|
I once had a dog named Coffee.
[The author realises, in finally coming out in an issue and saying this, he risks forever losing the inside joke that had previously (and preciously) only been scattered here and there throughout the pages of sanemagazine, somewhat mysteriously, and always without explanation. Sometimes it's slightly more adamant about having a dog with that name, some times quite confrontational, even, other times it's decidedly lethargic. Either way, it's the loss of innocence and cheeky disregard for the audience that kept this gimmick going for so very, very long.
The author also felt a slight chill, when he actually wrote that bit down, in public, kicking off a rather important issue for him. (It's my fiftieth story for the thing that once was The Quiet Insanity Newsletter, and now has somehow become sanemagazine, and, quite possibly sad to say, I've never really felt all that much of a chill when I've written something. I've felt remorse, sometimes a bit giggly, sometimes quite good, in fact, only to see my writing, which had been intended in the nicest of possible ways, be turned against the people and used to hurt them, betray them, turn them out of house and home. All right, the last one never happened, but it could have. Especially if a propagandist got ahold of it, and decided to use it against the people I wrote it for, originally. Then I'd be able to say the last bit with full confidence of it being true. Though I coud be considerably more bitter, having had my good go for naught, convinced of the world's inherent evilness, and quite possibly saying something about it around the sidewalks and to random passersby, remarkably un-jaded in these horrible times of ours where people's good writing gets used for evil. But still, fifty is fifty.) Some people would swear the author got a bit giggly when he wrote that, others would swear the bastard never stops giggling, and would just wish he'd get off their stoop so they could leave for work in the morning without having to talk to him. It was, in a way that the word never gets used these days, an auspicious beginning for him. Or perhaps it's how the word is used quite consistently, but never in public, or at least amongst the writer's friends, as he made a big deal of having used it, quite literary elite of him, "much like The New Yorker would use it, had they tended to," he was heard to have exclaimed. The crux of the matter is that it was quite a brave, and definitely definitive way to begin an issue. Or maybe not brave, but forceful. At any rate.]
And I've never had much time for cats.
disclaimer:
There once was a camel, who walked for forty days in the desert, which was good, because camels are supposed to do that sort of thing, apparently, according to benchmarks. And half-way through it's journey, across the desert (as it was crossing, and not just in, as you may have been led to believe from that previous sentence), it met a toadstool, which isn't really much of a meeting, as toadstools generally just sit there, not moving, while most other things move considerably faster than themselves, and when the things that are not the toadstool come to a stop, having noticed the toadstool, the toadstool generally doesn't do anything terribly different than it had been doing the past so many months or so before the something else stopped.
Quite boring, in fact. In this case, it was the camel that stopped alongside the toadstool.
Just as the camel was about to ask the toadstool how it was it survived out here in the desert without any water, the toadstool leapt up and bit the camel on the ankle, scaring the camel into running off across the desert.
"I hate being asked that question," said the toadstool, to no one in particular.
|
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. shiney new haircut.