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Today I was smashing the old back steps apart with a pickaxe and my rippling, thunderous calves. They were rotting and making the house look slightly trashier than usual, leaning on our stoop. I made sure to make those really loud grunts that nobody actually needs to make when doing something involving smashing but they keep the mood right.
Some kids picked up a ball that had found its way out of the pitious miniscule playground next door and tried to claim it as their own. Instead I yelled at them and took it back. Then I spent ten minutes trying to boot it over the fence like Kung Fu Hustle did in that stupid fucking movie, but what actually happened is it rebounded off of the powerlines as if this is fucking Rugrats and hit me in the face, twice. I decided to just fling it with a three pointer and probably got dogshit on my gloves.
I considered picking up a brand new soccer ball to present to the boys who tried to walk away with this one, but concluded fuck those guys and if I see them again throw poopy gloves at them.
Last week at the mall I was hanging out with my usual accomplice when we saw the unholy Belleville trifecta: 'I' Ken Williams; Master Realtor, The Mall Kid; fish faced enigma and possible Capitalism Elemental and I think the third was a really really fat person, or some ugly pregnant lady. Her baby is going to be ugly too, I can promise you that.
Anyway during this weeks visit Jordan mentioned the coincidence of it all and I remarked 'We're probably the same kind of Mall Elemental to someone around us.'
He sort of made a negative noise that trailed off...then he was very quiet for some time. I was right of course. I think it's better to be a spectre than a mannequin.
I'm in the Mall weekly though I never actually buy anything. Like a cadaver refusing to fall into one of any empty graves in a brand-new graveyard. Nothing is good enough to earn permanence.
We saw Christopher the Twistopher in the food court. Jizzle spotted him first, commenting 'that guy's walking like a psychopath' before I turned to see The Twistopher himself striding towards me wearing an extremely nice sweater.
"I want to work in a jewellery store." He explained. And then he was off. I shouted 'Call me!' after him but he was already gone.
Jordan posited that it would be funny if you took a can of energy drink from one grocery store to another and in doing so it was cosmically transmogrified into the property of the latter store, meaning you had to pay a premium on the drink wherever you went, and something about looking at the can through a microscope to prove it truly was the property of the second store, no matter where it was initially purchased. I just made this noise
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until he started talking about something different. He didn't, though. He went on to elaborate the concept of this value-shifting Energy can to how Catholics view the Eucharist as a literal sample of Jesus'd flesh and blood, whereas Pentecostals view it as the symbolic consumption of Jesus' flesh and blood. We lost track of that thread of conversation when we both raged at the woman driving ahead of us to hurry up.
I have fleas. My dog also has fleas, and I probably got them from him. Also, every single thing I own has fleas. My world has fleas. Let me tell you about fleas. There are always more of them. You know them when you see them, but you wish you didn't. You can feel them at night. You know they're going to be there while you're asleep. They're likely going to die in your sleep and be replaced by identical fleas in the morning. Those fleas will probably be dead before lunch, crunched between your fingernails. You will not think about the crushed fleas ever again.
