Lila64
Blue Crack Distributor
pardon me!
Bonochick said:Is this genius of the delicate variety?
UberBeaver said:
I can't WORK LIKE THIS!
Bonochick said:
Is that your policy?
"Oh, you have a policy! The delicate genius has a policy!!!!!"
that's some good stuff. thanksUberBeaver said:U2VertigoFly
Nature
"Hello Doctor."
"Why hello there Mr...U2VertigoFly. What brings you in today?"
"Ahem, well, it's a tad embarrasing, actually...."
"Rash, puss, warts? Stuff like that? No problem, happens to plenty of young men. I'll get you a - "
"Oh, no. Nothing like that, doc. It's, well...Vertigo."
"Vertigo? You're a Fly, son. Fly's don't get Vertigo."
"Yes, I know. Which is why this is embarrasing. I'll be flying along, right, listening to conversations and then I get this feeling, like I'm falling. It's absurd. I'm a Fly, doc. I come from a long line of Flys and goddamn it, not one of them has ever fallen. Not once. We've been swatted, sprayed, stuck to some kind of glue tape, but we do not just arbitrarily fall, doc. It's unnatural."
"Well, Nature has a wit, son. She's pulled some good ones in her day. Earthquakes, cyclones, meteors. Sometimes she likes to chage things up. Keep us on our toes."
"Well she pissed me off, doc."
"Yes, well, I can't prescribe anything against nature. But I might be able to give you something about those dizzy spells - "
"NO - I'll not be some doped up Fly flying around. I will do this on my own. I will take on Nature herself and buzz around her goddamn ear. She swat at me, but I'll dodge, and she'll hit her ear, and then I'll fly into her other ear, and lay eggs and ... and.... Yeah. I'll do that. Screw her."
"You...um...you do realize she's not a real woman, right? It's just an expression, sorta."
"That won't stop me, doc. We Flys don't go down that easy."
"Right. OK then. Um...good luck with that.....you sure you don't want something?"
"Yeah....well...ok, maybe just likes a weeks worth. I can take that time to train. Cool?"
UberBeaver said:TheBrush
TheComb
It used to be all about TheComb. I'd be there on the dresser every morning, waiting to be dragged through that wet, fresh smelling hair. Then I'd find warmth in the back pocket, and when the master sat, I'd curve my body to go with the curvature of his ass. I'd bend, but never break. And when the wind kicked up, I was just a reach around away. And then I'd glide, like silk on silk, through his hair. I kept it neat, kempt.
And then one day, I get taken out of the pocket and laid on the dresser. And what's there next to me? TheBrush. Apparently the master believed his hair, which I nurtured for years, had gotten too long and thick for me to adequately groom. So he brought in TheBrush. With his multiple rows of teeth, like a shark he looked. A shark covered in hair. Digusting. Ungraceful did he move. Constantly snagging at the hair of the master. It caused me pain, I admit. Had I tear ducts, I'd've wept.
I pray everyday that TheBrush melts under a hairdryer. I'll admit it. I'm bitter. I'm pissed off. This young arrogant second rate hair care tool comes rolling in and I get relegated to a drawer? A spent a month on the floor after I got knocked over. Master didn't even notice. I was covered in dust balls. But I'll tell you this: When he found me and picked me up, he left below the straightest most well kept dustballs this world will ever see.
Oh, I know my time will return. TheBrush is only a fad. This revival of the long hair hippie movement fuels him. But trends change, men will take pride in their appearance again, and then shall I return to glory, curled every so nicely against the round rump of the Master. I just bide my time.