A Formulaic Life
The day began like any other. That is to say- I was waiting for a ( insert friend/ debt collector/ police/ long-lost evil twin brother/ Ghost of Christmas Past/ insane stockbroker ) to go to ( lunch/ coffee/ brunch/ movie/ strippers/ watch an autopsy/ kidnap a clown) when ( chaos) happened. Sad to say, but life is a tad formulaic of late. Apart from an occasional tap dancer wanting a job there has been nothing exciting happening in the life of Yours Truly. Except that today was the day of the supposed eviction.
So, with the Fatman formula in mind my day began thus: I was waiting for ( Dr.Pollard- Cheese Scientist) to go to ( lunch) when ( I was attacked by a one-legged pigeon). It seems I can't wait for a friend without being attacked by some kind of a crippled animal these days. Maybe there's a voodoo curse on me. Maybe the 24-hour Alfred Hitchcock marathon was playing strange tricks on my mind. In any case when Pollard arrived and I whipped my head around to ask him if the one-legged pigeon was gone he patted my shoulder and reassured me that it was all o.k.
Me: I've been thinking about death lately.
Pollard: Are we still talking about that pigeon?
Me: We are talking about things that go beyond that. But, yes, let's not ignore the pigeon completely.
Pollard: ( after a while) I know how I want to be buried.
Me: Yeah? Getting yourself a plot? Cremation? Buried at sea?
Pollard: Better than all of that. I'm investing in all my money ( and possibly monies belonging to future generation of Pollards) to have my remains thrown out of a plane. Then, as I'm descending, I want to be blown to oblivion with a surface-to-air missile.
Me: Cool.
Pollard: It's been the same plan for over ten years.
It's good to talk to Pols.
Fatman
(Eviction Day. I've since chatted to the Real Estate dudes and I think there may be room for negotiation)
So, with the Fatman formula in mind my day began thus: I was waiting for ( Dr.Pollard- Cheese Scientist) to go to ( lunch) when ( I was attacked by a one-legged pigeon). It seems I can't wait for a friend without being attacked by some kind of a crippled animal these days. Maybe there's a voodoo curse on me. Maybe the 24-hour Alfred Hitchcock marathon was playing strange tricks on my mind. In any case when Pollard arrived and I whipped my head around to ask him if the one-legged pigeon was gone he patted my shoulder and reassured me that it was all o.k.
Me: I've been thinking about death lately.
Pollard: Are we still talking about that pigeon?
Me: We are talking about things that go beyond that. But, yes, let's not ignore the pigeon completely.
Pollard: ( after a while) I know how I want to be buried.
Me: Yeah? Getting yourself a plot? Cremation? Buried at sea?
Pollard: Better than all of that. I'm investing in all my money ( and possibly monies belonging to future generation of Pollards) to have my remains thrown out of a plane. Then, as I'm descending, I want to be blown to oblivion with a surface-to-air missile.
Me: Cool.
Pollard: It's been the same plan for over ten years.
It's good to talk to Pols.
Fatman
(Eviction Day. I've since chatted to the Real Estate dudes and I think there may be room for negotiation)
posted by Fatman | 6:11 pm
3 Comments:
There's still about $500 bucks unaccounted for. Micah swears blind it's not his fault. Darren and I disagree. We've got several bank statements and are currently wading through the past months trying to figure out what the heck happened. My "inner accountant" has long since given up trying to understand anything. It has a hard enough time trying to understand the daily Sudoku puzzles in the newspaper and anything more complex would result in permanent brain injury. Once we sort out all THAT, the Real Estate Dudes and I will sort out the homelessness ( feels like there's waaaaay too many esses in that word) situation. With fists if necessary.
Rupert is a sock puppet come to life. Before I even knew what a blog was I used to send e-mails to my friends and foes on a weekly basis. He collected my past Ramblings and made a blogsite for me- hence the shitty layout. I ignored/ forgot about the blogsite for about a month or two before Rupert reminded me of it and I have been posting at a lazy pace of about once a fortnight since. And to finally answer your actual question Rupert works for the Melbourne Theatre Company as ....something vaguely important. He's pretty busy anyway so isn't a contributer as such, but someone who set up the site and has left his name there because he knows I don't have the computer know-how to erase his name from the top left hand corner of the template even if I could be bothered.
Your friend Pollard seems like he might be Hunter S. Thompson. You should look into that.
Pols? Yeah, he's alright. I wouldn't liken him to Hunter S. Thompson though. He doesn't take nearly enough drugs and he lacks the quintessential anger reguired to be the King of Gonzo.
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