels

How now white snowflake. You flutter from the sky and hit me in the eye as I look up. Do you think that's fair? Do you think that's right? No. No it's not. Fluffy little bastard. I bet you're just trying to control my mind like a weather pattern. Well you'll get no satisfaction from me! You will not control my mind no Siree-Bob. You can't own me snowflakes. You can't call my soul your little play toy. I will not be a puppet to your mockery!

I wanted to make a snow angel on someone's car. I told him there was enough snow to do it. Funny thing was, I think he would have let me.

The Way of the Hunter

Inspiration is an odd thing. Often it is fleeting and I am too lazy to give chase. One wishes they had a bow and arrow with which to immobilize inspiration so that you could catch up to it much easier. Ah! That's it. A holding trap for inspiration. I shall set up a little hiding place in the tree. I will set a holding trap. When inspiration wanders through, I shall jump down and catch it. You shall not run from me fleet footed inspiration! I am the mighty hunter. You shall cower before me.

Sometimes time interferes with inspiration. For an artifact of man, time sure gets in the goddamned way. I won't waste time on a holding trap for time. I'm simply going to smite it and be done with it. I will raid it's corpse and I will have all the time in the world.

Lots of time. Inspiration held. I will have myself a ball.

Sewing Chaos and Discord

An open letter to one Mr. Roving Jack:

I have sewn Chaos (or Discord. I think perhaps it's Discord. I should ask it.) "Discord" is sitting on my book shelf waiting to be introduced to you come our next Saturday night gathering. There are 'others' waiting in my mind to be expressed as another little cloth effigy. The biggest nuisance was trying to find the little plastic pellets to stuff it into three dimensions.

Ha... I may take up a Deviant Art account yet...

Thine Eye... Mein Pickleforken

And so we meet again my friend. Again, again, again... Last time we spoke, your words were as pleasurable as a cheese grater rubbed on road rash with lemon juice. How it brings joy to my eyes! I feel myself swoon. Imagine my surprise and elation to see you peering from your car at me. Your bright blue eyes like great saucery moons of twin hatred. I sense a certain amount of resentment aimed at me from your general direction. Come now... How hurt I feel that you would choose to feel this way about your dearest new friend! I cry myself to sleep a thousand times to learn that you do not like me.

Oh weep and lament!! My heart seeps with untold animousity. My soul tears into a thousand sad little faces that you should be angry at me... because I wouldn't give you an employee discount at my drive-thru. Can you ever forgive me blessed peach of the sun?? Would it help if I whipped myself soundly? Oh dastardly days! I know that it matters not to you that you do not actually find employment within my establishment. And perhaps you believe that by wearing your work hat I shall be impressed. Oddly... upon contemplation I am not impressed. I only find myself entertaining thoughts of pickleforks and your twin moons of hatred.

I smile with smug enthusiasm in your direction and utter the most important phrase in history "Bring it on."

Durty Durty Gurl

Oh dirty mind. How you think things that shouldn't be thought. How you get me in trouble. You're in it behind my back with my mouth. Making me say perverse things. Do you really want to get me in trouble??

Yes you do.

I can tell.

And what do people really do with a dozen heated jelly munchkins in a lonely motel at night? You can't tell me that I am the only one who would come to that conclusion.

Dear MF, You parked in my spot

Dear Mother Fuck,

You parked in my spot. Maybe you didn't realize that you were part of that "Non-permit vehicles will be towed at owner's expense"? Perhaps it was just an over-sight on your part? Maybe if you took a look around? Hm... What's different about your vehicle? You know the part where everyone has a sticker? Oh? That's an oversight. Maybe you're just being a rebel. They issued you a permit, but you're one of those kids that refused to color in the lines and conform. The kid that painted their skies green and their grass blue- just because you didn't march to the conformist drummer? Maybe you just want to be different: just like everyone else?

Well you see my face bitch? I'm not amused. Not in the least bit. I have to get up fucking early in the morning because you can't walk your fucking ass from the front of the building to the side. All because you're visiting someone. I'm having to park in a parking garage. Maybe I can find a sex offender in it. I can park my car and get diddled by a pervert- just because you want to fucking park in my space. Oh... what? You didn't see my name on it? You're right. I get carried away. I'm sorry Mother Fuck. My bad. It doesn't really have my name on it. I only have a fucking permit and you don't.

