I walked into the K-2 computer lab, ready to service one of the desktops.
Roughly twenty 1st graders sat clicking away - their darling young faces illuminated by bright LCD screens; their heads gently cradled by giant plastic headphones - as Reading Blaster assaulted their senses.
In the back of the room sat the teacher and her assistant - the latter wearing large sunglasses despite the fact that it’s currently February 13th in Rochester, NY and we haven’t seen the sun in approximately 5 months.
"Oh good, are you here for my desktop?"
"I am! Which one is it?"
"It’s #20, on the end of the row there."
That’s when I first hear the sound. It echoed forth from the back row like a shotgun blast in an empty cave. I held my breath, made my way down the row, and took my seat at the computer. A few seconds passed before another shot rang out, this time closer. Too close, in fact. Right behind me.
"You’re going to want to get out of here as soon as you can! This whole building is sick!”
As I turn to acknowledge the teacher’s warning, I’m assaulted by a third explosion. The attack had officially begun. I looked directly behind me and saw an adorable little girl wiping her nose onto the pink sleeve of her Dora sweatshirt. Before I could turn back towards my computer, another shot was heard from across the lab. Then another, from the same area, but definitely a different weapon. Within moments, the lab was filled with a deafening chorus of filth.
"She’s got pink eye!"
She. With the sunglasses. Of course.
Quickly, I repaired the computer and stood to make my escape. The air in the lab had become thick with invisible bacteria and viruses - unseeable by the eye, yet unavoidable by the immune system - like the countless billions of galaxies that mankind has yet to discover across the vast, cold, and dark expanse of the universe.
My eyes plotted the quickest path to the exit before my brain remembered that I had just been touching keyboards and mice that live in the warzone - each of them hundreds of times more infectious than any of the 3-month old magazines that rest on the table at your doctor’s office. Without breaking stride, my brain took command and rerouted me to the nearest Purell dispenser. Calmly walking past it, I silently pumped three squirts into each palm, exited the lab, and began my defense.
- I can pick up a guitar and give you a veritable endless stream of new riffs but
- I’ve never been much of a lyricist and
it’s been almost exactly 11 years since I last wrote a set of lyrics (May 19, 2001).
- As of last night, it’s time to reset that timer.
- It didn’t come easily and I don’t know if more will follow.
- But still, I’m happy to have that monkey off my back today.
Listen here, kiddo.
There’s no easy way to break this to you so I’m just going to let you have it: you’re frighteningly ugly. Now, I give you credit for your attempt to look as beautiful as me, but you have failed in the most dramatically miserable fashion that I have ever seen.
Allow me to give you a few tips for future photography sessions - though, I have to be honest here, the first thought that crossed my mind as I started writing this was: “God help us if anyone is ever stupid enough to once again take pictures of this walking nightmare.”
- Next time you should try losing somewhere between 50 and 75 percent of your body weight before heading to the studio. Yes, I know this will be challenging for a hippopotamus/human hybrid like yourself (hippopotuman?), but it’ll be for your own good, and it’ll definitely be good for everyone else too.
- Grow some hair. It will really help the photographer to not have to worry about being blinded every time his flash bounces off your big shiny dome. It’s bad enough that your cheeks resemble an elaborate attempt to recreate Archimedes Heat Ray, but if you have any success with my first tip then you that won’t specifically be an issue anymore. So just concentrate real hard and clench your asshole and put some earplugs in and plug your nose and close your eyes and push with all your might. With any luck that will sprout some stems out of that mass of flesh that’s seemingly an extension of your ass cheeks.
- Now, again, this one will be very difficult unless you can lose some of that disgusting chub, but you really need to prop yourself up on your arms. I’ve been closely inspecting this photo and I think you actually have wrists, and I’m ready for the consequences if I’m wrong about that and you simply just have two of those novelty water snake toy things attached to your shoulders. By propping yourself up you’ll be demonstrating that you are strong (chicks dig strength) as well as elongating your torso and neck, which by the time you try this will hopefully be reduced to the Standard Human Model (#SHM-NECK-001) that includes only one chin (rather than the approximately 17 chins that I can discern in this photo).
- White is not your color.
- Seriously though, did you eat your quadruplet siblings in the womb, and have they managed to sew your mother’s vagina back together yet? If they need reinforcements tell them not to even bother with All The King’s Horses And All The King’s Men, because that crew has proven itself ineffective time and time again.
In conclusion, let me wish you the best of luck. Just because you’re the most hideous creature that I’ve ever laid eyes on (and that’s saying a lot coming from me - hell, I’m the chairman of the World’s Ugliest Dog competition) doesn’t mean you can’t turn your life around. I’ll leave you with a copy of my award-winning photo. You should use it as inspiration to be all you can be.
Alright, I don’t usually ask for attention, but if anyone is feeling friendly, perhaps you could recommend one of my other Tumblrs for the Directory/Animals (http://www.tumblr.com/directory/recommend). I think you need to follow it before you can recommend it. :-/
For the fans out there: more stories will be forthcoming. I have some photos queued up for which I need to write, so stay tuned!
The morning after.
I just arrived home from a Halloween party. I played my usual role of D³ (Designated Designated-Driver) while the rest of the cast enjoyed themselves. That’s not to say that I didn’t (don’t) have fun, because I did (do), but those rides home are never lacking in interesting post-party conversation among the non-sober folk. I generally stay quiet and drive.
As I stepped out of my car in the driveway, the near-silence of the autumn frost was beautiful. The only sound was that of leaves - heavy with the weight of frozen condensation - relinquishing their grip from the branches to which they gave life for the last 6 months. I stood in the driveway for a minute - shivering and listening to the symphony being performed by the ensemble of trees that fill the neighborhood.