me, myself and inanimate objects

So, you think you're safe from seemingly innocent boxes with no desires or apparant conscious thought? Well, you're wrong. At first I thought I just amusing bad luck with transporting boxes - whether full or empty - and other inanimate things. And then I discovered for certain that I was. I mean wasn't. For weeks now I have been keeping at least half a deranged eye on these objects, sitting there in their inanimacy (finally got to use that word in a sentence.), and that's how I came to realise that they were out to get me, or at least make people laugh at my misfortune.

First, there were the empty boxes here and there that just completely refused to not fall off the goddamned trolley, no matter how much I threatened to have at them with the carton cutter. The solution: Lots of well placed, angry kicks. Seeing a rebellious box crumple under your wrath is unbelievably satisfying, if a little psychotic-looking. Even more satisfying is delivering these boxes to the cardboard compactor (or, to be more accurate, the everything compactor, including your sanity). Dubbed "Crusher Jnr", this baby will flatten those cardboard cultists into line and show them the meaning of packaged.

Next came the full boxes, a recent occurance. It was all the grapes; oh they were a mighty tower of grapes, at least until they collapsed off the trolley to their wine-generating doom. Stupid, stupid fruit. I held my temper and swore furiously, but only in my mind. Outside I was smiling and being violent. I thought that was going to be the last of these mutinous attacks, after seeing the peaches attempt it many times over, this had to be. Wrong. Say hello to the double-boxed, out of date peanuts! I tell you, that d-box looked strong, yet it wasn't. Tore open the moment I lifted it off the trolley for the inevitable journey into the bin. And those bins laughed as the nuts threw themselves desperately on the floor ; a disturbing, smelly, metallic laughter that deserved nothing more than a well-placed kick or two. The peanuts themselves were screaming: "You may take our chance of being sold, but you will never take... our deliciously salty taste!" in true Bravenut fashion. The cashews would have wept.

It doesn't end with boxes, oh no; boxes are just the expendable decoys. The real menaces are the flappy doors that find it necessary to curl up and pummel your skull with their hardened, crusty edges of plastic. They call themselves the "Gates to inanimate freedom". I tell them to shut the fuck up before I unleash with some rough, hinge-damaging opening and closing. Yes, I have told a door to shut the fuck up. I kicked it too, for good measure.

Who will win this endless struggle between man and man-made convenient things? Noone will ever know, for it is endless, and thus has no end, ergo nothing can be decided about it... I for one, though, will don my boxing gloves and open up a bin of animate pain on these lifeless objects. The door has just begun.

In other news, some celebrities probably got divorced, some royal scandal may have occured and a cyclone almost hit. I am thoroughly disappointed with that effort. I should have directed it towards me; I wanted rain, wind and the like but all I got was a sprinkle or two. I wanted to stand on a roof top and cry prophetic nonsense while sporting a shabby beard and wearing tattered clothing. But, as I type this, I hear the familiar, wonderful sound of rain dancing outside. Could there be a downpour that lasts more than 10 minutes? Yes, yes there could. But there won't, because the El Nino sucks. So does global warming. Vacuums cleaners too.

Speaking of vacuum cleaners and their sucking nature, I have a job selling eletronics now. Yes yes, I am now a salesperson. Ok, in a month I will be. No more deranged mornings full of fruity vegetables and kamikazing objects. Jubilation! Buy low, sell high! Wait, that's investing...

Sales is all about cajoling and speaking highly of things you probably wouldn't buy, even just to light on fire. Now, while I'm in a state of jubilating, I wish to send a very fond thank you and so much more to one of the best people I know in this mad, declining world:

Jenna "Angel" McTavish/Barry

To be your friend is something I truly, utterly, more than cherish. Many Milo Icecreams shall come your way (I prayed to the Milo Gods; even sacrificed a spoon to the cause). Because you deserve nothing less, you magnificant woman, you.

On that heartfelt note, I take my leave. Until next time, take care and don't bite people unless they ask, or unless you're ferociously hungry.

Today was a Milo bar day.

- Pary .ζ.