Trees
are really tall, aren't they? I think I only fully noticed this
today. They just keep going up and up, until they stop; but
they've gone up and up for enough of a way to be classed as tall.
I have no idea where this new-found information is going to
benefit my life, but perhaps sometimes it's just enough to be
aware. Yes, you've guessed it: I'm tired and bored, and thinking
about trees. 'Tis time to vanish again into a fantasy world, made
believable by the inclusion of death.
Stopping
only to scrape the congealed dirt off my escape key, I swung the
yo-yo hanging from the hook in the ceiling and switched CDs to
Dark Side Of The Spoon. It was time for action. Death-defying
clichés against evil baddies, whether they be the mortal enemies
of the CIA (truth and justice, in my moment of political
insurrection) or of my superhero guise for today. Yeah, I'll be a
superhero today; I haven't done that in a while. But which
superhero? All the good ones are gone, all the amusing variants
have been plagiarised time and again. Enter, stage left, Peeling
Skin Boy. Superpowers: None. Mortal Enemies: None. Reasons to
stay alive: None, other than the existence of tall trees. Hmmm. I
may be tired and bored, but not quite tired and bored enough to
spend all day marvelling at trees. I can't be a superhero,
daren't be a CIA operative until the lawn is cut (long story,
don't ask) and don't want to cash in on my close personal
friendships with the minor celebrities who fit nicely into the
'So you're a transvestite, eh? Say something funny about jam'
world. So so so, what what what to to to do do do?
Ah
fuck it. The weather is too nice, the trees are too tall, my book
is too unread. Why the hell am I wasting away my life in here for
your benefit? You ignorant fuckers never do anything for me. You
don't email me telling me how much you hate me, but still want to
lick my hot naked body all over, you don't get all your family,
friends and sworn enemies to join up to this mailing list. Most distressingly, you don't send me naked
pictures of your pets, posing suggestively with vegetables. I
have a spot on my back that I just can't reach; how many of you
have even offered to pop it? Shall I tell you? None. Not a one.
That's just mean. That's selfish. If everyone in this world were
like you bunch of self-centred egotistical fucks, trees wouldn't
be half as tall as they are.
...Ok,
I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm just tired and bored, and I
upset that I haven't been tired and emotional for a long time.
Can you forgive me? Please. How about if I tell you a cool
website to go to? Will you at least move a step closer to
forgiving my spot-induced mood? http://spank.to/monkeys It's all about shaved
monkeys. Don't try searching for it on altavista, or you'll end
up going to www.shavedmonkey.com which is a porn site,
but without a real monkey anywhere. There, can you forgive me? I
do love you really, and all I ask is that you sign up at least 5
people each to this mailing list against their will. It'll get
better, I promise. Now if you'll excuse me, I have trees to look
at.