Everything exploded.
I never got to eat my sandwich.
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11 years ago
Sunday 8 February 2009
Saturday 7 February 2009
Hell Hath No Fury Like a Breadloaf Scorned, Part 1
Hey.
This morning I realized I had ran out of bread. I really, seriously needed a sandwich, and, as you probably know, bread is an important ingredient of this rare delicatessen. So, no surprise to anyone, I put on my jacket, grabbed a 5 pound bill and went down to the shop. I went in, got a trolley and proceeded quietly to the bread section. I got my bread (specifcally, one packet of Giant White Baps and one packet of Healty White Bread Slices), and then I noticed that right next to that section was the berries section. Doing a quick calculation in my mind, I realized that if I bought the bread now, I was very likely to receive a 2 pound coin as change, which cannot be used in washing machines. I needed to buy something more to avert the 2 pound dillema, so I went over to the berries section and got a pack of blueberries. This purchase would yeld a more acceptable change.
So, happily I went over to pay for it, and got in line. At this time, I was holding in my hands the bread and the berries. I noticed that this guy behind me was eying me and scanning me with his eyes all over the place, and I was like WTF. The woman behind him was doing the same.
"Why?" I asked myself. Then suddenly it occured to me. It was very likely that these people were like "Look at that guy buying bread and berries. He must really be into these two foods."
That is NOT true. I only eat berries occasionally and bread... well everyone eats fucking bread. I was being misjudged by these shopgoers. Something had to be done before they went home and told people about this.
Once again I was in a veritable crisis. I want to say that the horrible deeds that I did after this were fed by panic. I never would do something like this normally... but I was just really hungry. I guess hypoglicemia had something to do with it.
Well basically, I grabbed a table knife from the knife section (which was right there) and took the till woman by surprise, holding her at knife point.
"Nobody move!" I said, "I want you all to get on the floor, hand above your heads. Do not fucking move or this poor woman gets it!"
I was shaking. They could see that I was afraid, but I had to go on. I knew there were security cameras and I knew someone was probably calling the police right then. A million horrible images of death and pain flashed through my mind. Visions of many trials, family members crying, the absence of sandwiches and really dirty unprotected prison sex.
The situation was dire. I did NOT want to be raped by prison inmates. I had to do something. I was knee deep in this shit and I could not do anything wrong. I had to explain the situation to the other people in the shop. And so I began my speech...
"Listen... I didn't want to do any of this. I'm not a murderer. I just really love ploughman's sandwiches. And I don't want the world to think I'm obsessed with some kind of... abnormal feeding choice, like berries and bread. I don't eat berries and bread. I don't think I've ever had these foods together, at least not by themselves. You understand, right?"
They all nodded together... like sheep. They weren't being truthful. I knew that inside their minds, the concept of me eating bread and berries every single day still raged like a terrible seastorm. Suddenly, I heard it. The sound that I had feared. The sound of police sirens and those really seriously awesome skid sounds that the cars make when they brake really fast, like in the movies, man that's so awesome I wish I could do that with my car, but I'm scared I'll scratch it on the sidewalk side... thing, you know like one of those tall sidewalks. I mean WTF. I don't even have a car though, but it would be cool.
They got on the megaphones and started asking for me to come out with my hands up. NO fucking way I was going to do that. I was bent on either getting my sandwich and convincing these people of my innocence in the bread and berries scandal or dying in the attempt.
TO BE CONTINUED
This morning I realized I had ran out of bread. I really, seriously needed a sandwich, and, as you probably know, bread is an important ingredient of this rare delicatessen. So, no surprise to anyone, I put on my jacket, grabbed a 5 pound bill and went down to the shop. I went in, got a trolley and proceeded quietly to the bread section. I got my bread (specifcally, one packet of Giant White Baps and one packet of Healty White Bread Slices), and then I noticed that right next to that section was the berries section. Doing a quick calculation in my mind, I realized that if I bought the bread now, I was very likely to receive a 2 pound coin as change, which cannot be used in washing machines. I needed to buy something more to avert the 2 pound dillema, so I went over to the berries section and got a pack of blueberries. This purchase would yeld a more acceptable change.
