So, today I had to take the day off in order to have my availability fully open to pick up Hanz from the local Renaissance festival in “Browne’s Addition.” He was very adamant about going to said festival and of course Hanz has yet to receive his driver’s license or learner’s permit even though I’ve practically thrown the DOL guide at him for months now. Inevitably I just piss off a ferret who already has anger issues and is the size of a primordial skunk. More often than not I get a pissed soaked, shredded DOL guide discretely hidden amongst my items…usually in my sock drawer or if I particularly make him angry in my lunch bag for work…
Nevertheless, in my slight fear of my ferret I ended up spending my Sunday waiting for a cell phone call with a picture of a ferret in a jester’s cap to pop up on my cell phone screen.
After many wasted hours with my friend Mr. Mario, a couple of Cajun Top-Ramens, and a pint of my gorilla’s homemade beer from his closet of solitude distillery I ramshackle my way out to my ’93 protegé Johnny and sauntered my ass up to Coeur d’Alene park to pick Hanz from his afternoon of ye old jestering. Before I even reached the fringe of the park I see an angry mob of ye old peasants chasing after a tan ferret clutching his jester hat with a sad but still attached tail tucked between his well toned ferret buttocks. As I coasted by in 2nd, I reached over, popped open the passenger door, and a scared but fully aware ferret clawed his way in, slammed his door, and pulled his lap belt over his jester cod piece and plummage.
I tried asking him what had happen, but all I could gather between his labor breaths were the phrases, “bosomed wench” and “bad idea.”
I’m sure he’ll tell me once I loosen him up with a keg or two of malicious gorilla’s fine home spun brew, but till then only mopey ferret’s fellow renaissance patrons and a letter from the courts will know what happened that fateful Sunday afternoon….
A blurb and a half expressed through exquisite prose is more charitable than a quarter minute with any lackey with a third of a brain and even less in his pint.
As I sit upon my throne looking upon the waves and oceans of the past…my mind lingers at the point of no return pondering what the meaning of time and space really means when man has fallen so far past the precipice of ignorance that even stupidity is blissful when compared to the truth. Not only do the urchins of the H2O pools of polluted solitude know more than the ‘wealth’ of human knowledge, but they hold more true to their species than even the most determined and hopeful of us.
Does this equate to dispair….nah…this only provides humanity with the ‘uumph,’ the driving nail, and the ‘zoom, zoom’ to further our intellect into era which not only does life and prosperity hold true and steady, but the mere idea of the intangible wasps of our impregnable magnitude actually exceeds itself and becomes reality.
Are we evil? Yes.
Are we good? Yes.
There are those of us that would send humanity to the grave just to see it haphazardly plunder into a six-foot shaft filled mud and muck at the thought of a quickie with Mr. Benjamin, but as the proverbial coin strikes the hot asphalt a spark strikes and an individual, a glimmer, a person saves another and brings us another notch closer to our friends in the sea.
Quick asking whether we’re good or evil, or whether we should or shouldn’t…ask yourself this: When? When will humanity find its footing and shed its ignorance, stupidity, and hate, and embrace intellect, reason, and morality?
So, as I sit here atop a hill, upon my throne, wondering about the numerous mysterious of life upon this chilly evening I know that time only crawls because I wish it to and that time only speeds when I wish it to…the subconcious is a mysterious fellow. And, a strange bed fellow at that.
My kingdom is safe…as is the sea.