fantastic that you should find yourself here. im here, you're here. please feel free to 'perooze' this here stuff. its full of fantat. check it out. and i hope afterwards, you realize, that, ive touched you deep in your heart. and that ive touched your moms, deep in their pants.


tales of the sponge

and the wheels of my brain are once again in rotation, and therefore we have more text splashed on the pages in front of you.

normally in society, there are general rules that we follow. sometimes it may be necessary and excusable to bend, even break, these rules. however, as I have found out, the seniors of our fair world, find that they are excluded from the rulebook. of course they have been through lots of years of life, accumulated vast amounts of knowledge and have the right to act out. to do what they please, however slowly, but do it regardless.

the night was face-busting cold. but inside, the rooms of my hardwood floored apartment were toasty and buttered. it had been a long day and my body was weary. the only thing that would satisfy me now, after a shower, much food and some drawing, was some playstationing. some popping badguys in the head, some running old ladies over, some all around virtual mayhem was in order. so with my bag of ketchup chips, and a glass of bottled water my fun began.

things began to heat up and enjoyment was much abound. so much in fact, that when I next looked at the time-teller on my wall, it was three forty of the AM. with no work the next day and nothing else to do I played on. but I didn't get far...

I rounded the next pixelated tree stump, ducked, assumed the classic one-knee shooting stance, and set my sites on an enemy soldiers head. my right index finger anxiously flirted with the trigger button, pressing slightly, but backing off - bouts of uncertainty keeping the patrolling soldier alive. a final split second decision ended the soldiers patrol, assignment and army enrollment. as he fell to the ground others became alerted at my presence and it was time to panic. time to suck it up, gather the guts, focus.

and the doorbell rang.

at first, it didn't register in my mind as a doorbell. I accepted the fact that this games tension laden gunfights had finally driven me over the cliff that was sanity. no, it really was my doorbell. at three fifty AM? I got up and bounded gracefully to the window. being on the third floor, trying to see someone ringing a doorbell at a door directly beneath you is next to impossible. but then I heard the patter of my cats feets galloping towards the front door to my apartment, accompanied by a soft knocking.

it must have been some emergency. my elderly neighbours must have urgent need of something, someone, me. I donned my superhero tights and arrived at the door, full of intents. I would bash any burglars, thwart any theivary, violence any vagrants. I would save my building from devastation.

I swung the door open. after the searing of the hallway halogens became bearable, I found that my hopes of herocy were to be trampled among the clumps of poo in my cats litter box. there stood my old neighbours, calm as could be. yet a fire blazed. a fury, blue in his eyes.
the hunched, would-be six foot, frame of the retired gent occupied the space of my doorway. his teal faux-cashmere sweater and brown dress pants burned my recently adjusted night eyes. his wife, small and frail - occupying almost none of their doorframe - was just behind him. I looked at him in question.

mumbles came from his mouth. nothing coherent. words slowly started to become clear. 'hot' and 'too hot' were favoured among them. then we made it to grade 1. we got a complete sentence. 'its so hot in here.'

my face was in disbelief. this man and his small female companion, actually pushed my door alert button to inform me that it was hot in here? hot in herre. but before my mouth could release any vowel-consonant salads, he finished his whole story.
teal-fan was going on with his words, and I listened. and was finally able to insert a few of my own.

'its too hot in here. its far too hot in here.'

'and?' my head said. his lanky person looked for my agreement and perhaps some approval at his alerting me of this eventuos event.

'its so hot, the radiators are burning.'

'yeah, its a little warm in here. but its always been like this. even last year was really hot in here.' I replied.

'its burning.' his face told me he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that it was hot. as if it was ridiculous for the heat to even exist. 'someone should tell the lady with the cats to turn the heat down. we're burning.'

all this time he never really looked me in the eyes. his glare wandered past me and into my apartment depths. maybe he was looking for the excess heat in here too. 'okay, well tomorrow morning ill go and mention it to her for you.' I figured that this was reasonable and that it would tame the fire in his eyes. but instead, it served as only more fuel. he pointed a jangly finger towards the scampering cats and announced 'its far too hot, THEY'LL EXPLODE'.

again I offered the only thing I was willing to do at the absurd hour of now three fifty-six AM,

'ill go and speak to the landlady tomorrow morning'

to which he replied, 'no, NOW'.

my patience was wearing thin. and my game was sitting with idle attentiveness. this was a man who had once asked me to take out his garbage as I exited for work. and when I happily agreed to do it, he proceeded to tell me, 'but not yet though'. so I was supposed to go to work, come home when it was convenient for him for me to dispose of his disposals, then go back to work. who are you?

at this point he tried to walk into my apartment, as if to hunt down and kill the heat. and this was the last straw. spaceman johnson had rang my bell at almost four AM, complained that his heat was too high, and expected me to complain to our landlady at the crack of dawn. and I let loose a small torrent of morning-dew-lavender words.

