Wasting time. One of the few things which are easier to do than to claim. Easier as a verb than as a noun; wasted time. Unless, you emphasize on one word, "wasted" time. But I guess that reverts back to the former (verb). So much for pseudo-philosophy.
Out with reality. Real problems. Like the distance between you and an accessible not-so-public-bathroom. That's a real problem. You only start keeping track of accessible not-so-public-bathrooms after you've had uh.. an experience.
The experience in question is, obviously, not a pleasant one. Even more unpleasant than wearing a red fur coat, and pretending to be Santa during Christmas in Australia. For the weak hearted, pray don't proceed. For the weak bladdered, this might come in handy. Not making any suggestions about MY bladder here obviously.
Like they say, the pros con and the ears have corns. With the love for rain forgone, chiky chiky bon bon. Mid-blog rhymes are my specialty...... not!
Borat jokes are though..... not not!
The reason why I do not prefer shoes with laces is... knot not knot not knot not knot not.
Tongue twister eh? But not really, the K is silent.
Anyways, as a certain Mr. Carebear would say " My care-o-meter is off " . Now, if a certain Miss CareBARE were to say that, MY care-o-meter would've gone off the charts.
What's this straying from the topic and forgetting about the poor bladders. And so it starts with:
Food from 'Bomber'. Ironically, the food in question is just impossible to fuck up. Or so I thought until that unfortunate yet eventful day. Who fucks up chicken fingers? Who can ruin chicken fingers, even after trying to do so?! Chicken fingers are like rubber, they're supposed to be... uhh (encountering difficulty in drawing an analogy)... you get my drift I suppose.
Anyways, reverting to the really tense past-tense... even before the bill was on the table, the food from 'Bomber' had started its bombardment, and in no subtle way. The insides of my stomach were getting tossed around like a half-filled barrel on an old ship, experiencing the very NOT charming Pacific weather. I know, I fucked up a knot joke.
After the time on my watch read 'quarter past eternity' the bill was payed with an illegible amount of tip and under the circumstances, the waitress should be glad that my care-o-meter was still on. Then came the awkward goodbye.
"I'm going, bye. I'll see you in half an hour."
No need to wait for a response. Ha ha.... No need?!?! Time was gold then, in fact, I got it wrong, time was like money for food; not a luxury, an absolute necessity without which I could've been subject to ample social embarrassment.
And so the dash began... and I planned on saving the best for last. Yes, the big explosion after the bombardment. But time's stopped acting like a luxury. I'll have to fill you in on the much anticipated ghastly details some time later. I know you'd rather this than the pseudo-philosophy... aah yes the token of time's goodwill... and the lonely flower by the riverbank...
No comments:
Post a Comment