I was riding through some wetlands today (as one does) thinking peaceful thoughts. Like how it would feel to be a murderous psychopath slicing skin off a victim with a nice sharp knife. I imagine quite soothing if that’s what you’re into.
Then I saw, coming down the path toward me, a Jack Russell terrier. How curious, I thought, this little pooch out here all on it’s lonesome.
As poochy got closer it revealed itself to be not at all a Jack Russell terrier but in fact a big fucking bunny. My first thought was that the guy with the carrots had gotten to work more quickly that I had anticipated. I haven’t even got my house in order (does that mean something?).
My second thought was that if I was a bunny rabbit, hell bent on killing someone, this is exactly where I would do it, too. In a way, I had developed a respect for this bunny over the preceeding 172 milliseconds.
However this did nothing to dampen the terror that I felt deep inside my lower intestines — the target that the bunny’s sights were no doubt set on.
Below I have adorned an aerial photograph with a marker depicting my location and a scream radius to give you an idea of the deep water I was in.
This bunny could have stuck a stick through the spokes of my front wheel and I’d be ass over tit before I could say “you little fucker!”.
I could have been dragged off into the wetlands and left to rot at the bottom of a moist warren surrounded by roots of carrots, which are carrots.
No one would miss me, such is my insignificance. I began to think that maybe the world was better off without me, and this if this is what the bunny rabbit wanted, then so be it.
Then the rabbit took a sharp left (do they know any other type of left?) and the ordeal was over.
I had a nightmare last night. I woke up at 12:34am and my whole body was so tense I couldn’t get back to sleep for three hours.
In this nightmare I had a girlfriend, and she was a bit dumb, and wanted us to move in together. She was half a previous girlfriend that was a little bit dumb and a lottle bit racist, and half some unknown ‘future’ girlfriend.
My place was too small so we would need to rent somewhere. She had done a budget and could afford to contribute $50 to $100 a week, but “that would be harder in the tough months”. Oh that uncertainty totally won’t ever be a problem, thought the dreamy version of me.
She had a newspaper with places circled in red pen (presumably because she was too dumb to use the internet). One of them was on the first floor of a shitty apartment block overlooking a car park and a communal pool (you know how things can be two things at once in a dream?). I explained how noisy and awful that would be (at this point we were now in the apartment, looking down on the Olympic-sized pool filled with people having fun, loudly). She countered my arguments with the suggestion that it was quiet on the other side of the building — like I said, she was quite dumb.
Oh God my back is locking up now even thinking about it. I think I’ll top myself if things ever get to that point.
I didn’t want the 3.5 KG of penne that is living it large on the top shelf of my pantry, but I have it. And now that I have been forced to consume this not-spirally pasta, I have come to like it, for two reasons:
- It’s fun to spear one penne tube on each of the two outer tines of my fork. Fun. Tines.
- Penne don’t break as easily as spirally pasta. I hadn’t consciously realised this, but the little bits of spiral that would break off and stick to the side of the saucepan accounted for about 45% of the angst in my life. Now that I’m all about the penne, I have more time to notice the world around me. So far there seems to be a lot related to rabbits and death, but maybe that will change over time.
So there’s a lesson here, be open to new types of pasta because they might be better than your current preferred type of pasta. As far as I can tell this lesson cannot be extended to other areas of life.
Around the corner from me there is an apartment block, and on the second floor of that apartment block is an apartment with a balcony, and on that balcony is a cat that sits and watches me as I walk by. And that cat looks almost exactly like Melania Trump. It only clicked today, I actually said out loud that’s who you remind me of.
I have neighbour that is blind and has a pet cockatoo. Or maybe she has perfectly good eyesight and a dog. I sometimes get these things confused.