Assignment: What is life like in a fish tank?
(A lament from an alcoholic goldfish named Bruce who used to work at a radio station)
By Bryan
This is the dawning of the age of aquarium,
where love is thicker than water.
But I've got those backwater blues
In my neighbor's garden in the shade.
They say you never miss the water
But as any little fish will attest,
I can't feel at home in this world anymore.Won't someone change the filter?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Getting Tanked
Assignment: What is life like in a fish tank?
So, I belly up to the Sand Bar like I always do when the light begins to settle down through the Great Tommy’s blinds. I order my usual Herring Wallbanger with a twist of brine and try to make sense of my life.
I drink to forget my evil twin. The one who always lurks at the edge of the glass, pretending not to meet my gaze with his big bulbous eyes, man is he ugly! Curse him and his ghastly visage. Who does he think he is?
One more drink as I try to set my mind to the larger questions in life. Like, is there life after the great swirl? Why do some scalers go belly up and others float on? Oh, who am kidding? I’m just looking for some tail to chase.
Bubbles was looking good a little earlier today, but that massive turd that’s been trailing out her back side since noon is a little disturbing. Its not that I’m coy or anything, but... yick! Use the aerator for Tom’s sake.
Ah, here he comes; Angelo, my buddy. He’s kind of a froofie in the looks department, but the soul of a bottom feeder. Drinks for both of us!
Tonight we need a plan. I suspect that our plan will involve snagging the food as it floats – it’s what we usually do. Don’t get me wrong, when we were younger and we would grab grub on the surface, but I can’t do that anymore, the gas that causes at my age! You know the old saying, “he who burped and darted really just lied and farted.”
Any-hoo probably grab some grub on the drop and then suck some rocks. There is some new gravel over by the diver I’ve been meaning to sample. Maybe if I see my twin I will give him a nasty head butt – then maybe he’ll swim off, the lousy algae-eating clam-tard! I need another drink.
Whoo! What a great plan! I can’t remember what we did last night, but that sounds like a great plan. Where’d my drink go?
-Brihack
So, I belly up to the Sand Bar like I always do when the light begins to settle down through the Great Tommy’s blinds. I order my usual Herring Wallbanger with a twist of brine and try to make sense of my life.
I drink to forget my evil twin. The one who always lurks at the edge of the glass, pretending not to meet my gaze with his big bulbous eyes, man is he ugly! Curse him and his ghastly visage. Who does he think he is?
One more drink as I try to set my mind to the larger questions in life. Like, is there life after the great swirl? Why do some scalers go belly up and others float on? Oh, who am kidding? I’m just looking for some tail to chase.
Bubbles was looking good a little earlier today, but that massive turd that’s been trailing out her back side since noon is a little disturbing. Its not that I’m coy or anything, but... yick! Use the aerator for Tom’s sake.
Ah, here he comes; Angelo, my buddy. He’s kind of a froofie in the looks department, but the soul of a bottom feeder. Drinks for both of us!
Tonight we need a plan. I suspect that our plan will involve snagging the food as it floats – it’s what we usually do. Don’t get me wrong, when we were younger and we would grab grub on the surface, but I can’t do that anymore, the gas that causes at my age! You know the old saying, “he who burped and darted really just lied and farted.”
Any-hoo probably grab some grub on the drop and then suck some rocks. There is some new gravel over by the diver I’ve been meaning to sample. Maybe if I see my twin I will give him a nasty head butt – then maybe he’ll swim off, the lousy algae-eating clam-tard! I need another drink.
Whoo! What a great plan! I can’t remember what we did last night, but that sounds like a great plan. Where’d my drink go?
-Brihack
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Changing Mind
by Marcy
You have been given the power to change one thing in the world. What is it, and what are the ramifications?
Change.
The word emboldens some, strikes fear into others. Change is as inevitable as death, which in itself is a change. There is no escaping change, though you can change change thanks to free will. Change is equal opportunity – everyone can make it, no-one can escape it. Change is a stalker, a constant companion, a catalyst, and a destroyer. Change brings new life, new discoveries, new disaster. Change is fair, balanced, cruel and kind. Change is everything, and is human, and is life, and is death.
They tell me I have the power to change one thing in the world. As a human being I have always had the power to change many things, even before they bestowed this on me. But they’ve given me more power – enhanced power. With this power I could stop wars. I could end hunger and poverty. I could change the foundations of the church – any church. I could change history, reverse global warming, make it so the holocaust and inquisitions never happened. But I can only do one of these. They’ve only given me the power to make one big change. What would you change, with ultimate power?
And if I made that one big change, what would come of it? Millions of little changes, none of which guaranteeing the original change I’ve made will stay changed. I could throw a boulder into a stream and alter its course, but the water will still flow. Was their experiment on me so that they could see the grandiose result, or did they simply to see what I would change? The power has paralyzed my mind – of course I should be philanthropic, humanitarian. Of course I should help - the good of the many outweighs the good of the one. But what good will I do?
I take the choice very seriously. I have pondered it for years. I have seen horrors in this world, global, national, personal. Would I change any of them? What should I change? This choice is too much for a human to bear. This choice should belong to the universe, the Great Spirit, The Goddess, God, whoever is in charge, not me.
What would I change, if I could change one thing?
I wait, and I weigh my choice, and when I one day reach a decision, I hope it will be a wise choice. Becuase after I choose, I can't change my mind. That's the one thing I can't change.
You have been given the power to change one thing in the world. What is it, and what are the ramifications?
