Overheard at the Bustop 2001: Corner of Pangaea rd and the Twilight district.

14 Jul

‘… I find people have trouble seeing the real me beneath the suit. It is three sizes too big, and I button the shirt above my head pretending to be Sleepy Hollow at a divorce court…’

‘…Is this bus stop 2001? I’ve just been at the twilight district. Do you know if a black man has ever sat here? Good…’

‘…When you read about this desperate 3 dollar crack-prostitutes, you have to act. That’s a good price, and locally owned. You could get them to paint your fence (not a euphemism) Tom Sawyer style (remember, not a euphemism), they’ll do anything obviously. You could probably work them down to herbal tea.
I hope I don’t have to give them 3 dollar crack, because I just plumb ran out. Maybe there’s anti-crack hoers, who I can sell my body to in exchange for crack. But then, I suppose that’s everyone else. It wouldn’t work, otherwise everyone would do it…’

‘…Oh man, I’ve got gum on my new shoe. What kind of person leaves a nice black high-top for me to pick up, only to stick gum on it….’

‘…Its like I always say, never a borrower nor lender nor bathroom attendant be. Sure, someone said it before me, but my point is I always say it, plus I bet they didn’t say no aphorism no how in a shiny crown like mine. Never a borrower nor….there I go again, always saying it. It’s a serious problem….’

‘…Sometimes you just want to hit your country right in the chops and go ‘quiet, you, you’re making a scene’ and then run off with their gal.
But of course, you just sit there, and watch your country leave town on a moped, watermelon-ginger locks screeching in the breeze like bats on mid-semester leave from a subsidised arts university. That is, sardonically and generally unemployable….
‘…Ninja’s are silent killers and vegetarians, their farts must be horrific. That must be why they cover their nose and mouth. Unless it’s some kind of disguise….But aren’t they Asians, who can tell them apart? The freaky deaky costume is their only defining feature. Plus the ninja-pong….’

‘…Its not that I don’t love my wife. I don’t, but it’s not that. One simply can’t be with the same three secret girlfriends for so long without developing a wandering eye on your penis. A man has certain needs, and when those needs are fulfilled above and beyond any reasonable expectations, he will get complacent and impregnate a roadside diner waitress and chieftain’s daughter he met in the deeps of the Andes while helicopting from his love-rat Marisa Tomei’s casta de sexo.
It would be easier if one was more attractive than the other dozen (I miscounted before) but I’ve done some tests and from an anthro-biological, historical, sociological, mathematical and mystical point of view they are all of equal babalicious merit. What’s more, no other earth-women currently are racking up the same scores. Now, until the time and space voyager I asked for Christmas is finalised, am I just being silly? I could turn to fetishism, but that’s like shooting fish in a barrel and barrel-fish-shooting doesn’t do it for me at all. What should I do? Hello? Oh, I missed my bus. …’


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