So Walrus Mastur and I are getting used to the Working World. It is a brutal combination of heaven and hell, or rather it's heaven for Walrus Mastur and hell for me.
Walrus Mastur is giving part-time lessons in Seal Communications. Seal Communications comprises an in-depth understanding of the habits and lifestyles of seals, including their limited speech and gestures. It also explores controversial topics such as Seals: Horrific Hos, or Just Hopelessly Happy? After all, it's important to understand one's prey. The little pups Walrus teaches are youthful, furry and boisterous. What they do not know is how much they resemble seals. Walrus Mastur likes them very much*.
I work long, hard hours in a law firm. Since I started, I've been promoted from Typist, to Lawyer's Personal Secretary, to Lawyer's Personal Slave. The pay is mediocre. My boss is a steely, noble man valiantly fighting to legislate the ownership of dungeons and cattle prods as a personal right. Everybody respects him tremendously, especially me, and it's not just because I have to. I spend most of the day drafting important legal documents and the rest submitting to his commands. It's quite difficult to type and brew coffee (the way he likes it) when my wrists are cuffed together. He also likes feeding me lunch while I kneel by his mahogany desk. What he doesn't know is my knees get rug-burn and I don't like food but I could really do with some of that coffee.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Heartily dislike his monkey
Dear Diary,
As you remember, Des and I visited the zoo and caught their infamous animal show some days ago. It was then that we encountered Carlos the zoo-seal. I have to admit that we were somewhat contemptuous of him for being a shiny, vapid, odious ho who'd wave his flipper inanely at the gawking audience just for a fish, but he might not be as simple as that after all.
Today, I went back to the zoo to return some extra change that the Ben and Jerry's cashier had given me the last time I was there. I guess the guilt overpowered my laziness. While I was there I thought I might as well catch the show again, to see if they'd varied their act. But by the time I reached the amphitheatre the show was over and Carlos was bouncing offstage. I was slightly disappointed.
I didn't want to collide with the crowd so I went behind the stage area, hoping to find an exit. But I must have taken a wrong turn because instead of getting back on the path leading to the African Baboon exhibit, I landed up in a seedy little trailer park with lots of old, lurid, glitter-mottled trailers. Some of the doors had stars with cursive names on them. Just as I was examining a blue-and-yellow striped trailer with some interest, a familiar seal bounded past me and headed in the other direction. I immediately called out to him and gave chase, thinking that he'd escaped from his handler. To my surprise, he burst into a gleaming green trailer and slipped into the incongruously oppulent marble jacuzzi inside. I clicked my tongue and waved my box of Hello Panda at him, hoping to coax him out. I said in my kindest voice, the one I reserve for children and dogs, "heeyyy, Carlos, come here, that's a good seal..." and other such things. The response I got shocked and knocked the wind out of me. He spoke.
"The photo-session is over. Get out and close the door behind you." His voice was low, gruff and slightly raspy. I just froze. I may have attempted to stammer something, I don't know, but when I looked back at the star on his door, I noticed the name "Carlos" emblazoned on it. I glanced back at him and gawked. What else could I do? To his credit, Carlos maintained his composure. He looked me up and down and said, "Look kid, I don't normally do house calls--- especially when you people barge into my house---but make me an offer and I'll consider."
My face was burning with embarrassment. I stammered an inaudible apology and willed my feet to move. Then a most incredible thing happened. Carlos barked sharply and slapped his flippers together. Immediately, a dapper little monkey in a crisp green uniform emerged from some sort of trapdoor and scampered to him. The monkey decorously took a cigarette from one of his pockets, rested it between Carlos' lips and lit it. Sensing my growing incredulity, Carlos turned to me wryly and waved a flipper at me. "No fingers," he explained lazily. "If you're not getting lost you might as well have one," he drawled, slapping the pack of Marlboros over to me with his flipper. The monkey scampered away.
I held the box in my hands, not intending to smoke anything. The last time I smoked a shisha pipe I got nicotine poisoning. It was awful. Anyway the whole situation was so ridiculous and bizarre that I began to regain my composure. "Wow," I said, "I always thought they'd keep you in a miserable little tank or something."
"Compared to what I had in the wild, this is a little tank," he said flatly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean---I mean, this is a nice little place, you've got a jacuzzi---"I stammered.
