Sundae Thoughts

September 23, 2010

In California at 6:42 AM, a big fat man- and when I say fat, I mean really fat, like he makes obese people look anorexic because he’s so fucking fat- sits in McDonalds gobbling up 9 Big Macs, 7 large fries, 2 triple cheese burgers, 4 bacon cheese burgers, 6 McChicken burgers, 14 large Red Fanta’s, 3 caramel latte’s with 4 sugars, 19 chocolate muffins, and last but not least, 27 chocolate Sundaes. It is a Saturday. As the man devours his feast, (feast for you maybe, but for him, merely an appetiser). He gobbles his food vigorously, oblivious to the world around him. But curious, the brain inside in fat head is functioning, and he is using it. This is what he thought:
“It’s Saturday today, omnomnom, and I’m eating a Sundae, omnomnom, it’s so god damn delicious, omnomnom, I wonder, if it’s Saturday here, omnomnom, and I’m eating a Sundae, omnomnom, could it be SUNDAY elsewhere? Omnomnom.”
Of course, the man across the table on his way to work, who dropped in to enjoy a nice cup of coffee, watched in a horrified trance as this planet devoured all that food.
“My god” he thought “What a fat fuck.”
He then proceeded to drink his coffee and escape as soon as possible; on his way to work his was hit by a bus and killed. But that is another story.
The Hippo inside McDonalds was nearing the finish of his meal. Releasing a glorious fart and scratching his rectum he then proceeded to waddle (or roll) his way out of the restaurant. Of course as stupidly obese as he was he did have a brain, and he liked to use it. This is what he thought as he waddled:
“I wonder…. How many sea shells DOES she sell on the sea shore?”
He then proceeded to a fish and chip shop to eat 20 crumbed fish and some crab cakes. The owner could only watch in horror, hypnotised by the wobbling of his fat flaps, later recalling to people how it had it’s own rhythm, kind of like the ocean.
The fat man, who curiously enough had not yet been named (we shall henceforth call him Tim), continued his treacherous walk to the beach, upon where a lonely Japanese man (curiously named Ahab) mistook him for the evil white whale (Moby Dick) and struck him down with a harpoon.
Tim, who in the shock of having a harpoon go flying through his stomach, then proceeded to realise all the McDonalds he had eaten out of his rear, spraying out like a blowhole all over Ahab, who later recalled that the incident was ‘horrifyingly euphoric’ of course, we can only imagine.
Later after some surgery Tim returned home where he watched 9 hours of Leno, before going to sleep.

Faces in the Dust

September 20, 2010

I stood alone in the empty room. Dust lined the floor and walls; it floated around me as I walked across the room. I sneezed, as a line of dust shot from my nose. A small beem of light shot into the room like a laser through a crack in the wall. The dust seemed to spiral through the line like a magnet.
I ponder to myself as to why this room was here. The house had been abandoned 70 odd years ago. Yet every room still had some semblance to why it was there. You could tell which room was the kitchen or a bedroom. But this room, isolated and empty, what was it here for?
I turn around examining the floor of the room, and notice a slight groove on a spot the dust had cleared from my footsteps. I kneel down and sweep away the dust with my hands. I cough and splutter as clouds of it fly into my face. After a few moments I wave it out of my eyes and see what the dust had hidden so well.
The Trapdoor.
I stand up, tingling and feeling nervous in the stomach. I get Goosebumps on my arms and wonder what could be hidden down there, yet a sinister feeling creeps over me. Nothing good can come of hidden rooms…
Yet the feeling of curiosity was too strong, I had to know what was down there, what skeletons this family had been hiding.
That’s the problem, perhaps, with the human species, it delves into things that should not be meddled with, sticks its nose where it does not belong. A curiosity our species has developed and has often caused disastrous consequences. Yet without it, we would not be men.
I place my fingers around the edges of the rough wooden door, and begin to lift.
The wood feels damp around my fingers, but solid. It does not crumble and is curiously heavy, but soon I place it aside and stare, gaping at a long dark ominous pit.
The sinister feeling washes over me again, and I begin feeling nauseous. I breath heavily, trying to get my breath, but decide to leave the house for some fresh air, before proceeding down the hole.
After some fresh air and feeling back to normal besides the pain in my stomach, which I can only interpret as fear, I head back inside, pick up my torch, and drop myself down the hole.
It isn’t too deep, maybe a 3-metre drop. I turn my torch on and look around.
There are wooden pillars everywhere, but, like the room above it, every square inch is covered in 2cms thick of dust.
I walk to the nearest wooden pillar and brush some of the dust away. After a second or two my sight returns again. My eyes widen in shock and I get a feeling in my gut like I am about to throw up.
A thick bloodstain covers the pillar.
Rusted, dirty blood. Not clean blood. This wasn’t stained in the one instance, it must have taken place over many, and whoever’s blood it was, certainly hadn’t been freshly scrubbed.
I trudge from one pillar to the next. Each one stained with blood.
Finally at the end of the room I come to a little chest. I open it and reach inside. It is empty except for one photo frame. I pull it out and blow the dust off the photo. It is the same family I saw in the photo frames upstairs. Except here the photo has a different effect. The smiling on their faces isn’t friendly and inviting, its evil and sinister and looking at their faces makes me fury with rage. I feel like I wished they were alive, so I could kill them for what they had done to people down here.
Suddenly the room grows darker and as I shine the torch back I realise that the little light coming through the trapdoor is gone.
I trudge back and stare up. The door had indeed closed.
I jump and push the door, hoping to move it. But it’s no good from down here.
“Hello?!” I cry. “Hello is anyone there?!”
There is nothing but dreadful silence.