A Big Steaming Pile
Yesterday, I had a vary improtant meeting lined up. We have been contimplating how we can communicate secret mesages more affectivly at certin protests and demonstratons that we have lined up in the naer future. We don't want the pigs to be abel to under stand some of the things we are comunicating, so we don't want to use bullhrons or signs.
Horaitio came up with a great idea. African-talking drum.
He set up a meeting with his freind Ngude who is a master-talking drummre (studied at San Francisco City Colege). Our meeting was set for 2:00 PM.
Wel,, wouldn't you know it as soon as I stepped out of my aparment I walked right into a big steeming pile of dog crap. So, I tried to wash it off with water in thegutter but that wans't working. So, I had to take of my shoes and go bakc in and try to find another pare. I did, but they needed shoe laces, so I went to take the shoe laces off the dog crap shoes and I rellized that I had dog crap all over my shoe laces too, so now it's on my hands.
So then I had too wash the shoe laces in a sterillising soap. Another freaking 10 minute s to wahs and sterillise and dry and then put them on the non-dog crap shoes. Finaly , I'm done. I leave the apratment againd. I look down and notice tha t some how I had also gotten dog carp all over the legs of my pant. Jeez freakin' crap all over.
So, I go back in my house and get a clean pare of pants, but they have too be ironed. So, then I burn my slef with the iron. So, then I'm at the sink running clod water over my fingers and the phone rings, so I reach over to un plug the radio, which was playing loudly, and I freakin' electorcuted myslef.
So, then I'm laying on the flour shaking, and Horatio is giving me mouth to mouth, but I tell him I do'nt need it I can breathe fine. He hleps me to my feet and sits me in a chair and gets me a glass of cold water and an ice pack for my burnt fingers. Horatio was then nice enouhg to do the ironing for me.
By this time, I was vary upset. I knew we we're going to be late. Ngude is a vary busy man he would not be happy. He might evn rescedule the meeting, (but I can't aford for that to happen because (the protests and demonstations) are vary close to happening (this takes delicate palnning).).. So, I'm siting their doing my deep-breathing shakira meditation and I visualized a cataclysm of events tumultously falling at my feet , things that would shake the world , if I were to reveal them.
Horatio shook me to, and we went to the meeting. Everything turned out ok. Ngude agreeed to transmit secret mesages with talking drum, and I have suffred no ill affects form my electorcution. None that are apairent to me anyway.
But, the whole epasode got me to thinking: that dog crap on my shoes, is like George Bush, he gets on you're shoes and befroe you know it, the whole country stinks. And then one thing leads to another and everything else starts going wrong in the whole rest of the world to. And then to you're surprise, befroe you know it, you've got a 280 pound Aztlandian man on top of you giving you mouth to mouth resusitation.
I freakin' hate George Bush.
Horaitio came up with a great idea. African-talking drum.
He set up a meeting with his freind Ngude who is a master-talking drummre (studied at San Francisco City Colege). Our meeting was set for 2:00 PM.
Wel,, wouldn't you know it as soon as I stepped out of my aparment I walked right into a big steeming pile of dog crap. So, I tried to wash it off with water in thegutter but that wans't working. So, I had to take of my shoes and go bakc in and try to find another pare. I did, but they needed shoe laces, so I went to take the shoe laces off the dog crap shoes and I rellized that I had dog crap all over my shoe laces too, so now it's on my hands.
So then I had too wash the shoe laces in a sterillising soap. Another freaking 10 minute s to wahs and sterillise and dry and then put them on the non-dog crap shoes. Finaly , I'm done. I leave the apratment againd. I look down and notice tha t some how I had also gotten dog carp all over the legs of my pant. Jeez freakin' crap all over.
So, I go back in my house and get a clean pare of pants, but they have too be ironed. So, then I burn my slef with the iron. So, then I'm at the sink running clod water over my fingers and the phone rings, so I reach over to un plug the radio, which was playing loudly, and I freakin' electorcuted myslef.
So, then I'm laying on the flour shaking, and Horatio is giving me mouth to mouth, but I tell him I do'nt need it I can breathe fine. He hleps me to my feet and sits me in a chair and gets me a glass of cold water and an ice pack for my burnt fingers. Horatio was then nice enouhg to do the ironing for me.
By this time, I was vary upset. I knew we we're going to be late. Ngude is a vary busy man he would not be happy. He might evn rescedule the meeting, (but I can't aford for that to happen because (the protests and demonstations) are vary close to happening (this takes delicate palnning).).. So, I'm siting their doing my deep-breathing shakira meditation and I visualized a cataclysm of events tumultously falling at my feet , things that would shake the world , if I were to reveal them.
Horatio shook me to, and we went to the meeting. Everything turned out ok. Ngude agreeed to transmit secret mesages with talking drum, and I have suffred no ill affects form my electorcution. None that are apairent to me anyway.
But, the whole epasode got me to thinking: that dog crap on my shoes, is like George Bush, he gets on you're shoes and befroe you know it, the whole country stinks. And then one thing leads to another and everything else starts going wrong in the whole rest of the world to. And then to you're surprise, befroe you know it, you've got a 280 pound Aztlandian man on top of you giving you mouth to mouth resusitation.
I freakin' hate George Bush.
posted by Pastorius at 9:06 AM
1 Comments:
Memes,
That talking drum idea is great. I think I'll incorporate that into my band for my next tour, so I can let the roadies know which chicks to pull out of the audience and bring back stage.
Sting
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