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| 05.21.2009 - A Day In The Life (Part I) | 4:11 PM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 4/5 (2 Votes) |
| The day started out like many have before it. I woke up naked and covered in bacon grease, having spent the last eight hours sleeping on my lawn. I had taken too many drugs the night before and these kinds of things are bound to happen occasionally. I'll have to remember to look up "occasionally" in the dictionary because I am pretty sure that it doesn't mean all the time. I guess I could have just said "all the time" instead but I'm not really comfortable with that level of commitment. I don't have a crystal ball nor can I say what the future holds so it would be pretty irresponsible of me to assume that this type of thing would continue to happen forever. It's this kind of daily internal conflict that makes me a stronger person. Like I said, the day started out like many had before it.
It took me a while to get my bearings, mostly because they were tiny and I had apparently decided to scatter them all over the driveway. What the hell was I thinking? Wait, I don't know why I just asked myself that. I mean, if anyone should know, it should be me and if I don't know, asking myself a question isn't going to help matters. Perhaps I shouldn't play with important things when I am high as a kite. Unless I am responsibly high. That's the kind of high I reserve for when I have to do important stuff like meet the President or sign insurance papers. I do not believe that I was responsibly high last night and made a mental note to reprimand myself for that later.
I wonder what time it is. I glanced at the over-sized sundial that I keep on the porch but couldn't really make heads or tails of what it was trying to tell me. Building that thing in the shade was probably a mistake. I dialed 411 because I figured that they would know the answer to my question. I mean, they call themselves "Information" which would be a pretty dickish thing to do if you didn't know everything. The operator answered but the call didn't quite go according to my plan. Rather than allowing me to ask the question I wanted, I was bombarded by questions from the operator. She kept wanting to know my city and state, which I didn't feel she needed to know. I suppose I could have told her that my state was "naked and not high enough" but after all that wire-tapping business, who knows who is listening in. I told her that I didn't appreciate the interrogation and after calling her fat, I hung up. I don't know what time it is but I do know that I don't have time for that. I've got stuff to do.
I had planned to spend the day panhandling because it's easier than having a job but apparently they've unionized so that idea is out. Still, I'm hoping that it will lead to a bit more standardization when it comes to the street begging profession. I mean, they shouldn't even be allowed to call themselves panhandlers. I haven't seen a homeless person with a begging pan in quite some time. Maybe they'd be better off with a name like hathandlers or cardboardsignhandlers since it's more appropriate. I'm not running around calling myself a lion tamer and certainly not trying to form a union named for something I'm not doing. I swear, the lengths that people will go for a buck.
Now I'm starting to question whether I really had anything important to do. I mean, I thought that I did but the fat operator yelling at me on the phone got me all flustered and now I am not sure. Serious thinking like this calls for a serious thinking accessory, the kind that without which, serious thinking simply is not possible. I'm referring, of course, to my meat hat. Now you might be thinking that my "meat hat" is just some cute nickname that I gave to something normal, like a regular hat that for whatever reason has the word "meat" emblazoned on it but you would be horribly wrong. What I am actually referring to is a fedora that I have crafted out of only the finest 80/20. When I say finest, however, I don't really mean that since this was just some old chuck that the butcher threw out but since you are not in possession of a similar meat hat, we can't really compare quality now, can we? Why a meat hat? I say, why not a meat hat?
I can ask myself such deep philosophical questions now that I have donned the great beef fedora. Sadly, though, it's not a great beef fedora with all of the answers so I'm pretty much just sitting around with meat on my head and asking tough questions to no one in particular. And I wonder what drives me to drugs. Well, my car, naturally but sometimes the guy who I buy from is in the neighborhood and he just stops over for some root beer and graham crackers. My favorite pastime is to ask him for some money so that I can buy a six dollar burger from Carl's Jr. He always says "sure" because $6 isn't a whole lot of money to him and it's probably coming from the money I just gave him for drugs anyway but whatever. The thing is -- and here is the kicker -- the six dollar burger doesn't really cost $6. I don't know why they named it that unless Carl's son is really just a total dick and likes to give things really misleading names. Anyway, the joke is on Aaron now because not only do I get a nice burger but I also get to keep the change and then I run away laughing. That last part gets really weird because Aaron isn't with me at Carl's Jr. so the people on street don't quite get what I am doing.
My neighbor across the street is staring at me from his yard. He asked me once if I wanted to go to war but I told him that was a silly question. One does not simply go to war. You have to find a recruitment office and sign up first. It's a very involved process. I always felt that the armed services were beneath me. I mean, basic training? Come on. I learned that shit when I was three. Send me to slightly more advanced training and maybe we'll talk. Still, it never hurts to be prepared. I see the way that he is holding that rake. He's probably jealous of my mad cow headpiece. The meat hat is cooking on my head. I can hear it. I'm building a fort in my front yard out of empty Tanqueray bottles. Don't worry, most were donated so I'm not going to get cirrhosis. Of course, the bottles are see through, so that doesn't really provide much in the way of useful defense. Not to mention that they are glass, which would probably do more harm to me than good in any kind of actual battle situation. The meat hat is not helping my dilemma.
I'm an army of 1.5. I fashioned a cardboard cut-out of myself for company. He's thinner, more attractive and gets all of the attention. Hmm, maybe even my neighbor's attention. Cardboard me, you stay here and guard the fort. I'm going to sneak inside and hide inside my drugs. Don't worry, I'll call Aaron so reinforcements should be here soon. You're our last line of defense. Stay vigilant. |
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We have a policy that states don't ask, don't tell.
Sadly, we also have a counter-policy that says if asked, you tell.
We're not really sure what you should or shouldn't be asking about.
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