Suck the shit out of my ass bitch. I hope your fucking tires turn into squares during the night. And your car turns into a block of limburger cheese. People will know you're a Mother Fuck that parks in permit parkings spots then. Won't you feel stupid in your stink wagon. Asshole.

I hope your night sucks.

-Permit Parker

Training Day

Oh grand and glorious training day! How I've looked forward to you for so long. Dwindling away on nights I am! 'Tis most foul. My soul cries and laments over my lost days! Weep I say! Weep! Though the night 'tis quite dark, I find that I may not traverse it alone. I am not alone, for I have Shane to keep me company.

I digress most egregiously. 'Tis training day as I hath said before. This brave warrior shall don her armor of Dunkin's splendor. Standing radiantly before the statue of my Creamer Gods. I will say a minor prayer before showing my young acolyte the ways of the Dunkin craft. These words echo forth upon the night time wind:

Ye shall know how to take it.
Ye shall know how to make it.
Ye shall know how to ring it.
Ye shall know how to greet it and send it forth.
Ye shall know the what 'tis right.
Ye shall know what 'tis wrong.
For if thou dost forgeteth; thy job shall be terminated.

These are the says of the wise ones.

Serendipitydooda

I have a better sense of going home. I walk into the new place and think to myself "Yeah... I think I can finally settle in". I hope I'm right. This has been the bumpiest year of my life. Year #30 has been asssssanine. Irony if you believe in it would deliver me to apartment #30. I believe you would say serendipitous Mr Roving Jack.

Only 14 more days until the end of the year. Fate? What sort of laughter do you have in store?

Hark! I Hear Thy Boxes!

Boxes great and small, are sitting in the apartment hall. In a new place to call my own, an apartment with residents unknown!

Boxes, boxes everywhere! Packed and shipped and fully equipped... With what? I'm not sure. Oh how I tire of theeeeee moving!

If only I were a tree. I could sway gently in the breeze. The breeze, the breeze... oh how gentle and remorseful thou art!

Stupid boxes. If you had an ass I would kick it.

Boxes and boxes of petrified oxes...

Hm.

I Want to Be a Super Hero

If I were a super hero it would give me an excuse to wear spandex. Something super stretchy that people must by law forgive because you're saving humanity's ass. Oh yes, I'd wear fucking spandex. I'd wear thigh-high boots. And I'd have a super power that would allow me to defeat all the evil in the world. I'd even have a super hero name. I'd be Captain Fistfuck. Everything has an ass right? Everyone evil has one. They don't expect it. People of an evil persuasion would see me in my lycra and say "Well that's a super hero! You won't defeat me! *evil laughter*" I'd fix my steely blue eyes upon them and place my hands upon my hips in a heroic way. A sudden wind would come up and blow my cape about me. I would smile and say "You want to bet?" Then of course I'd laugh triumphantly. I'd raise a fist and they'd think I was going to hit them. Instead I'd just run behind them and shove my fist up their ass. I can see it now... Those exciting little bubbles you see in comic strips during action sequences. You can see "POW!" and "OOF!" in exciting little jagged bubbles.

Take that evil! Score five fingers for the home team! Make way for Captain Fistfuck.

Hello I've Come to Admire

I look at you from a distance and wonder just what it is you're thinking. It's probably not what I'm thinking. Which is probably a good thing. My mind is a wonderful gutter filled with dirty desires and sentimental attachments. It's a playground of good and evil. It sores to thoughts of love and drops to acts of lusty depravity. I doubt you're thinking as I do. When I see you at work, you're so intent on your actions. I'm sure you're really not thinking about work, but I suspect you're not thinking of me. That's okay, I'm thinking enough for the two of us. When you come to the place that I find my monetary situation growing by the hour, you're nice to me and make me smile. You're lucky there is a window or counter between the two of us... and security cameras... and a lot of people watching... Well... actually that probably only adds to the kinky play of thoughts in my head. No, I guess you're mostly just lucky there is a counter and/or a window that keeps me from you. There's no telling what might happen if you were to say "yes!" Alas... it's not meant to be. I can day-dream about you, and night dream too. It will never be. What ever 'being' happens to 'be' that is. You are only there for my thoughts and nothing more. I will never tell you what I'm thinking or how I feel when I see you. Even in jest. I will just serve you coffee like I do and we'll call it just a fantasy.

