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Ramble ON

To begin with, to start with, to open with. And the winner is. Here's my friend, have the two of you met. 

If you think back far enough, or long enough, you'll see we've always loved an introduction. Would you introduce me to your friend? How'd the two of you get introduced. 

The introduction is the start of the relationship. The first glimpse. Many of us need that introduction, it makes us feel better, we don't feel awkward. People hate feeling awkward. Just introduce me! That way, I can then do my thing and bippity-boppity, they'll fall in love with me. That's how it will go. Just like that. No questions. No problems. 

But the introduction is meaningless. Sure, many of us remember when we first met someone, but not a lot of us remember who it is we actually first met.

Because people morph. They slither. They evolve. They feel you out, they get a sense of the room, then they see what they can get away with, who they think they're smarter than, funnier than, better than. And then they get confidence.  Acquire it. From where? From their own snap judgements.

Who is to say that there is only one way to handle anything, anything at all, there's always another way around it. A way around back, around the side, around the river bend. There's always a getaway car, but you've got to keep it running, keep it idling, keep it with the tires slanted to the curb, the trolls at bay.

Wondered a lot lately about the effects of the sun on your noodle, your noggin', ya know, up top. Don't really have anywhere to go with that one.

Who else out there is great at deciding if other people were single children or not? Show of hands? I thought so. It's fun, isn't it?

The more the bear felt around on his jetpack, the more we all knew we were in for it real bad. Afterall, he'd clearly move his hands back to our necks after this little stunt, and then all hell would break loose, cause he'd have our necks, and we'd be shitting ourselves, and then the shit in our pants would weigh us down and then our pants would fall down, because no, we don't wear belts, we're not your grandparents, we just wear our pants below our boxers like the rest of the assholes at school.

Imagine if you will, a world where we don't need showers. A world where our bodies are formed in such a way that our necks can rotate and reach over our entire frames. A world where we can rest and be waited on, all while using our stretchy necks and heads to tongue ourselves, our long tongues making up the distance, cleaning our hairy frames of dirt and dust, mite and flea. And then, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, someone comes into your palace where you drop off your shit, and then scoops your shit away. Yes. And then even pets your little dumb head and scratches your big-ass ears. And all the while you've got a dingleberry hanging near your sphincter. 

 

So, Cornelius, about the other night. I don't appreciate that lack o-

The End.

 

 

Justin HarderComment