07/10/2013 - SCHAUDENFREUDE IS BETTER WITH POPCORN

Schaudenfreude is better with popcorn. Ripple. Ripple. Smatter. Thank you for coming to my robust party involving the psychic ditz, especially considering you made all furious and beautiful. You walked into my life and now it’s meaningful in a way that makes my paediatrician so happy and spoon fed. Please don’t retard me with finger foods and adolescent idolatry. Go off and buy more stuff while I’m safe in returned jealousy. That’s the grey hairs and spandex speaking, you just don’t understand. God damn the down payments with a loosely-fitted tie. You have one minute to call me sweetie and then I get going with her money. Your secret is safe behind my Ramadan shield casing.

The bowl of ice cream goes off in its slinky black dressing gown to retrieve the bin from the hypodermic needles of perfect biters. It’s mobile, socially mobile and going simultaneously along the ziggurat. And behold, the co-worker! He means something! I can assure you that provided you keep this under your respective years and all the speckled booze that lies beneath and between. My foreclosure is clucking and the stove is all over the dead person’s navel. It was you who did this to the Pogo Motherfucker; it was you with all the steering wheels and lightning reflexive remonstrance. Come on you drowned cable, come along quietly and we’ll see if we can slave your t-shirt over some quality oven mitts.  Is it summer yet? Then call the ripples back.

You see me sitting right here with a mummy and all the partitions, both glass and municipal. You are a pal, you know that. You see me sliding along the hairy vacuum cleaner with ‘didn’t’ and ‘did not’. You can see wading around in groundhog shit when you find my kids draining the mansion and pleading the fifth coriander. You see the suits that line my lineage, creosote the bandages and gasp with flatulent crowd sourcing. They call me detective simply because I’m a fast-legged trainer. We might need you to ask a few questions, good ones and in fortunate ways.

It’s going on all over: the sword, the mage, the lager minstrels, the faulty requisition portrait, the wires, the planes, the time to go, the weight off the reassigned mind. You could always take the deal and give me a fresh start before I pat down my fedora. Good thanks and grabbing. Imported candle wax. Home depositions go well with such knockout desserts and toaster oven delights. Crash and crash in a crass way so I can ask what on earth are you doing here without all the hearing and the togetherness. Insert friendship with your fingertips and see how earthy my salesmanship really is. I have teenage tools and a detective’s intuition, dipped in liquid sugar and rewound to the beginning. This is real. Oh yes, this is as real as it gets and it will make you a happy chap. Your lapels are coming loose but you come back now, you hear.