...And then there was the guy on the side of the road peeing. i was walking back from the bookstore, and this guy starts peeing on the wall of a building. this of course, as it always does, or at least did back in Mexico when my host parents urinated publicly in playgrounds, triggered the fat old woman walking down the street to yell "Stoppit!". It was actually the same fat old woman. I think she follows me. Actually she does, she's my personal janitor, like Sprite the fairy. her name's Julia Roberts, and she's philippino. (that means she's from philadelphia, for all you math wizzes out there!) When I'm done eating or when i get tired of whatever i'm holding I throw it behind me and she drives behind me in a golf cart and picks it up and puts it into a filing cabinet for me. that was until I dropped a filing cabinet behind me and she couldn't get it into the filing cabinet cause it was the same filing cabinet and so she died. They always do, those janitor ladies. They're as dependable as fruit-roll up panties, and about as creative as the flag of Libya. yeah..what? what? yeah what? what what? yeah, what? Shut the fuck up, stop laughing, you don't even get it. Do you know what the flag of Libya looks like? You're like that bitch. I hate that bitch. her name is Burnadette. She looked like an old man, with pinwheels for eyes, and candy for hands! candy, children, candy! Mmmm. Come into my gingerbread house, I won't eat you. Dear me, no.
My english teacher is about 90 years old and coughs more than he can speak. He's quite the little seamstress. We were trying to listen to him one day when both radiators started spraying water all over everyone, and he started singing "It's raining men" So god set off the fire alarms and those strobe lights for deaf people went off, and my english teacher slid down the banister into the basement and had a dance party with all of the rave kids that live there. So he was all up in the ceiling looking for rats to play cribbage with. What a card, always trying to play cribbage. My good friend Gerald, the rat (BEST friend actually, he saved my life when I was attacked by a fire truck once) decides to have a little fun, right? right? Ha! Yeah, right. so Gerald's all "what?" and i'm all like "yeah yeah" and he's like "I ain't playin' cribbage wit' no maddafucka like dat, you tink Gerald gone crazy o' sumpfing?" and I'm like, "I'll pay you" and he's like "with what? seashells?"
The moral of the story is, life moves, kids. It moves.
It's like a jungle gym. a jungle gym of LIFE. write that one down.