RANT 02

You do not see enough ornate headwear being worn with pride these days… I want to see more. Much more. Broad-brimmed affairs that make passers-by stop and remark with much awe and respect. Slack-jawed, they would be. These hats of legend must not be without chin-support, though. No sir. The chin-strap would be a no-nonsense example of quality and safety; …all that you require in a strap. Perhaps, it could be made with some kind of intricate bead-work. Beads are at the height of fashion these days…and the modern gentleman cannot afford the serious social cost of being left out in the cold, or heat, without his chin proudly held within the snug confines of a quality, hand-made, beaded chin-strap. I believe the beads would be purchased for quite a reasonable fee from some kind of obscure mythical tribe of indigenous people who have been wronged in some way or another by whichever government/dark wizard is in power at the time. These tribes are different to you and I, so make sure you approach with caution and tread softly. They have customs which many may find frightful and primitive…yet I have learned their ways. I myself, as an educated scholar and gentleman, now find these sticky-eyed primitives merely annoying and disgusting. But my, can they dance! Why this one time, I had just asked the chief’s daughter for directions to the privy and…
…Anyway, I have put many years of dedication and study to good use…and it has come to the attention of my keen trader’s eye that these froth-mouthed, rock-monkeys don’t appear to know head nor tails of common barter practices. …And that brings me now to how I was able to wrangle such a smashing good deal on this shipment of fine, shiny beads.
They really are shiny.
I do say; I must have truly blessed the tribe that day with my tradesman’s skill and gentlemanly manner…for the chieftain was practically beside himself as I bid them farewell; beads safely packed away upon my faithful donkey. Oh the humour! You should have seen it! He was caught up in yet another one of their little manic dances and his eyes were brimming with tears and mucus. He even shook his fist in an attempt to mimic my own wave as I rode off. It really is amazing. We’re so different, yet so alike. …Tears of joy, my little dancing friend. Tears of joy, for all.

Now, if you wish to wear your ornate headwear whilst you engage in various strenuous activities such as clam-throwing or the manly practice of the ‘meat-joust’; a sturdy, well-made and reliable chin strap is a must. For example, say you have just happened to come across and unsupervised mule… First you would scream “FINDERS-KEEPERS!” in heavily-accented Polish; so as to scare off any possible brigands or overly-ambitious baboons which may be lurking in the shrubbery or beneath nearby rocks. After confidently staking your rightful claim to the unattended beast of burden, you may promptly mount said ‘burro’ and proceed to secure your ornate headwear, making sure not to forget about tightening the shiny-beaded chinstrap.
Now you may ride about the town without the fear of hat-loss…or ornate headwear-loss, as would be more the case. …A mere ‘hat’ is worn only by the filth within the gutters and by those who do more than just test their cousins for ripeness…
Dirty, dirty hats.

Well, the possibilities are almost infinite! Think of all of the exotic locations you could travel to whilst sporting your secure, yet manly, ornate headwear. “Quick Mustav! To the cheese-log factory, pronto!” These are just some of the words you may scream with much alcohol-fuelled determination as you ventured forth on your loyal steed. (I would advise against supplying Mustav with his own mule. …He cannot be trusted with quadripeds.)

My, my, my… Just think of all the words of praise that shall be lavished upon you as you make your way confidently through the winding streets; taking care to avoid stepping upon the legless beggars and crippled children that litter the ground like discarded wooden puppets. …Filthy they may be; but remember to show some heart. Hand them a slice of fruit, ripe or otherwise, and be on your way. So grateful will they be of your kind gift, that they will write songs and poetry of you for years to come! (However, do keep in mind that not all of these creatures are capable of such skills with the written word; …some do not even have fingers.)
A little one even managed to wobble forward in an attempt to hug me, I believe, with his outstretched rotting stumps. My faithful donkey put a quick stop to that. (He shall receive a treat with his oats tonight!)
I just do not have the time to stop and converse with every swollen-throated, pygmy freak who wishes to earn a shiny trinket from the handsome, mysterious traveller who happens to be passing by. My quest is important. And time is of the essence… For as my father screamed on his death-bed, “The Mistress of the Clock awaits no man! No matter how handsome I am!” …Hmmm. Truthful words, indeed, Father. Truthful.

I must now provide you with some potentially helpful words of a cautionary nature… If the townsfolk grow restless or slightly irate, and they will, at your constant presence within their community; simply reach for the ‘healing wand of diplomacy’ before you hastily snatch up the ‘spiked prong of conflict’. One must remember to keep a level head and never lose one’s composure and decorum; …no matter what wild accusations they may hurl at you from their rotten-tongued mouths. Believe me, I have heard them all; “Don’t touch that sacred bowl - Don’t eat that berry - Don’t open that tomb - Don’t touch that woman - Where did you get that bowl?” The list goes on and on…
(If all else fails; the good book says nothing against dealing out healthy doses of much-needed justice with the ‘Rifle of Transitional Change’. That’ll bring these wheezing, flesh-lumps to heel, right quick! Before you know it, you’ll have them clapping in time and performing skits for your enjoyment as you grow plump off their produce and enjoy their women! Huzzah!)

For the most part, however, the populace will generally just sit upon their heaped piles of discarded insect husks and stare blankly at their televisions. (These old TV’s are simply broken and unusable sets which have been scavenged by these people over the years from a monumental garbage dump, located many miles away. They say it is protected by a giant snake-woman who can sense fear and dislikes flowers. …I had to beat this information out of a small tribal magician who had a speech impediment. I do not believe his words…but it is still worth the beating… I’ll be washing drool and blood from my silk cuffs for a month now, mind.)
As I was saying; these televisions are located within each mud-walled homestead and are carefully draped in old noodles and a fresh lizard corpse, which is changed daily. As I understand it; they perform this practice, so as to both ‘improve reception’ and ward off evil spirits…which reside within their household radiators.
Which reminds me…
Behind and to the left of the radiator in my second apartment is the precise location in which I discovered, trained and gained the trust of, my late loyal steed and companion, Denholm, the giant tequila-worm.
…May he rest in piece.
I remember it like it was yesterday, ...or 3 years ago, to be precise. I was riding Denholm, with much vigour, through the rolling meadows of the high country; absorbing the lush, green vistas like a visual sponge, and it was at that precise moment that they caught my eye and I thought aloud to myself, “Now, why would those cows be belching flames at this time of year? …Curious, it is indeed…”

(PAGES MISSING – TORN FROM DIARY – SOME QUESTIONABLE STAINS)

...they made me sign some form of legal document. I remember it clearly because the cheap papyrus was brittle to the touch and its typed font hurt my eyes. This simple page was supposed to assure my silence regarding the entire incident. …But the joke is on them, I tell you. For I signed with my left hand.
I use my right hand for general purposes, while I save my left purely for deceitful acts…and some minor cooking here and there. …I just cannot seem to flip an omelette confidently with my right hand.
Baffling.




(Another one of those rants.
This one is just...strange.
Some horrible man swindles his way through some poor tribe in a fantasy land.
I wrote this one on 2/9/05)