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| The other day I struck upon a fantastic idea...for years I have been operating without a suitable entourage. Despite my popularity and well documented penchant for violent clashes, I have shunned conventional protection. No bodyguards, no Hells Angels turned drunken posse, only my Glock 23 and a small switchblade hidden in my socks.
I was enjoying a cup of java. My mind was a waterfall of creative alternatives…a raging torrent filled with incandescent nodes of independent thoughts. I was philosophizing on the art of warfare. You see, the nature of war changes rapidly with technology. The Romans dominated hallowed antiquity because of their well disciplined and lavishly equipped infantry. The British dominated the 19th century because the Royal Navy possessed a numerical and qualitative advantage. Air Power is a deciding factor in America’s dominance of the 20th and 21st centuries. This paradigm of warfare continues to this day. “HoHo” I chuckled. To maintain a measurable advantage over my enemies I must have an air force…and there as they say, is the rub. How in Holy Krishna was I supposed to scrape together an air force?
As I pondered this question I happened to glance skyward just as a lone seagull floated overhead. BAM! The force of my revelation toppled me off my chair and on to the floor. It was so simple! A small force of seagulls would offer me a mobile quick reaction force to deal with multiple threats while at the same time offering me the flexibility and unwavering loyalty I demanded.
My first order of business was to recruit my new air force. I traveled to a local gas station and bought a prodigious number of Altoid breath mints. If there is one thing a seagull cannot resist, it is an Altoid. With these mints I began to attract a sizeable pool of potential warriors. At first I was going to create an all male fighting force. I was operating under the assumption that the men would be far stronger, and more aggressive. Unfortunately the male seagulls are possessed with an insane propensity for fighting. They puff up like retarded chickens and begin pecking each other to death. Obviously my force would have to be free of internal strife and such fights could not be tolerated. I next considered any female seagull both for their grace, and awesome maneuverability but the female seagulls were temperamental and incredibly judgmental. They refused to work together and spent an inordinate amount of time primping their feathers.
I had almost given up hope when I noticed two stoic seagulls on the edge of the crowd. The seagulls were sitting quietly together watching the goings on with a quiet intensity and intelligence. Then it struck me! Lesbian seagulls! Of course! A low maintenance, core of warriors endowed with the intuition of a woman and the brute mentality of a man…the perfectly balanced warrior! Thebes reborn!
So, after much work and many, many Altoids, I have succeeded in creating an air force of lesbian seagulls. A cadre of bloodthirsty Valkyries loyal only to me! That’s right kids! The Amazons can eat shit! There is a new estrogen fueled model for Second wave Feminists to study.
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| UWL’s Graff Main hall is an archaic fortress situated in what I call “Suit Country”. This is a place where all of the puffed up administrators and faceless businessmen strut about and barter with the cheap earnestness of men who actually believe they matter in this world. Last week a group of these dudes were walking past my naked prostrate body in the grass near the hall. I dislike tan lines and find a light breeze over my thunder exhilarating. Anyway. One of these suits examined me with a uncertain expression and said something to the effect of “its kids like that who will never amount to anything”. It was more the condescending tone he used then the actual words that struck a chord deep in my soul. I sprung up and faced the gaggle of cheap traders. I meant to say something really profound and intelligent. A stinging rebuke that would keep these tycoons up at night contemplating suicide with a cold, black .38 special. But instead I just hissed. Yes, I hissed. I sounded like some wiry cat protecting a half rotten fish. I knew it was a mistake right away. The vibes were hopelessly out of whack, and I had to think quickly. The men were shocked into a sort of coma, but that wouldn’t last long. In the next few seconds they would come out of it and call the police. Goose-stepping g-men would bear down on me from all sides and there would be little chance of escape. I had to act. In the days of Sparta a man would face his fate with a smile and a spear. But, these are not the days of Sparta. “fuck Leonidas” I muttered as I scampered away. Even a plucky Spartan would retreat under these outrageous circumstances. My naked body was drenched in sweat as I desperately searched for a suitable hiding place. Briar patch after briar patch flashed past and I began to silently curse the university grounds crew before I found a suitable green bush to hole up in. for three hours I squatted naked in that godforsaken bush as the boys in blue searched the grounds. Later than night I slunk home with my tanning oil and a few bug bites. This was no victory. I had been assaulted on all fronts. The man had won today, and in doing so defined the sad plight of our modern society. | | |
| It was a hot day under the African sky. I had been traversing a long savanna while smoking a long tribal pipe jammed with peyote when I saw the creature. It was a long yellow beast with cruel red eyes. The lion passed before me in a grand review. His long tail swished with anticipation, and his matted mane ruffled in the warm breeze. “Oh Lord” I remember muttering “here we go” I began to undress and get ready for the attack. Manu e Manu I thought. Lets see where this goes. The only way to fight gods own killing machine is to become a beast yourself. I took off my shoes, shirt and pants. I seldom wore underwear in the bush, so I was stark naked, save for my high safari socks. I gripped my spear. It was a gift from a Zulu chief. He had given it to me as a gesture of thanks, I had rid his village of evil spirits and he told me the spear would guard me against all evils. “with this spear” he said “you shall feel no evil” it seemed pretty simple at the time, but now I wasn’t so sure. I prayed that he was right as I braced for battle.
The creature attacked me from the left side. Without thinking I lunged at the beast, spear poised for a deadly thrust. I felt like Major Kong riding the big one in. It was a strange sense of falling, a terminal velocity that could only end in a bright flash. A blaze of glory. “Oh hell” I mused “lets ride this bitch to the end”. The beast and I were locked in close combat. it sunk its teeth into my left leg, and I retaliated by biting the lions flank. It was futile, but it felt right. An eye for an eye, make a beast out of yourself, rock on HST. We separated for a brief moment. My leg was pouring blood, and the beast was limping from multiple stab wounds, and a few shallow bite marks. The lion looked at me, respect visible on his scared face. With that, it turned and left. I had passed the test.
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| I was halfway through Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness when I heard a squeak. I turned with the lazy nonchalance of a bored truck driver, and searched my room. A tiny black orb hung in the corner of my bookshelf. “fuck! A bat!” I exclaimed. The beast and I locked eyes for a long moment before it attacked. I grabbed a nearby “Pro-Designed” 6 iron and began swinging at the vile black rodent swooping and streaking around my room. "A Vampire! Attack! Kill it now!" i cried. The battle was epic. a blistering melee filled with suicidal dives, desperate swings and animal like battle cries. I was running on instinct. Not scared, that’s not the right word. I was Confused. I finally hit the screeching devil with a beautiful off-balance swing. There was a satisfying thunk as the creature corkscrewed into my wall and fell to the floor. I stood over its twitching and broken body. I was no longer confused.  | | |
| Dear faithful readers-
Recently I have taken a class where ‘blogs’ are required. Though i despise calling “Confessions of an Immature Mind” something as nameless and ignorant as a ‘blog’, I was too lazy to make a new one. Hoho! now volumes of quazi-educated readers will pour over my dizzying stories, as one would holy scripture. Memorizing the whole thing chapter and verse.
I welcome these masses of new readers, please browse my holy e-library. Look for the inspiration and genius you obviously lack.
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