I thought I would write the obligatory 'winter-turns-to-summer-and-there-is-plenty-of-sweat-to-go-around' post, but I did not. There is no particular reason I have to give for sparing the world and its mongrels from another incredibly repetitive metaphorical onslaught. I just did not feel like it, like how very married people approach sex after being umm.. very married for a long time. So what do I write about?
I could start with how Potatoface is once again the target of my inscrutable snubbing, move on to the finer details of another 'unproductive-yet-productive-sounding' conversation with Pintsize and end with how dreary and dull the day has been and yes, the smell of sweat of course, how can anyone ignore it when it constantly rises up the nostrils in an endless stream?
Obviously, nobody actually notices any of this, precisely because nobody ever did. Add zero to zero, subtract zero from zero, it is only zero in the end. The benefit of being classified as a "weird one" is that I can laugh out loud for no reason, hop like a marsupial down the hallway and talk to myself, without anyone giving it a second glance. Normalcy? Perish the thought!
But we are digressing from a totally pointless and inane post here. Earth calling Mars, Earth calling Mars, Come back, come back. What do you think? Mars has nothing to do in life? Mars will not come back, Earth might as well go to hell. Earth going to hell? That should be something. Will Earth actually fit in hell? Imagine. Sorry Mr. Earth, we can't let you in, you are, apparently, very oversize. Hell regrets the inconvenience.
Forget Mars, we must go on, regardless. Fight them on the beaches (I should point out here that the nearest ocean is at least a thousand kilometres away, but what the heck) and fight them in the pubs (this one is more likely). And when the time finally comes, we will sneak out of town like bank robbers, move out with our cargo of worries and leave them all dumbfounded. Now, how in the world did they manage that?
For now, that will have to wait. Excuse me miss, we are too busy digging trenches, you are either with us or against us. Bomber or the bombed, which one do you pick? Psst.. hint.. hint.. bomber.. bomber.. No, it was not me! It was him, the man in the long black coat who was doing the prompting! Pat, pat, we are too smart for them. Them don't see the obvious, we always see what them can't see. Agreed, not to good effect all the time.
The clock, though, is ticking and ticking fast (evil grin). The date has been set, these moments are your last. Summers will go away and winters will be back. A few more days and I won't cut you anymore slack. We'll rip off all the pages and start a new chapter; colour it with smiles and there will be no more vile laughter. And thus it ends, all set to a marching band. Was it not fun, was it not fun?
Now, why do you look at me like that?