| | I would explain to you why I haven't written a post in a while, except that I doubt anyone really cares and that it hasn't really been that long since I last wrote. But what the heck, I'll give some explanation anyways, because it makes me happy, and the main goal of these posts are to make me happy (and to enlighten the ignorant masses to the harsh realities of life; but it seems that I generally fail to do that.) The reason I have not posted a post in the last few weeks is because the posts I wrote failed to make me happy. Believe it or not, these posts were actually serious posts, being bold, intellectual....... and heretical; which is another reason you people have not laid eyes on them. Also, my serious posts turn out to be rants generally (the last one was against Praise & Worship music) and likely have little philosophical value. As an example, a line from a section of America's religious war on cigarettes: "We preach relentlessly the evils of tobacco to our children, yet let them spend their days watching crappy entertainment, playing video games, and refuse to teach them morality. So we thus end up with teens who have little sense of right and wrong, and possess brains the size of peanuts, but, praise be and hallelujah, who don't smoke. Congratulations people, mission accomplished!" Okay, so that was actually kinda profound, if I may say so myself, but you get the picture.
My aim at this point is to make this post decidedly silly. I hopefully will succeed in this and not involuntarily drift into a discussion of "A Discourse on the Method" by Descartes, which I have just finished reading and of which I found the final two sections to be boring and pointless. The first four sections, however, I do recommend.
I thought I would begin by telling you about some of my duties at Turpin Meadow Ranch. But, as you can see, I have not started the post by telling you about my duties. For those I you who did not see that I failed to begin the post with a description of my duties, please reread the first two paragraphs: There is not such a description to be found. If you do think you've found such a description, chances are that you're one of those peanut-brained humanoids that I mentioned in the cigarette portion of paragraph #1. Of course, why I'm even bothering writing this little message to you now is beyond me, because you probably aren't even understanding what I'm saying now anyways. Fools.
Anyways, here at this dear Wyoming guest ranch, I am a dishwasher. I do not mind being a dishwasher because this means that I am not a house cleaner. The few days I have done housecleaning were a miserable affair. Fortunately, I am not scheduled for that job this week. I don't know if this was due to my incompetence or my excessive whining, but whichever one it was, it was effective. I shall make a mental note to up the wattage of both should they venture to place me in that position again. Anyways, back to dishwashing. My job as a dishwasher is to throw away vast amounts of food that the people in the dining area failed to eat. And I clean the dishes too. Of course, it can get maddening seeing so much food go to waste, especially when plates come back looking like they haven't even been touched. This situation once led me to march out into the dining area in righteous anger, pin an offender to the wall and tell him, with colorful language, that I would take the next pork chop he sent back to the kitchen untouched and make sure it entered into his stomach through way of his navel. And the whole situation felt real good too, until I realized that I had the wrong person, and the real culprit was his attractive daughter sitting across from him. As an apology, I asked the daughter out on a date, to which the father replied that if I even looked in his daughter's direction again, it would be I feeling something enter my stomach through my navel, and it wouldn't be a pork chop. Needless to say, I went back to the kitchen, washed dishes, and felt vanquished.
Speaking of things being needless to say, if it's needless to say, then why say it?
My breath was feeling really stinky, so I went and brushed my teeth. But now I have lost my train of thought. So I think I'll tell you another story.
While cleaning one of the rooms one day, I started to talk to the furniture, and it had such interesting things to say. Soon however, I had to leave, and the new friendships I had with the chairs and beds became strained. I thought of those dear articles of furniture, and couldn't stand the separation any longer. I got up and snuck over to the cabin that my dear furniture friends were in. The trouble was that some guest had just moved in to that cabin right after I had cleaned it. But that wasn't going to stop me. I slowly opened the door (fortunately for me, locking doors is not in style in Wyoming), and I entered the room. The couple who inhabited the room snored gently, seeming, as it were, to feel safe and secure. I first made my way to the chair in the corner and gave it a pat, letting it know I was there and that I'd never forsake it. I then made my way over to the dresser and let it know that I had no hard feelings over the heated debate we had concerning postmodernism. It's a strange phenomenon, but all the dressers I've met have held postmodern views. I've been arguing with the one in my room for almost a month now. "Truth is relative," it says. "You say there's clothes in my drawers, but to me, there isn't even such a thing as clothing." "But then what do you call this?" I ask pulling a shirt out of it's drawers. "I don't see any shirt," it says. "And how do I know that it's real?.... assuming if I did see a shirt, that is." The most annoying thing is, my dresser has taken to arguing with me most when I'm in my birthday suite. I suppose it's because it's hard for the blighter to deny seeing clothes while I'm wearing them. Anyways, back to the room. After talking slightly with the dresser, I crawled over to the adjacent where the couple's offspring dwelt. I greeted the chairs and the dresser, which was also a victim of postmodern thought, before heading over to say hello to the bed. I said hello and gave the bed a good friendly pat..... or, I meant to, but unfortunately the foot of the occupant got in the way. The occupant sat up in bed and left out an ear-shattering squeal. With a quick glance I learned, with great dismay, that the occupant was none other that the girl I had just asked out earlier in the evening, and whose father was the man I had threatened to harm with a pork chop. At this point I decided to make a hasty retreat, because I had an eery feeling that Wyoming was just the type of place where people don't look down upon a man for brutally ending the life of a guy who sneaks into his cabin and begins stroking his daughter's feet. I do feel bad that I didn't get a chance to say high to the lamp stand though. |
| | Posted 1/22/2008 1:31 AM - 52 Views - 6 eProps - 3 comments
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