So, happily I went over to pay for it, and got in line. At this time, I was holding in my hands the bread and the berries. I noticed that this guy behind me was eying me and scanning me with his eyes all over the place, and I was like WTF. The woman behind him was doing the same.
"Why?" I asked myself. Then suddenly it occured to me. It was very likely that these people were like "Look at that guy buying bread and berries. He must really be into these two foods."
That is NOT true. I only eat berries occasionally and bread... well everyone eats fucking bread. I was being misjudged by these shopgoers. Something had to be done before they went home and told people about this.
Once again I was in a veritable crisis. I want to say that the horrible deeds that I did after this were fed by panic. I never would do something like this normally... but I was just really hungry. I guess hypoglicemia had something to do with it.
Well basically, I grabbed a table knife from the knife section (which was right there) and took the till woman by surprise, holding her at knife point.
"Nobody move!" I said, "I want you all to get on the floor, hand above your heads. Do not fucking move or this poor woman gets it!"
I was shaking. They could see that I was afraid, but I had to go on. I knew there were security cameras and I knew someone was probably calling the police right then. A million horrible images of death and pain flashed through my mind. Visions of many trials, family members crying, the absence of sandwiches and really dirty unprotected prison sex.
The situation was dire. I did NOT want to be raped by prison inmates. I had to do something. I was knee deep in this shit and I could not do anything wrong. I had to explain the situation to the other people in the shop. And so I began my speech...
"Listen... I didn't want to do any of this. I'm not a murderer. I just really love ploughman's sandwiches. And I don't want the world to think I'm obsessed with some kind of... abnormal feeding choice, like berries and bread. I don't eat berries and bread. I don't think I've ever had these foods together, at least not by themselves. You understand, right?"
They all nodded together... like sheep. They weren't being truthful. I knew that inside their minds, the concept of me eating bread and berries every single day still raged like a terrible seastorm. Suddenly, I heard it. The sound that I had feared. The sound of police sirens and those really seriously awesome skid sounds that the cars make when they brake really fast, like in the movies, man that's so awesome I wish I could do that with my car, but I'm scared I'll scratch it on the sidewalk side... thing, you know like one of those tall sidewalks. I mean WTF. I don't even have a car though, but it would be cool.
They got on the megaphones and started asking for me to come out with my hands up. NO fucking way I was going to do that. I was bent on either getting my sandwich and convincing these people of my innocence in the bread and berries scandal or dying in the attempt.
TO BE CONTINUED
Friday 6 February 2009
Monday 2 February 2009
WTF
Yo, everyone.
"This morning I was just engaging in unprotected coitus with a random woman that I picked up in a bar after snorting cocaine for 2 hours and... clubbing and listening to dance music (which I totally like). It was getting really hot and everything and we were really into it, but then SUDDENLY, she just stopped. I was like "Wtf!?".
She didn't respond. Suddenly I realized... she's dead. Probably overdosed on one of the many drugs we had the night before. This was not good. Not good at all. Scenes from Pulp Fiction rushed through my mind. I remembered that when a person is suffering from an overdose you have to stick a huge needle into their chest. I quickly went over to my syringe cabinet (I have one of those), and took the largest one I could find. I went back to her and stabbed her right in the heart. Nothing happened (later I learned that you actually have to inject adrenaline, it turns out that an empty syringe doesn't work).
At this point I was really panicking, cause she was the only one that knew the code from this soda contest we were in. They give you this code and you have to bring it to a shop or something and you get free PensaCola Orange Juice. I didn't know the code, and the only one that knew it was dead (or dying).
I remembered a documentary I saw earlier that said that scientists have proven that memories could possibly be extracted in the future from a human brain, before it starts to decay. I wasn't sure if she was technically dead yet, but I couldn't take any chances. I HAD to find a brain-reading device as soon as possible. I looked all over the house but couldn't find one. I was in a genuine PensaCola crisis. There was only one solution left:
Go into the future and find a brain-reading device. But where to find a time machine? Things were looking pretty grim... so I had to resort to prayer. I sat beside her, and began to ask the Lord to give me a time machine. It was the last he (or she?) could do. I assumed God Almighty knows how to put together this advanced piece of technology capable of bending time.
Nothing happened. This poor woman was dying there, taking my only hope for Pensacola Orange Juice with her. To this day, I stand by my belief that PensaCola & Co never expected this to happen when they started the contest. They never expected the one and only code they issued to die with a random bar hooker.
