Thursday, December 22, 2011

May You Be Blown Away

Earlier today, as I walked briskly through in the streets of the city in which I live (I do not meander at a sloth's pace like the many fools who inhabit this metropolis), I was plagued by constant reminders of the insufferability of most humans. These reminders came in the form of oversized umbrellas.

I do not understand the need to carry upon one's person an umbrella of sufficient size to cover half the width of the sidewalk. I am especially agitated by those who do so without care for others who may actually have somewhere to go. The imbeciles take no care to leave a clear path for those whose walking speeds exceed those of gastropod molluscs.

The benefit of carrying around such behemothic bumbershoots is unclear to me. Yes, it may perhaps minimize the degree to which one's lower legs are saturated by falling rain, but in my experience such saturation arises mostly from splashing in puddles, whose existence the use of an umbrella does not hinder.

This morning I was faced with a particularly doltish lot of umbrella-wielding fools slogging around aimlessly like mobile mushrooms. At every turn, one or more would move to block my path. A walk that would have taken me a mere five or six minutes had they simply stood aside and let me pass was working out to be nearly three times that. I had to act, and I did.

As a crossing signal changed and the cars stopped dutifully, the addle-pates gathered in front of me declined to step forward, choosing instead to carry on an insipid conversation amongst themselves about celebrities or some such nonsense. Had they been empty-armed, I could simply have squeezed by and let them wallow in their idiocy while I went about my day. However, the umbrellas they mindlessly held aloft created for me a sort of roadblock.

Incensed, I shoved the umbrellas aside, shouting "Make way!" One person's pink umbrella fell to the ground. undignified moans of disapproval escaped the foul lot as I thrust them aside and crossed the street. I valiantly chose not to respond to their inane objections - imagine, they saw me as the rude one, when they had stood like stolid fools in my path, not even acknowledging my existence and trajectory. What rudeness is that?

Some part of me, I must admit, feels tempted to purchase a huge umbrella later today and to stand unmoving on a corner - revenge for the horrors through which the fools of this city have put me. However, I am a much more noble and dignified man than one who would only add to the misery of others without reason other than the appeasement of my own animalistic drives. This is what sets me apart from those others who would block the paths of decent men with pressing concerns and places to go.

If you have nowhere to go, nowhere to be, the least you can do is get out of other people's way.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Unicorn meat

I have always hated unicorns. I hate them with a passion alike in strength to that of a newborn child for his mother's nipple. Unicorns are the symbol to me of all that is wrong with this world, and I wish to expose them as the fraudulent schemers that they are.

In truth, my enmity goes beyond unicorns. I tend to hate all creatures, mythical or not, that are equine derivations (except pegasi, which I find inspiring). I believe this acrimony to be a result of my pubescent longing for girls who tended to choose horses over me. I have never understood - nor do I want to understand, for it is truly evil - the appeal of horses to preteen girls. Had I my way, these monstrosities would be corralled into a starcraft and cast into outer space, where they would surely die from lack of fresh drinking water.

My friend, whom I shall here refer to as Owen Wilson (though he bears no resemblance or relation to the actor of the same name or any of the roles in which I have seen him - I am simply fond of the name and wish to type it more often), claims that girls are attracted to horses because they are, by definition, "hung like horses". I say that this is likely not the case. For one, if it were the case, the affinity would continue on through adulthood. For another, there are animals (such as elephants) whose privates would make those of horses appear small. And for yet another, the affinity is not limited to male horses. Also, these are preteen girls. Owen Wilson is a sick, sick man.

But I digress. It is the idea of unicorns about which I intend to communicate my loathing. Yes, unicorns occupy a special place at the pinnacle (or, more appropriately, the nadir) of my personal hierarchy of loathed creatures, which I have well-mapped in my mind. Unicorns represent falsehood. They represent the misguided wish of youth. They are wrong on many levels.

My introduction to them as a concept came when I was a child and saw one at a circus show. No, no, I know that unicorns are mythical, but someone had made one. Those swindlers at the circus had surgically implanted a horn in some horse's forehead. Were I able to feel any empathy toward horses (I am not, for they are foul beings), I would have pitied the beast. Instead I felt only revulsion, both toward it and toward those who had made it. I lifted my arm to strike at it as it moved past me near the tent, but I thought betterof it - horses are vile and dangerous beasts when improperly stirred.

What bothered me most was how people believed in it. Children were amazed that a real unicorn was being paraded before them. I nearly engaged in fisticuffs with a fellow circus patron who told his daughter that the thing was indeed real and true. Only through great restraint on my part did I not destroy all who were before me as they gazed lovingly at such filth.

The unicorn is a scam and a sham. It is a thing put before us as real that is not, that fools accept as real and whose realness they proclaim to others. Unicorns are presented as magical and wonderful creatures, and those convinced of their realness imbue them with traits they only wish they could find in real beings. I have lived my life in opposition to the unicorn. I do not tolerate those who construct fantasies to fulfill their longing for traits not found in the real world.

Here, in this blog, I shall battle unicorns.