Too Weird To Live

A bedtime story

Sat, 30 Dec 2006 02:19:49 GMT

Once upon a time there was a Hare that boasted that he could out race any animal in the forest.
Although this gave him the outwards appearence of being an extrovert, actually the Hare suffered from a severe inferioty complex, and his boasting served only to inflate his own ego...

And so the Hare constantly challenged the other animals of the forest to race with him...knowing they'd refuse!
And they all did refuse. All except the Tortiose. Obviously, this Tortoise suffered from delusions of grandeur, and was displaying the early signs of acute schizophrenia...

The race began...and soon the Hare was so far ahead that he decided to take a nap. In truth, he was suffering from neurotic fatigue, a rather common sympton of the emotionally disturbed...

While the Hare slept, the Tortiose plodded on to win the race. This, of course, was most unfortunate for the Tortiose as it split his personality into three definable Torti!

When the Hare awoke to find that he'd been beaten, the discovery was so ego-shattering that it jolted him into facing the truth about himself.

And so, with professional help, the Hare was able to go on with his life.

And the moral of the story is: It's better to split Tortoise's personality than it is to split Hare's!

-Taken from 'It's A World World World World Mad' (Mad, 1962)
bedtime stories as told by "job-conscious" fathers.

Exerpts from 'Mad' -1962

Sat, 30 Dec 2006 01:55:48 GMT

intro-

They can make it possible for a man to walk in space...
                         but they can't find him a place to park!
They can replace valves in his heart...
                                                         but can't cure his sniffles!
They can pour millions into Foreign Aid...
                                                          but can't wipe out poverty at home!!
They can determine the sex of an unborn baby...
                                                          but they can't get together on a name for it!
They can fill prime time television with garbage...
                                                          but you gotta get up at 5 A.M. to see educational shows!
They can spend years attempting to understand porpoises...
                                                          but can't get nations to understand each other!
And this publisher can offer a line of great classics...
                                                          but at the same time put out trash like this!

Oh mad, you aren't trash. Not back then, at least.

Sat, 02 Dec 2006 23:05:40 GMT

Sat, 02 Dec 2006 19:09:43 GMT

"God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise"
-Corinthians 1:27

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 14:54:04 GMT

As you shall understand
It's of a pretty fair maid
She had a mind for roving
Unto a foreign land
Attired in sailor's clothing
She boldly did appear
And engaged with the captain for
To serve him for a year

She engaged with the captain
A cabin boy to be
The wind it was in favour
They soon put out to sea
The captain's lady being on board
She seemed it to enjoy
So glad the captain had engaged
A handsome cabin boy

So nimble was that pretty maid
And done her duty well
But mark what followed after,
As she herself can tell
The captain with that pretty maid
Did often kiss and toy
For he soon found out the secret of
The handsome cabin boy

Her cheeks appeared like roses
And with her side-locks curled
The sailors oft times smiled and said
He looks just like a girl
But eating captains biscuit
Her colour did destroy
And the waist did swell of pretty Nell
The handsome cabin boy

As through the Bay of Biscay
Their gallant ship did plough
One night among the sailors
There was a pretty row
They bundled from their hammocks
It did their rest destroy
And they swore about the groaning of
The handsome cabin boy

O doctor, O doctor, The cabin boy did cry
The sailors swore by all that's good
The cabin boy would die
The doctor ran with all his might
And smiling at the fun
For to think a sailor lad should have
A daughter or a son

The sailors when they heard the joke
They all began to stare
The child belonged to none of them
They solemnly did swear
The lady to the captain said
My dear I wish you joy
For it's either you or I betrayed
The handsome cabin boy

So they all took up a bumper
And drank success to trade
And likewise to the cabin boy
Though neither man nor maid
And if the wars should rise again
The sailors to destroy
We'll ship some other sailors like
The handsome cabin boy

Prelude to an adventure in Cuba.

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 14:07:45 GMT

Things had been quite for some time, as I recall.
We (that’s my compatriot and I) had been trundling rather quaintly for going on the life expectancy of a blue bottle. And I wouldn’t say that ‘trundling’ is too strong a word either. A slow, heavy, easiness of being settled over St. Albans, an academic, social function that allows a person to exist without any mental input whatsoever. Lessons came and went- some we attended, some we did not- day became night and so on. We were content simply to lounge in a meditative state of hibernation, breaking occasionally to think about smoking.
     Our lull was turned on its head, however, suddenly. One strange Monday brought with it a sense of total restlessness, of nausea, of fatigue. Then, at the climax of this sensation, occurred another interminable lecture on Philosophy.
     I recall being recited at. My friend in front of me spoke in riddles from a typed script.
“Hello, Georgie speaking-that’s what I said to him. He wasn’t very happy about my job. The oldest profession. I’m not ashamed of it. The way I see it, I can provide a service that people are willing to pay me for. What’s wrong with that?”
As far I can remember there was blood oozing from my right ear or...maybe the left. My friend the prostitute kept a hand to my face, not allowing me to lay my head on the desk in sick despair. I moaned instead, attempting to drown her out. It didn’t help, so I slipped into a pained shanty
“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest”
I bellowed. She continued unabashed.
“But he’d gotten me so many...”
“Yo ho ho and a bottle of RUM”
“...It would have taken me a life time to use them all.”
“Drink and the devil be done for the rest!”
The room was reaching a shocking crescendo. A glance around and every-one appeared to be fighting with each other, shouting, screaming, turned away from the front of the room where Bates insisted of continuing her explanation of evidence for the soul. In a penetrating voice, being ignored. I was shouting out my song whilst fixing my waist-tie from my leather jacket into a noose.
Monism.
“The mate was fixed by the boson’s pike
The boson brained with a marlin spike and
Cookey’s throat was marked belike It
Had been gripped by fingers ten and”
Dualism.
“There they lay all good dead men like
Break o’ day in a boozing ken”
Who
Gives
A
“Yo Ho Ho and a BOTTLE of RUM!”
In a fit of something I slung the other end of my noose around the ceiling overhead projector. No-one appeared to notice. Goddamn it, I thought, why isn’t Ginger here? Looking over at her vacant seat there was a bizarre shadowy apparition growing a lush moustache.
Bates was by the white board so a climbed up on her desk and stuck my head through my noose. The room was in chaos. Charlie laughed hysterically whilst Frasier garrotted her with chains. Kiri was absent-mindedly puling out her own intestines and making patterns on the floor.
I surveyed this spectre. And was bored by it. I jumped off the desk.
     After the lesson I blazed through the streets to her house, dragging from my neck one projector that had torn from the ceiling, showering the scene with plaster.
She answered, automatically handing me a bottle of antique rum.
“Ginger,” I gasped, “we have to go. Anywhere. An adventure. Now, please.”
“Ok,” she said, sniffing a duck full of wheat germ, “Cuba.”
So Cuba it was.

Sun, 19 Nov 2006 02:20:54 GMT

told you.

Sun, 19 Nov 2006 02:15:22 GMT

my compatriote cannot type. yet i cannot spell. A plague o'er both our faces.

Look us up. Type 'fucking freezing' in to google images, we're there somewhere. Toasting our own feet for sustinance. I have been intolerably cruel to a cat. I have stolen it's blanket.

Sun, 19 Nov 2006 02:10:14 GMT

Thosee who reject the typing into the holy search engine google "supreme master" may be disapointed to know we already know him, in fact he is a close persomal friend

tne words "bitch" and "foff!f" come to mind