There was nothing I could do. It was over. The least I could do was call PensaCola & Co and inform them about the tragedy. I did just that.
On my way to the phone, suddenly I heard some kind of moaning noise. I turned around, and, to my horror, the woman was now a ZOMBIE. And the slow, cheesy ones from Dawn of The Dead, but the totally awesome fast ones from 28 Days Later. And she was totally pissed cause she forgot the code. After finishing screaming, I picked up the shotgun that I kept under my coffin cupboard, just for situations like these, and shot her right in the head. She kept going! There was only one solution left: my favorite wrestling move, the Cunt Punt. I had heard of this ancient martial arts technique from the great Maddox, and others, and now was the time to apply it. With the speed of the tiger, I came onto her and cuntpunted her right in the kisser. Yes. For some reason she now had a vulva for a head. Weird, I know, but hey, it's not weirder than zombies right? The move worked perfectly. The beast fell to the ground, finally resting in peace. I could sense that the girl that once inhabited that cursed body was thanking me from a better place.
Then I went to the market and bought apples."
How's that for my fiction homework assignment? I bet the teacher will just love it.
"This morning I was just engaging in unprotected coitus with a random woman that I picked up in a bar after snorting cocaine for 2 hours and... clubbing and listening to dance music (which I totally like). It was getting really hot and everything and we were really into it, but then SUDDENLY, she just stopped. I was like "Wtf!?".
She didn't respond. Suddenly I realized... she's dead. Probably overdosed on one of the many drugs we had the night before. This was not good. Not good at all. Scenes from Pulp Fiction rushed through my mind. I remembered that when a person is suffering from an overdose you have to stick a huge needle into their chest. I quickly went over to my syringe cabinet (I have one of those), and took the largest one I could find. I went back to her and stabbed her right in the heart. Nothing happened (later I learned that you actually have to inject adrenaline, it turns out that an empty syringe doesn't work).
At this point I was really panicking, cause she was the only one that knew the code from this soda contest we were in. They give you this code and you have to bring it to a shop or something and you get free PensaCola Orange Juice. I didn't know the code, and the only one that knew it was dead (or dying).
I remembered a documentary I saw earlier that said that scientists have proven that memories could possibly be extracted in the future from a human brain, before it starts to decay. I wasn't sure if she was technically dead yet, but I couldn't take any chances. I HAD to find a brain-reading device as soon as possible. I looked all over the house but couldn't find one. I was in a genuine PensaCola crisis. There was only one solution left:
Go into the future and find a brain-reading device. But where to find a time machine? Things were looking pretty grim... so I had to resort to prayer. I sat beside her, and began to ask the Lord to give me a time machine. It was the last he (or she?) could do. I assumed God Almighty knows how to put together this advanced piece of technology capable of bending time.
Nothing happened. This poor woman was dying there, taking my only hope for Pensacola Orange Juice with her. To this day, I stand by my belief that PensaCola & Co never expected this to happen when they started the contest. They never expected the one and only code they issued to die with a random bar hooker.
There was nothing I could do. It was over. The least I could do was call PensaCola & Co and inform them about the tragedy. I did just that.
On my way to the phone, suddenly I heard some kind of moaning noise. I turned around, and, to my horror, the woman was now a ZOMBIE. And the slow, cheesy ones from Dawn of The Dead, but the totally awesome fast ones from 28 Days Later. And she was totally pissed cause she forgot the code. After finishing screaming, I picked up the shotgun that I kept under my coffin cupboard, just for situations like these, and shot her right in the head. She kept going! There was only one solution left: my favorite wrestling move, the Cunt Punt. I had heard of this ancient martial arts technique from the great Maddox, and others, and now was the time to apply it. With the speed of the tiger, I came onto her and cuntpunted her right in the kisser. Yes. For some reason she now had a vulva for a head. Weird, I know, but hey, it's not weirder than zombies right? The move worked perfectly. The beast fell to the ground, finally resting in peace. I could sense that the girl that once inhabited that cursed body was thanking me from a better place.
Then I went to the market and bought apples."
How's that for my fiction homework assignment? I bet the teacher will just love it.
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