Over the next few hundred years we’re trapped in this cell together, I’m going to talk about a few anecdotes of choice (Like the time I spent weeping in a park at two in the morning) as well as some crude absurdity. I like to keep it simple.
Here’s one now. When I was a child, the practical joke of choice in comics and popular culture appeared to be the bucket of water perched on a door. Such a trick is always amusing, especially if you’re at a funeral. However, using a cast iron bucket can lessen the amusement, if the victim attains head-wounds.
About fifteen years ago, my sister and I decided to apply this joke in a modified fashion. As our mother could probably not withstand the smacking on the head with a bucket, we decided to use a pillow instead. An ineffectual, soft pillow. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Of course, it did go wrong. Mother walked through door holding a recently fashioned tuna sandwich. The pillow hit her full on in the face, partially obscuring her vision and knocking her off balance. She fell, the plate clinically clanging to the ground and discarding it’s contents onto the floor, in front of her screaming face. She was angry. The sandwich was ruined. And we never fucking did that again.
I have a thousand mildly dull anecdotes like this. Like the time I had sex while watching the Sky at Night. All kinds of fun. Part your reading legs for my cock of words. I’m going to have a cup of tea.