3 minutes of boredom at work

I was wondering, dear Fred, are any good in bed? I have a list of women to be with you; you smile your Nordic smile and ladies swoon...

In the empty yard is the watered down rosy rhetoric that says nothing, solves nothing a bit of nonchalant grotesque gimmickery or boredom-lubricant. Polluted minds, live in the Age of Decline, with a disinclination to self-improvement, sitting on couches and staring at walls is all I have these days, so stay and don’t stray, I was about to ask you ten dozen favours anyway. Can you loan me a buck, as I’m down on my luck? Count to ten and breathe that mediocre post-sneeze disrupted aria, that melancholy glare and breakfast silence everywhere.

I sup upon a bowl of flakes, take my poochie to the lake, skip stones and unleash that beast, sniffing feces of his friends and scaring tadpoles in the creek. That you are meek is a bonus; the onus is on the proud.

Don't imitate the avant-garde, or hyphenate your calories and become a tub-o-lard. This task is another in a long long line, every worry is self-replacing, every joy made obsolete. Something pleasurable, something new, something different for us to do. Woo hoo.

1 comment:

Bobby said...