"Ocean currents are far more exhilarating," he said in a bored voice, "although these jacuzzi jets provide more precision if you know what I mean!" He barked with laughter and clapped his flippers together with lewd glee. "Anyway I'd like to see you try living in a 'nice little place' like this. See how you'd like being trained with electric prods. "SPCA approved" my pinniped arse. And the trainers! Condescending pricks! Do they give a walrus'-ass about my emotional needs? I am eighteen, EIGHTEEN years old for God's sake and I have not achieved self-actualization. God!" He spat his spent cigarette butt on the floor and barked for his monkey to bring another.
I got a little uncomfortable learning more than I wanted to. I was also disturbed by what he'd told me. It completely messed up all my preconceived notions. I didn't know what to think so I muttered a polite goodbye. But just as I turned to go, Carlos called me.
"Hey, kid!"
I turned around to face him and for a few seconds we faced each other squarely. It was one of those special moments when the world has stopped spinning and the stars have stopped shining and you know, you just know, that your souls have touched and you can never go back again.
It was also one of those moments when I believed all that bull. "Leave those if you're not having them," was all he said. Then his monkey came out from nowhere, snatched the cigarettes from me, showed me out and shut the door behind me.
I heartily dislike his monkey.
As you remember, Des and I visited the zoo and caught their infamous animal show some days ago. It was then that we encountered Carlos the zoo-seal. I have to admit that we were somewhat contemptuous of him for being a shiny, vapid, odious ho who'd wave his flipper inanely at the gawking audience just for a fish, but he might not be as simple as that after all.
Today, I went back to the zoo to return some extra change that the Ben and Jerry's cashier had given me the last time I was there. I guess the guilt overpowered my laziness. While I was there I thought I might as well catch the show again, to see if they'd varied their act. But by the time I reached the amphitheatre the show was over and Carlos was bouncing offstage. I was slightly disappointed.
I didn't want to collide with the crowd so I went behind the stage area, hoping to find an exit. But I must have taken a wrong turn because instead of getting back on the path leading to the African Baboon exhibit, I landed up in a seedy little trailer park with lots of old, lurid, glitter-mottled trailers. Some of the doors had stars with cursive names on them. Just as I was examining a blue-and-yellow striped trailer with some interest, a familiar seal bounded past me and headed in the other direction. I immediately called out to him and gave chase, thinking that he'd escaped from his handler. To my surprise, he burst into a gleaming green trailer and slipped into the incongruously oppulent marble jacuzzi inside. I clicked my tongue and waved my box of Hello Panda at him, hoping to coax him out. I said in my kindest voice, the one I reserve for children and dogs, "heeyyy, Carlos, come here, that's a good seal..." and other such things. The response I got shocked and knocked the wind out of me. He spoke.
"The photo-session is over. Get out and close the door behind you." His voice was low, gruff and slightly raspy. I just froze. I may have attempted to stammer something, I don't know, but when I looked back at the star on his door, I noticed the name "Carlos" emblazoned on it. I glanced back at him and gawked. What else could I do? To his credit, Carlos maintained his composure. He looked me up and down and said, "Look kid, I don't normally do house calls--- especially when you people barge into my house---but make me an offer and I'll consider."
My face was burning with embarrassment. I stammered an inaudible apology and willed my feet to move. Then a most incredible thing happened. Carlos barked sharply and slapped his flippers together. Immediately, a dapper little monkey in a crisp green uniform emerged from some sort of trapdoor and scampered to him. The monkey decorously took a cigarette from one of his pockets, rested it between Carlos' lips and lit it. Sensing my growing incredulity, Carlos turned to me wryly and waved a flipper at me. "No fingers," he explained lazily. "If you're not getting lost you might as well have one," he drawled, slapping the pack of Marlboros over to me with his flipper. The monkey scampered away.
I held the box in my hands, not intending to smoke anything. The last time I smoked a shisha pipe I got nicotine poisoning. It was awful. Anyway the whole situation was so ridiculous and bizarre that I began to regain my composure. "Wow," I said, "I always thought they'd keep you in a miserable little tank or something."
"Compared to what I had in the wild, this is a little tank," he said flatly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean---I mean, this is a nice little place, you've got a jacuzzi---"I stammered.
"Ocean currents are far more exhilarating," he said in a bored voice, "although these jacuzzi jets provide more precision if you know what I mean!" He barked with laughter and clapped his flippers together with lewd glee. "Anyway I'd like to see you try living in a 'nice little place' like this. See how you'd like being trained with electric prods. "SPCA approved" my pinniped arse. And the trainers! Condescending pricks! Do they give a walrus'-ass about my emotional needs? I am eighteen, EIGHTEEN years old for God's sake and I have not achieved self-actualization. God!" He spat his spent cigarette butt on the floor and barked for his monkey to bring another.