Change.
The word emboldens some, strikes fear into others. Change is as inevitable as death, which in itself is a change. There is no escaping change, though you can change change thanks to free will. Change is equal opportunity – everyone can make it, no-one can escape it. Change is a stalker, a constant companion, a catalyst, and a destroyer. Change brings new life, new discoveries, new disaster. Change is fair, balanced, cruel and kind. Change is everything, and is human, and is life, and is death.
They tell me I have the power to change one thing in the world. As a human being I have always had the power to change many things, even before they bestowed this on me. But they’ve given me more power – enhanced power. With this power I could stop wars. I could end hunger and poverty. I could change the foundations of the church – any church. I could change history, reverse global warming, make it so the holocaust and inquisitions never happened. But I can only do one of these. They’ve only given me the power to make one big change. What would you change, with ultimate power?
And if I made that one big change, what would come of it? Millions of little changes, none of which guaranteeing the original change I’ve made will stay changed. I could throw a boulder into a stream and alter its course, but the water will still flow. Was their experiment on me so that they could see the grandiose result, or did they simply to see what I would change? The power has paralyzed my mind – of course I should be philanthropic, humanitarian. Of course I should help - the good of the many outweighs the good of the one. But what good will I do?
I take the choice very seriously. I have pondered it for years. I have seen horrors in this world, global, national, personal. Would I change any of them? What should I change? This choice is too much for a human to bear. This choice should belong to the universe, the Great Spirit, The Goddess, God, whoever is in charge, not me.
What would I change, if I could change one thing?
I wait, and I weigh my choice, and when I one day reach a decision, I hope it will be a wise choice. Becuase after I choose, I can't change my mind. That's the one thing I can't change.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Friday Afternoon
by Steve Mast
I’m starting to tense up again, just thinking about it. “Do me a favor, hun,” she had said, last week, as if adding “hun” automatically nullified the crap she was about to dump on me. “Next week when you do that report, could ya add some graphs? Bar graphs, not pie. I’ve always hated pie graphs. They make me hungry. Some nice bar graphs. Reading all those numbers without graphs gives me a headache.”
“Sure, hun” I had answered. It was either that or Atilla, which probably would have gotten me into trouble.
Graphs? Damnit all, I wasn’t her damn secretary. I was a salesman, and it was my sales that let her buy that damn BMW she’s started driving. A bright red sporty car. Her husband had drawn flames on the side. Dark puke-green things that looked like they were drawn in crayon.
So what had started as a simple sales summary had turned into a massive company-encompassing project detailing every sales detail for the past year, and now she wanted charts! I was already going on hour six of putting this thing together and I figured I had at least a few more before I’d be done.
But fuming about the problem and wishing pain and suffering on my boss wasn’t going to get the report done. Instead I looked out the window to imagine myself going home. Good ol’ “Atilla” had gone to lunch hours ago and had never come back. She was probably at home with a beer in hand. Damn her anyway!
Never mind – I guess she wasn’t at home cause as I looked out I saw her car zooming up the street back toward work. She seemed to be going a bit fast and I wondered if it was too much car for her to handle.
Apparently it was, as she hit a bump, veered to the right, and planted her car, and herself, directly into a parked car.
Startled, I jumped up out of my seat and wondered briefly if she was all right. It was only briefly because one, or perhaps both, of the cars burst into a huge fireball.
I gasped and was flooded with questions. What should I do? Should I feel bad cause I was just thinking bad thoughts about her? Should I feel sorry that she was gone?
I sat down again and looked at my screen. The report glared back at me, menacing. I grinned back. Turning off the computer I decided it was time to go home and have that beer after all.
I’m starting to tense up again, just thinking about it. “Do me a favor, hun,” she had said, last week, as if adding “hun” automatically nullified the crap she was about to dump on me. “Next week when you do that report, could ya add some graphs? Bar graphs, not pie. I’ve always hated pie graphs. They make me hungry. Some nice bar graphs. Reading all those numbers without graphs gives me a headache.”
“Sure, hun” I had answered. It was either that or Atilla, which probably would have gotten me into trouble.
Graphs? Damnit all, I wasn’t her damn secretary. I was a salesman, and it was my sales that let her buy that damn BMW she’s started driving. A bright red sporty car. Her husband had drawn flames on the side. Dark puke-green things that looked like they were drawn in crayon.
So what had started as a simple sales summary had turned into a massive company-encompassing project detailing every sales detail for the past year, and now she wanted charts! I was already going on hour six of putting this thing together and I figured I had at least a few more before I’d be done.
But fuming about the problem and wishing pain and suffering on my boss wasn’t going to get the report done. Instead I looked out the window to imagine myself going home. Good ol’ “Atilla” had gone to lunch hours ago and had never come back. She was probably at home with a beer in hand. Damn her anyway!
Never mind – I guess she wasn’t at home cause as I looked out I saw her car zooming up the street back toward work. She seemed to be going a bit fast and I wondered if it was too much car for her to handle.
Apparently it was, as she hit a bump, veered to the right, and planted her car, and herself, directly into a parked car.
Startled, I jumped up out of my seat and wondered briefly if she was all right. It was only briefly because one, or perhaps both, of the cars burst into a huge fireball.
I gasped and was flooded with questions. What should I do? Should I feel bad cause I was just thinking bad thoughts about her? Should I feel sorry that she was gone?
I sat down again and looked at my screen. The report glared back at me, menacing. I grinned back. Turning off the computer I decided it was time to go home and have that beer after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