Shaped Like the World

It has come to my attention that I must be expecting. How lucky for me! How wonderful indeed! Throw a shower in my honor as is customary. But wait... I am not expecting. No. No I'm merely plump Madam. A chubby little girl who looks somehow worse in a uniform. Alas! Cruel world! How could you do this to me!?

It is simple really when you know how.

Amazing; is it not? Amazing when a complete stranger may gaze upon you and say these words "Oh, you're expecting?" Me? No... "Oh but I was looking at your stomach" Oh? Okay... It's $1.72... I'm not expecting, I am slouching very badly as this window is shorter than I am. "Have a nice day"

As I think to myself... are you serious? Should I ask you an ignorant question too? Should I say "Are you thinking of opening a hotdog stand? That's a mighty package of franks you've got hidden under your second chin". Or perhaps... "Pregnant? Yes. I will give birth to the twins Hatred and Malice. They will destroy all mankind starting with.... you..." Piffle I say.

I am merely shaped like the world... Round and filled with water. There are people constantly on my backside and tumults forever surrounding me.

To you; lady in the car I leave these words from a world shaped like me.... Ball sweat.

Swear Your Fecality

It is worth mentioning that occasionally I too can be disturbed by something. My mind can mull over something and reach the conclusion: well this is fucked. What should have been a break from the mundanicity of work proved to be a study in... well... that "OH DEAR GOD!!!"

Bow low before the porcelain God. Offer your brown libations at the nearest bowl. Behold! For I have seen the face of evil. Foul and wretched it is.

I never realized that there are times when it appears that someone cannot stop shitting. I mean... One can understand that sometimes you have to go, then go again. This does not seem the issue. But to fill half a toilet bowl with something resembling a rather thick batter? Insanity has taken hold of my rectum! Or someone else's as the case is in this instance. I spied before me a bowl filled with butt batter. The toilet could not flush; as it was saying "I can only take so much from you!" Armed with cleaning supplies and my trusty fecallic wand, I proceeded to attempt to dislodge the evil spirit possessing the modern chamber pot. I think I threw up a little in my mouth. I averted my gaze momentarily and swore a great blue oath. I steeled myself and returned to my task most heinous. It was then that I made note that this... this foul ass expulsion seemed filled with shreds of baby carrot. The horror!

It was not quite over with. On the floor was a paper of some length befouled with this brown atrocity. The shame! How could thou defilest the floor with thy ass batter?! I cleaned the floor. But wait! There was more! On the ring of chamber pot perching, there was still more! And the wall was a veritable spattering of arcane and evil glyphs besmudging the textured paper of the wall. The shame! Lament! Cry to the heavens! How could thou have done such a deed! I cry a foul on thy name vile contaminator!

I emerged triumphant; and settled my nerves with another 20 ounces of espresso laden coffee. Perhaps only to get the taste from my mouth. Real or imagined.

My day in Mundania.

Migration of the Alcs

The herds of alcs begin to move at 10 pm each night. The migration usually lasting until it is 3am. The alc is a curious creature that stumbles around in the parking lot, hoots uncontrollably and occasionally vomits on the doorstep. I pray for hunting season.

Alcs apparently also enjoy listening to music. Often their arrival is signaled by loud music and people yelling "Turn the fucking radio down! My kids are sleeping!" or "Knock it off! I'm trying to fucking sleep!"

The horn of the alc isn't particularly an interesting prize to collect. It generally sounds like a car horn and often it is sounding repeatitively due to it's car alarm nature.

Alcs also enjoy throwing bottles and cans all over the place. Thankfully they've learned the interesting art of recycling. They recycle boxes that hold 24 cans, boxes that hold 6 bottles, boxes that hold pizza and of course their living room lamps which do not have shades big enough to wear on a standard sized human head. From a visual appearance, an alc looks exactly like a human. They can easily be mistaken for one. Alcs generally can be differentiated by several factors. 1.) Often they smell like breweries when they are migrating. 2.) Their personal choices can be a touch iffy 3.)They can stop drinking any time they want; they choose not to- as it's not a problem. There are other details to differentiate alcs.

Police seem to also enjoy hunting alcs. Particularly during their migration period. Sometimes they take an alc to a place where they can get their name, address and other personal information. Sometimes alcs even spend the night in these places. And sometimes the police give alcs a ride to their migration point. What an interesting way to hunt them!

I hope that my little article helped out for those who were confused about Alcs.

