SouthFresh

I will be in Europe until the 6th of April. Feel free to amuse yourself by posting comments for me to read when I get back.

Where I work is in a small business park with small clumps of offices with each clump having its own courtyard and restroom shared among the offices in the clump. Once in a while, while in need of a urinal, I will be forced by the presence of another person, who currently is in need of a urnial but will soon not be in need of one, to use a stall for my urinal-based needs not for my stall-based needs. One particular time when my boarding pass for the urinal had been double-booked and I was given a standby seat in the stall, everything was proceeding as normal (which I’m sure relieves you almost as much as I was relieving myself).

That is when everything changed.

Out of my periferal vision I caught a glimpse of movement. My heart rate slowly increased. Small organs (ones that have no stops, keys, or pipes but still have the gumption to call themselves “organs”) were influencing my decision making skills with the devious addition of adrenalin to my blood stream. Fight or Flight…. my choice? Flight…. well, not exactly my choice. The motion was a fly making what appeared to be a bee-line (even thought it was a fly) for the bowl of the toilet.

My previously mentioned altered state of decision making tracked the fly in the air, a question was asked internally (and quietly, as the other guy was still standing at the Urinal I had had reservations for) and answered with exultation as I modified the trajectory of my stream to powerfully and acurately hose that fly directly into the toilet bowl.

Watch out for my ninja skills.

Will someone please explain why the hell I have “Do the hustle” stuck in my head?

I’m having French Toast “sticks” for breakfast. Nothing like deep fried bread to start the day!

It appears that a long lost sibling of the former insect from my previous entry may have gotten his dander up about the sudden death of his relative.

Fly Dander, ew.

There was a fly buzzing around the office I’m working at today. We had a understanding, the fly and myself. He could buzz around as much as he wanted and I wouldn’t get in the way, if he promised not to touch me. He broke the deal by trying to see if my ear would be a good substitute as a home for him. So when I saw this contract violating insect pause for a moment on the table, I half heartedly flung a shoe at him promptly killing him.

My first impression was that this was the saddest day ever for all of flydom. Not only had I killed a fly, but had done so without really trying. Here was an example of survival of the fittest in action, and that fly hadn’t been fittest.

I’m going to personally decide to change that thought. I like the idea that I’ve evolved into a more fit fly executioner than all previous humans.

Upon learning that mackerals (of the non-smoked and still alive variety) have a method of singing to one another, one naturally begins to wonder if it might be possible to get a choir of them to do “Also Sprach Zarathustra”. Oh yeah, I almost forget to mention… they sing by expelling gas from their fishy-poop-chutes.

There once was a limerick writer
Lacking, he pulled an all-nighter
At the end of it all
When he let the pen fall
He didn’t get a proper limerick anyway.

It is commonly considered polite to request a blessing from a diety for those around us who have recently evacuated materials from their nostrils yet it is considered the responsibility of the “offender” to request a pardon from those within earshot (and presumably nose-shot) for the act of evacuating extra gasseous mass from the other end of their body. You humans amuse me.

Remember above all else. Don’t fight fire with fire, fight fire with marshmallows, graham crackers and bits of chocolate.