'look. I'm not going to ring someones bell at four in the morning. ill talk to her tomorrow for you. you're ringing my bell at four in the morning, don't you find that a bit late?'

he stared at me. 'its too hot'. billy backjob here was like a broken record player. and the record is an old song that you really never liked, but put up with because your friends liked it and you wanted to stay cool. his blue eyes fixed me with a look that said, 'you young people these days. no respect.' he turned away slowly, but not without sending me a glare filled with disbelief, that I wouldn't fulfill his requests.

our doors closed, and I shook my head. I walked back to the couch and jumped back into the virtual world I was so comfortable in only moments ago.

if you're hot, open a window a crack. take off a layer of clothing, maybe the teal faux-cashmere. why would your first resort be knocking on your neighbours door? at three-fifty in the morning? did he actually think that it was a good idea to possibly wake me up with such news and requests? or maybe im just obesely selfish in my ways. unwilling to help out a fellow neighbour.

next time I think my hot water is running a bit too fast, at three-twelve AM, ill maybe call you up. so you can fix the problem for me.

12.20.2004 should go

technology is amazing, is it not? we have automatic flushing toilets, AUTO-mobiles, anti-godzilla guns and more than our share of communication devices called 'cell-mobiles'. and yet it would seem that even the most simple of tasks are impossible for some people to complete.

in turn, due to johnny jimmy jacobs' lack of 'brain-use', the rest of us are wildly inconvenienced. in this case, causing me to eat food, primed with anti-vomit, as a way to kill an indeterminate amount of time.

what does this have to do with someones lesser-brain-use you ask? here it is.
twas a blustery day, and my under-parts where visited by the city winds more than twice. it was one of my rare days off and I had many-a-thing to accomplish. the snow was fierce and the air was biting, but I braved the outdoors regardless. after all, rent had to be paid, things had to be boughten, and a cat had to be adopted.

so there I was, downtown with the snow making unconsentual love to my face, the slush teasing with shoes with cold threats of penetrating the full grain leather, and the ice promising a secure surface to break my teeth on once I fell. I made my way from the metro exit to my apartment owners building, ahead of schedule. I pushed open the heavy glass door, made even heavier by the forces of paranormal air inside, not wanting to get cold. the lobby was airy, clean and filled with plants that looked plastic, but upon chewing a leaf I discovered they were, in fact, real. I took the three steps up and walked past the security desk. always nervous around those that monitor our safety in buildings, I avoided eye contact. with a 3 day unshaven face and messy hair, I look like your everyday exploder-of-things.

I stood and marveled at the sheen and lustre of the elevator doors. so...dull-metallic-glinty. gently i pressed the up button and waited patiently, trying, in my head, to guess which one of the six would get there first. as i rocked on my heels, elevator fours chime chinged, announcing its arrival.

stepping into the carpetted verti-capsule and checked myself out in the mirrors that covered the walls. I waited, and waited. then I realized that I wasn't moving. i pushed the button for the seventh floor and felt the gentle push against my soles. I kinda felt like keanu reeves in speed 1. the elevator scene.

before my fantasy was able to take flight, I reached my destination floor. level seven. I waltzed out and turned the corner, casually showing the busy office people that I was free and they were trapped behind desks and cancer-causing photocopiers. I finally made it to the office doors. composed of thick glass and metallic chromic shiny handles. and a piece of paper. and here my friends is the culprit.

curses the bastard paper. curses the persons that put it there. curses the ink that the words were built from. curses the alphabet. curses all around.

if someone is going to part from the office for a certain period of time, and leave notification of their supposed return, would it not be proper practice to leave on the paper the time at which they left? of course it is. but no. these idiots decide that its a marvel idea to simply write/type/linoleum print 'back in thirty minutes'.

thirty minutes from when? did I just miss you? are you to return in mere moments. if I leave now, will our elevators pass eachother? if I wait, will you come back to find a skeleton in tattered clothing, sitting at the wall with a rent cheque in hand?

you would have simplified my life and helped me keep my projected schedule if you'd only written the time from which these thirty minutes applied. but sadly you could not. your hand was cramping, and the thought of typing those six to eight extra alpha-numerals was unbearable. your fingers would have contracted gangrene or jaundice. so instead of risking these deadly, amputee collected diseases, you opted for the virus I call stupidity-horrendous-maximal. and therefore, you have accepted a fate worse than the armless. but you didn't know, did you.

no. you're just an innocent moron. you live in a tall glass tower. and you know what they say about people in tall glass towers.

'people in glass towers shouldn't wear heels, for heels bring clicking, and clicking brings horses'

le shal