I got a little uncomfortable learning more than I wanted to. I was also disturbed by what he'd told me. It completely messed up all my preconceived notions. I didn't know what to think so I muttered a polite goodbye. But just as I turned to go, Carlos called me.
"Hey, kid!"
I turned around to face him and for a few seconds we faced each other squarely. It was one of those special moments when the world has stopped spinning and the stars have stopped shining and you know, you just know, that your souls have touched and you can never go back again.
It was also one of those moments when I believed all that bull. "Leave those if you're not having them," was all he said. Then his monkey came out from nowhere, snatched the cigarettes from me, showed me out and shut the door behind me.
I heartily dislike his monkey.
Friday, March 2, 2007
CRASH COURSE IN SNUDDY-SPEAK
Fuddy: Fuck-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you fuck.
Cuddy: Cuddle-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you cuddle.
Snuddy: Snail-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you snail.
Usage:
Des: Oh Snuddy, I really need a fuddy.
Walrus: Well, all I need is a Cuddy. I used to think I was this fat horny fuck but I now realise that I would give up a lifetime of fuck just to hold someone and fall asleep together every night for the rest of my life.
Des: That's bullshit.
Walrus: I'm hungry. Is the spaghetti ready?
Des: Yeah it is.
Walrus: Later we can snail.
Des and Walrus: (walrus high five) Ouwr! Ouwr!
Cuddy: Cuddle-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you cuddle.
Snuddy: Snail-buddy. A platonic buddy whom you snail.
Usage:
Des: Oh Snuddy, I really need a fuddy.
Walrus: Well, all I need is a Cuddy. I used to think I was this fat horny fuck but I now realise that I would give up a lifetime of fuck just to hold someone and fall asleep together every night for the rest of my life.
Des: That's bullshit.
Walrus: I'm hungry. Is the spaghetti ready?
Des: Yeah it is.
Walrus: Later we can snail.
Des and Walrus: (walrus high five) Ouwr! Ouwr!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Scampered Away
Dear Diary,
As a waiter I have to deal with dishearteningly unsanitary conditions. Yesterday night I swept up a huge pile of debris on the floor. Then some of that debris got up and scampered away.
Walrus
As a waiter I have to deal with dishearteningly unsanitary conditions. Yesterday night I swept up a huge pile of debris on the floor. Then some of that debris got up and scampered away.
Walrus
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Even snuddies have good clean fun. Sometimes.
Today we went to the zoo and encountered a sea lion named Carlos who'd do anything for fish. Black, shiny whiskered ho! Walrus Mastur imagined him smoking outside his trailer, bitching about the trainers in a husky voice.
We also noticed a pair of ostriches copulating. There was a lot of flapping and neck-whipping involved.
We also noticed a pair of ostriches copulating. There was a lot of flapping and neck-whipping involved.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Ouwr
You don't know it, but we are the walrie. We. Are. The Walrie.
We lie in wait where the sun doesn't shine, soaking up darkness, perpetually pale and formless. We are frankly large, made of a shape too grotesque to be named. Our hearts beat in rhythm. Thud. Thud. Our breathing quickens obscenely when we see our prey; grows heavier, deeper, sporadic grunts betraying the urgency hidden beneath our layers of vibrating fat.
Our bowels rumble, and our loins quiver. Our erect whiskers twitch. They play in the sun, barking cheerfully, clapping inanely. There are games. There is fish. They are happy. If they had lips, their mouths would be permanently affixed with a vapid smile.
It's a wonder the ice doesn't melt and shatter around us, and we fall through with a deafening splash, sinking into the freezing water's sinister depths. We Are The Walrie, seconds away from thundering over and suffocating you with our wrinkled blubber, pinning you down without respect. It's a wonder you don't watch us watching you.
We lie in wait where the sun doesn't shine, soaking up darkness, perpetually pale and formless. We are frankly large, made of a shape too grotesque to be named. Our hearts beat in rhythm. Thud. Thud. Our breathing quickens obscenely when we see our prey; grows heavier, deeper, sporadic grunts betraying the urgency hidden beneath our layers of vibrating fat.
Our bowels rumble, and our loins quiver. Our erect whiskers twitch. They play in the sun, barking cheerfully, clapping inanely. There are games. There is fish. They are happy. If they had lips, their mouths would be permanently affixed with a vapid smile.
It's a wonder the ice doesn't melt and shatter around us, and we fall through with a deafening splash, sinking into the freezing water's sinister depths. We Are The Walrie, seconds away from thundering over and suffocating you with our wrinkled blubber, pinning you down without respect. It's a wonder you don't watch us watching you.
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