Teeth are for Yanking

Or so I have found... Teeth are for yanking. Yanking isn't just for legs anymore. Pull a tooth! It's quite fun. I'll be willing to bet you've not pulled a tooth out since you were a kid wiggling one back and forth in your mouth. My last baby tooth was removed by me yesterday. I thought perhaps I should maybe make some sort of Eulogy. So here it is... Ode to my tooth...

Oh little tooth of mine; you saw me past the age of nine. You were there for everything; though you never helped me sing. Little tiny tooth of child; sitting there looking so small and mild. You were ripped straight from my head; some time yesterday before I went to bed. I will miss you so; but it was time for you to go. Oh little tooth of mine; in my memories you'll always shine.

Randomly Laughing At the Nude Public

I think people must be ultra polite or maybe they're just scared. No one mentions it when I'm randomly laughing about things at work. Maybe they're just afraid I'll share with them? Who knows.

I think I must smile more than I think I do. Or I'm good at plastering a close semblance. Either that or they're laughing at the short kid. Could be any of those. People tend to smile at me. Perhaps they're just laughing because I'm serving them coffee.

It's the highlight of my evening when drunk men come in to ask me for sex. There's just something attractive and stimulating about the Dunkins uniform. I can see why they'd want me. I smell like burned coffee and anger. Who wouldn't?

This all makes me think of the Serta sheep. You know the one that people don't count because they have new Serta mattresses? I can count mine. I have one. How many people can say that??? Ha.

Random thought for the moment: hypoallergenic pesticides.

I Am Sporkana Veta... Queen of the Sentient Sporks

The odd thing about sporks is that somehow they have become pop-culture. Who would have thought that the love child of a spoon and a fork could be... popular? Hm... What does this say about our culture in general? It says "Where do I get one?" and "Should I build an altar to it??" The answer to the second question is "Yes you should. Sporks like offerings of things that can be eaten with both a spoon or a fork. You validate it's very cosmic existence when you use it for potatoes with gravy. Bring plenty of meat syrup and physically disrupted potatoes (with milk and butter of course!) We shall dance, revel and make love! The spork demands it!" The answer to the first question is: "First you must accept that the Spork is your true God. Only then will the path be illuminated."

Even twinkies are pop-culture.

The difference between sporks and twinkies? Sporks are sentient caring creatures. They're divine creatures! Of course they're sentient (don't be stupid!) Twinkies are just undying cakes filled with 'kreme'. If it weren't for the fact that you can take them into direct sunlight, I'd say twinkies were vampires. Immortal things. Perhaps I am on to the secret behind twinkies. This blows our theories of vampires up! Vampires CAN travel in sunlight! They can't turn into mists or bats... but... they look like golden snack cakes... Dear God! We're fucked!

Vampires are also pop-culture.

Phhfft! What isn't these days?

I'm Roving, But I'm Not Jack

The first of May was Moving Day...
Arriving with books and funny looks...
Statues of pagan Gods in hand,
Many of my neighbors from a foreign land.
I live upon the top most floor,
And learned just what a deadbolt's for.
I stand on the balcony just for fun,
And wave to each and every one.
Knowing the door's nearby keeps me safe;
I'm the roving pagan wraith!

Lol, you have to love moving to a new place. Hope your day is filled with amusing stares.

-A

A New Beginning, An Old Ending

I believe in Chaos.

I think once upon a time I use to believe in Order. I don't anymore. Just like I don't believe in simplicity. Chaos I can easily believe in. It twirls in and out of everyone's lives whether they admit to it or not. Each breath you take and each beat of your heart is just one more little pulse of Chaos pounding into the universe. Ah... can you feel it? I think you can.

Chaos is all pervading. It's essential. You can't be rid of it. Don't be silly. Chaos is the tool stuff of the creator. It's a medium with which the artist can work. Chaos is the foundation and basis of organic life. Each little molecule, each little virus, each little thing starts with a big bang. Something happens that alters it. It becomes something else. Over time it becomes so vastly different that you'd be surprised it's the same thing. That's Chaos. It's something that can be subtle or violent. Like most things, it falls into degrees. I began to realize that it truly is necessary if you hope to become something other than a spineless slug that festers under the moist rock of life. Go out and fucking do something! Make some noise! Figurative or literal; I don't give a shit. Just... take a little bit of Chaos and create.

Are you waiting for an invitation to start your own life?