Friday, May 1, 2009

My Life Is A Strange Third Prize In An Alien Auction That Some Spoddy Invertebrate Pustuloid Might Actually Win

Ever had the feeling you’ve been temporarily inhabiting someone elses skin? Or hide? Or carapace?*

Or that they (whoever they are) are performing the same trick beneath the surface of yours (whatever it is — and however it looks first thing in the morning) ?

I mention this because my thoughts for today’s post (and I’m not presuming regularity of purpose for myself here)** have not only meandered hither and thither like a thitheryhithery snake o so slithery, but have morphed from within and without as if Wallace and Gromit held sway over the laws of physics, accompanied by that odd sound only octupi make when vain trolls stretch them tentacle-first over their heads, presuming them to be hats.

It’s not that I’m hearing voices (apart from someone in a neighbouring garden, tucked away behind a neatly trimmed hedge, evidently either struggling to prune the foliage with scissors or enthusiastically fucking a horse), or floundering in the silence for want of benevolent phantoms (though I have to say, my team currently lies second in the Daily Telegraph Fantasy Spectre league), or even stalking whippets*** — it’s just that I seem to be all over the place this morning, squishing between sandwich slices of surprise and...why, it’s almost like Mongoose fur, like an explorer of the unknown finding himself suddenly off the beaten track of the bizarre new vista he hadn’t the faintest idea about in the first place.

The great thing about life,**** is that this happens. And look! A monster ciabatta creeps across the forthcoming lunch break of my dreams. And I share a universe with Gibberellin. Hoorah!

Truly, I feel like Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon with a stowaway racoon hanging onto his nipples for dear life.

When I find out what this is all about, I’ll let you know.

* Or circum-throbb-o-aura? Yipes!

** Like the strike of a woodpecker’s beak against a mossy trunk, irrespective of the mood of the elephant.

*** Did you know that in 2008, the Metropolitan Police devoted 8,274 man hours to dealing with enquiries about suspicious dog molesters? That’s 528 whole hours more than the Neapolitan Police spent chasing up vendors of (and I quote) “inappropriately sourced vanilla”.

**** Besides ants, which are brilliant creatures — like squirrels, only without fur and potentially easier to muster en masse into a travelling circus.


fairyhedgehog said...

I have absolutely no idea what this is about but I enjoyed reading it.

Geoff said...

Shit-For-Brains had absolutely no idea what this is about but he enjoyed writing it.

Kiersten said...

You make the least sense in the most delightful way of anyone I've ever known.

writtenwyrdd said...

It's about nothing like Seinfeld was about nothing, but I liked it a lot more than Seinfeld, which I hate.

I have to go bleach my brain of horsey images, though, Whirl.

Loved the duckie in the eyeball, too.

And apologies for not having that project done yet.

Whirlochre said...

Rest assured I'll return to my usual incisive reportage soon.

McKoala said...

Just don't squeeze the pustuloid.

WW reminds me that I must also apologise.

JaneyV said...

Wouldn't it be cool if Wallace and Grommit DID hold sway over the laws of physics for one day.

I could go back in time and retake my finals and say "cheese is the answer to everything" and score a first.

Cracking theory Whirl.

As to the rest I found it strangely soothing.

Whirlochre said...

More balm than barmy? Phew.