Yesterday I was fed-up with the world at large. Angry, ridiculously pissed off and so extremely disappointed with the human species at that present moment, I almost blew a gasket and left the office for no apparent reason at all.
Jack Rock told us yesterday that he’d been smashed in the face with a hockey ball over the weekend. That is not cool, following concussion. But I was also been hit by something. Resembling a 40-tonne bus, but since I was hit by it, one cannot be sure the precise ergonomics of said bus. The bus, in passing, left me on the road to die a slow and painful death, and had an insignia resounding as "PEAS.IS.SUCH.A.LOSER."
I reckon the bus left the Peas Is A World-Class Loser station at roughly 12:09pm, to stop at I’m So Sick Of Feeling Fucked Up at precisely 1:03pm, to stop at When The Fuck Will Life Be Cool Again terminal at 1:05pm, halting briefly at Royally Hacked Off With Earth at 1:08pm, and, upon hitting me in the chest, left me with a "Monday Blues" sign yesterday.
Luckily, today, I am stable enough to dodge the bus with ‘Peas, Life Isn’t Going To Get Better’ which, on impact, would kill me dead and proper.
Amidst angst about the world, a pressing matter involving skew posters in our flat prevails.
We think Pretty our maid has been smoking Sweet Mary Jane on the job. Our Sweet Mary, that is.
Pretty had cleaned the place yesterday, and while C, Third Roommate, The Ant and I shared a pizza and ate ourselves retarded last night, the first thing out of sorts we noticed was that the giant Marilyn Monroe poster hanging in the hallway was plastered, very not-straight to the wall in the corner of the room.
Marilyn falls off the wall almost seismically, all 6 feet of her, all the time. The Ant bought prestik and asked her to please hang the flagging posters dotted around our crib, up properly with it.
Every poster she hung was hilariously hanging no straighter than at a 30 degree angle. And not especially positioned in a middle spot on the wall (where it had been before), but rather jammed into the corner off-centre. It’s too funny. You have to cock your head to the side to look at it. We figured either the lady has a frightening lack of spatial semblance, or more probably, judging by the half-horizontal way they’d been presticked, she was taking the piss. She has to be taking the piss: the things are so squonk, it can only be deliberate.
We sometimes leave stray doobies around the apartment, and we have a bankie stashed somewhere. I know if I were her, I’d smoke them. Maybe it’s just Windowlene fumes. It would definitely make scrubbing the toilet less-menial. And changing the toilet roll would give me a good giggle. Not to mention cleaning the stove. Pretty probably has a right frigging gas, toking it up, or getting high on Mr Muscle, and cleaning our place until it sparkles. I’d love to see this, I mean fuck, if she enjoys it, by all means. But next time we’ll hang the posters.
PS: Although, that said, we haven’t necessarily moved the posters and repositioned them upright. Nobody else has posters stuck to the wall so blatantly squiff like that. We call it…charm.
PPS: I don’t have Monday Blues anymore.