Brenton
How Was Your Day Sweetie
November 29th 2006 02:24
I turned on my TV. There was an announcement about terrorism. It said be alert, not afraid. I didn’t know what a lert was, so I looked it up in the dictionary under L. I found nothing, so I rang information. They gave me a definition. From that moment on, I decided to be – a lert. I studied terrorism. I looked at people. I wondered what sort of chemical based explosive could be hidden in a turban. Beard spotting became second nature to me. I could go into a café and name every potential chemical cocktail that could be made with separated portions of the pasties on display.
Soon however, I became tired of being a lert. I had to become something else. I decided to become a live. Now, I wasn't quite sure how to do this, so I spent some time taking notes off the TV. I needed a wife, house and kids. Preferably there'd be a coffee lounge too but it wasn't a necessity. I posted an ad in the paper for a wife. There were so many applicants, I decided to find true love the only way that would let my soul soar and let beauty run into my blood. Yes, that's right. Reality TV.
I was the Bachelor, and every night I handed out roses, genetically modified so they were aphid free. It became a toss up between two girls - Madeleine and Carmodean. Madeleine had thicker eyebrows. Carmodean won. We married. We got a big house, pool, car, and two children called Nuraphel and Supafly. We got them educated. We got them a high private tuition. Nuraphel became a dole bludging heroin addict. Supafly was a well educated, well known high priced respected entrepreneurial - prostitute. My wife divorced me. She took everything but the house. And, of course, I got the TV.
Soon, Nuraphel died of an overdose while mixing heroin with oregano. I went to her funeral. I threw flowers. I cried seventeen point three seven tears. I listened to a man with a dress talk to people he'd never met, about a man he'd never known, visiting his boss, who didn't even go on TV. I looked around the church and saw that guy from the Mel Gibson Movie. He looked uncomfortable. Probably cos he didn't have a DVD player.
Suddenly a terrorist force descended upon us, shooting everyone in their path. I tried to save my wife but her head had exploded like a ripe watermelon under the foot of a prehistoric mammal. I went home, dejected. I had ceased to be a lert, without noticing. I may no longer be a live. I had done so little. I had failed. I was a failure.
And so, once again I returned to the Television, desperate for redemption. But there was nothing. So I got one hundred and thirty two new channels of pay TV. Nothing moved me. Not the beautiful ideals of Bold and the Beautiful. Not the sheer emotional impact of Jerry Springer. Not even women with plastic surgery selling nipple cream could stir my spirit. I had to do something. So I wrote my own TV show called 'Kinky Origami Masters of Death.' Shannon Noll played the lead role.
I became rich and famous, and bought a mansion in America, but soon, no amount of prozac, no hours of Survivor, no litres of Coca~Cola, no gourmet made pieces of biologically enhanced twenty seven legged chicken could satisfy me. I was a lone. But I was rich.
One day, as I ate my low fat Subway, smothered in Kraft mayonnaise, and smoked my Phillip-Morris cigarettes over a refreshing blue Vodka cruiser, my Nokia twelve mobile phone rang. The dial tone was Brittany Spears. Hello. I said.
Come to the airport. They said. They hung up.
I got into my favourite MG and drove straight there. I got on a plane that was booked for me, and arrived at my old house. It was falling apart, but the electricity was still on, so the only thing that mattered still worked. My TV.
Suddenly, young white kids who thought they were Snoop Doggy Dog, and a black kid who was trying to be Eminem threw rocks at my house in a blaintent rebellion against the forces deemed to be society. My antenna broke. My television turned to static, many black and white dots. I tried to count them but they had a refresh rate of 12000000000:1. I knew if I tried to count them all I would be overcome by a madness that would have me dancing in the street and running naked with wolves. I knew if I didn't fight I would be overcome. So I stopped fighting. And it was beautiful. I rang my boss. He said, What? I said, Bite me. I danced in the street, and ran naked with wolves.
I was complete.
Soon however, I became tired of being a lert. I had to become something else. I decided to become a live. Now, I wasn't quite sure how to do this, so I spent some time taking notes off the TV. I needed a wife, house and kids. Preferably there'd be a coffee lounge too but it wasn't a necessity. I posted an ad in the paper for a wife. There were so many applicants, I decided to find true love the only way that would let my soul soar and let beauty run into my blood. Yes, that's right. Reality TV.
I was the Bachelor, and every night I handed out roses, genetically modified so they were aphid free. It became a toss up between two girls - Madeleine and Carmodean. Madeleine had thicker eyebrows. Carmodean won. We married. We got a big house, pool, car, and two children called Nuraphel and Supafly. We got them educated. We got them a high private tuition. Nuraphel became a dole bludging heroin addict. Supafly was a well educated, well known high priced respected entrepreneurial - prostitute. My wife divorced me. She took everything but the house. And, of course, I got the TV.
Soon, Nuraphel died of an overdose while mixing heroin with oregano. I went to her funeral. I threw flowers. I cried seventeen point three seven tears. I listened to a man with a dress talk to people he'd never met, about a man he'd never known, visiting his boss, who didn't even go on TV. I looked around the church and saw that guy from the Mel Gibson Movie. He looked uncomfortable. Probably cos he didn't have a DVD player.
Suddenly a terrorist force descended upon us, shooting everyone in their path. I tried to save my wife but her head had exploded like a ripe watermelon under the foot of a prehistoric mammal. I went home, dejected. I had ceased to be a lert, without noticing. I may no longer be a live. I had done so little. I had failed. I was a failure.
And so, once again I returned to the Television, desperate for redemption. But there was nothing. So I got one hundred and thirty two new channels of pay TV. Nothing moved me. Not the beautiful ideals of Bold and the Beautiful. Not the sheer emotional impact of Jerry Springer. Not even women with plastic surgery selling nipple cream could stir my spirit. I had to do something. So I wrote my own TV show called 'Kinky Origami Masters of Death.' Shannon Noll played the lead role.
I became rich and famous, and bought a mansion in America, but soon, no amount of prozac, no hours of Survivor, no litres of Coca~Cola, no gourmet made pieces of biologically enhanced twenty seven legged chicken could satisfy me. I was a lone. But I was rich.
One day, as I ate my low fat Subway, smothered in Kraft mayonnaise, and smoked my Phillip-Morris cigarettes over a refreshing blue Vodka cruiser, my Nokia twelve mobile phone rang. The dial tone was Brittany Spears. Hello. I said.
Come to the airport. They said. They hung up.
I got into my favourite MG and drove straight there. I got on a plane that was booked for me, and arrived at my old house. It was falling apart, but the electricity was still on, so the only thing that mattered still worked. My TV.
Suddenly, young white kids who thought they were Snoop Doggy Dog, and a black kid who was trying to be Eminem threw rocks at my house in a blaintent rebellion against the forces deemed to be society. My antenna broke. My television turned to static, many black and white dots. I tried to count them but they had a refresh rate of 12000000000:1. I knew if I tried to count them all I would be overcome by a madness that would have me dancing in the street and running naked with wolves. I knew if I didn't fight I would be overcome. So I stopped fighting. And it was beautiful. I rang my boss. He said, What? I said, Bite me. I danced in the street, and ran naked with wolves.
I was complete.
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be assured that with a life like mine has been, it takes a pretty good writer to make me laugh at all... let alone three times... well done, you have brightened my day and I agree with the Vonnegut comment... you have talent...
"l-ing-ol loudly ... still...*
Lilla...
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May I mention, I likewise admire your writing... although the stuff about Climate change isn't quite funny, really.