The New Adventures of Kahlua (The Sad Little Frumpkynn Boy)

Kahlua was a spunky Frumpkynn. Or spunky atleast as far as Frympkynns went, whose general idea of doing something exceptionally brave was going upto a goose and getting as far as, "b--". And a wrinkly old bag of a goose, at that. But then again, so would any other race whose average height was less than three peas placed one on top of the other, give or take a pea or two. And it was take rather than give, more often than not, because Frumpkynns loved their peas. A pea would last a family of seven for a week atleast.

Kahlua was an aspiring Crap musician. He would spend hours in the grass with his potty guitar, composing Crap masterpieces. But the break was elusive. No one heard him. no one appreciated him. The industry was overrun with Crappers spewing out the worst form of shite and the public loved it. They revelled in it. The ate it up. It wasn't Crap anymore, it was commerce.

Kahlua believed in the artistic integrity of the Crapper. He wouldn't bow down and get this Crap together for the public. He would educate them slowly. Bit by bit, person by person. When the big break came, they would all take his Crap. All of them.

But that was work for another day. Now it was time to compose some Crap:

Hey Mike, do you want good music?
Wanna kick my cat before you abuse it?
Gouge your nose out before you can lose it?
I'm headin straight to the couch, straight down south
Seein' if the hat I hid would bail me out.
My mamma said, "No shit"
"I'd hide it in my basement."
"Hide it in a place no shit can reach it"
Since I've been four, I lost my score,
Tryin to push your tin outta my door.
....

We saw him wistfully choke over his gall bladder. I smiled. Yeah, things had changed since the old days. I used to enjoy such things then, but now....

Click.

...the economic stimulus package...

Click.

It was the perfect plan. It was the perfect setting. It had the perfect perpetrators. And the perfect pawns.

Click.

"Thank you for flying Nor-Noreastern Airlines (for that perfect flying experience). Fasten your seat belts and recline comfortably. In the case of accidental mid-air collisions, use the fire escape..."

"Erm....where's that?"

"Right at the back of the plane, you silly ass! This is your Captain speaking. This is a recording. This plane will self destruct in twenty seconds"

Click.

Blarney....Nacksmith......Hvljaer.....Hicmuss.....Parringer.....back to Blarney......paddles forward....Meyer.....Blarney again.....Parringer.....loses it to Beste.....Carvalinho now.....Dibo....Merricjo.....intercepted.....Hvljaer.....Hvljaer.....
Hvljaer!....HVLJAER!!....OH NO!!...

Click

Elegant, simple, effective. A board meeting of 20 members. We want them all dead.

Experiment No. 1

Aim: Take out the board.

Apparatus: Guns

Procedure: What it takes.

Click.

"Remember it usually takes twelve conversations to make an impression."

"And then what?"

"You make an impression"

"How's that?"

"Because you've had twelve conversations."

Click.

This phone has a familiar ring to it.

Click.

"Black was the uniform...I insisted on it. Stereotyped, yes. But we live in a stereotyped world. You can't not wear black and kill board members. It's illegal."

Click.

"Mom, if my ears ring and then the phone rings, which one should I pick up first?"

"It must be your dad then, sweetie. Put the ringing ear to the phone."

Cli...

Click.

The Curious Dreamlife of Marshmallow Addie - Volume 1

Marshmallow Addie was called Marshmallow because he looked like a marshmallow. Sometimes, to throw his enemies and Vociferous Critics off, he would dress up as a marshmallow. And sometimes when they'd been really bad and he was really upset with them, he wouldn't dress up as a marshmallow. That really got them.

Of course, he knew well enough that they dreamed him up. And he dreamed them back, in return.

The Vociferous Critics were bad people. They used to say mean things to him. But worst of all they never criticized him.

They were the reason why he was called Addie. Addie was short for Adolf. Earlier, his name had been just Marshmallow (because he looked like a marshmallow). But then one day, a dolf ball hid hib in his boudh and broke all his deedh. All the Vociferous Critics had to say then was, "Addie." It had stuck.

Marshmallow tried to dream up bad things in return, but they never seemed to have the full effect. Like the time he dreamt up Nougat Nathan....who just went nuts at the thought.

He then tried to stop dreaming, in the hope that they wouldn't exist anymore, but that was silly because they were still dreaming him and being mean.

Everyone was so mean. Except his enemies. They were nice to him. That's why he hated them.They used to buy him lots of presents (especially marshmallows) and do a lot of other good stuff. They dreamed him seperately, ofcourse and he dreamed them back seperately too.

It was so strange living in different dreams at the same time. Consistency issues always cropped up. But as long as you were a marshmallow, going soft in the middle was all that mattered.

Which was the fundamental existential dilemma dogging his life....he wasn't really a marshmallow. Just a dreamt up quasi-anthropomorphic manifestation of one.

Interesting how afternoons fall into a pattern. A lull in workflow, inert internet surfing while the coffee maker makes desperate noises in the background, pleading to be turned off after the fourth cup of the day. Actually the second...whatever.

Life sort of drifts on and I get sleepier. Hazy mid-afternoon dreams.

After a point internet surfing goes well, well beyond the supersaturation point. Having atleast thrice (re)read all that the bbc, guardian and cricinfo sport pages have regurgitated in the past two hours, the internet seems to have little to offer. The once every three-and-a-half minute check on my four different email accounts doesn't count as internet activity anymore. That's like saying breathing is a conscious decision(unless you live in Jersey).

The point is, I can't call this wholly unpleasant. Take it away from me and I'll probably drive myself to lunacy twiddling my thumbs (and maybe even foaming at the mouth just a little).