Wednesday, July 22, 2009

A Heart Wreching Work Of Questionable Sanity - or - A One Act Play With A Tree

Obsquatch - [whisteling Shostakovich while repotting a Arboricola tree]
Coworker #1 – You are always so happy, Obsquatch.
Coworker #2 – That’s because he doesn’t have a girlfriend crushing his spirit, soul, and savings account.
Coworker #3 – Ahhhh, the happy life of a single male.
Obsquatch - [huddles into a ball and rocks back and fourth muttering] I'm so lonely, I'm so lonely, I'm so lonely.


  1. There is no question that the fetal position is better than the missionary. Now if one's mission is to be a fetus, or that of a fetus is to be a missionary, I suggest aborting both. But all this talk about birth and death positions has got me wondering Obsquatch, do you roll into a ball and have sex with yourself? You can call it "fetal crocal auto missionary sex" if you like, you fancy pants, smooth talking, sharp tongued, mercurialy saturnine leo person. The point is you stuff your noodle in your thigh saddle and fuddle duddle yourself by performing a rocking cuddle underneath your nuddle till you pop out a puddle. This is the only way to bend an afternoon where you have realized that you don't measure up to so many people in so many ways, and all because you bothered to ask yourself some questions. The activity soothes the mind and irritates the ass.... which on scratching, soothes the mind some more. So it's a win-pin situation really. Just have bun with it Squatch and remember the key to happiness : Don't compare yourself to people with more money, fame, sex, friends, family, happiness, life,....

    *Rolls into a ball and vibrates himself to an orgasm*

    See how easy it is? Where was I? Yes, I vibrate since I'm not as "gifted" as you, you motherfucking pale redwood. So where was I? Ahh yes... I wrote something with my bodily fluids to remind me.

    "Don't remind yourself"

    Hmm.. I do have a good hand in using my God given pink pen. Well, I must do as I write, and write with my poo. That's what I usually do, but I can't poop at any given time of day. Look man, you write fast for 5 mins, and I write artistically with my excrement in 10. You got a problem with that? You got a problem that this is how I put icing on a cake, and dress salads with my colon brewed vinaigrette dressing? Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to finally remember how to spell vinaigrette?
    Fuck you Obsquatch... that's the point of this comment. Fuck you in the ass with an Arboricola sapling and a Peking duckling. If only I wasn't so madly in love with you that I was liver over heart over you. Oh wait, I'm observing myself wrong... I'm head over heels over you while being under my car bed.

    Please send me a pair of your shoes so that I may lick it!
    *whimpers in the corner of her cardboard box*

  2. haha! Lupine's comment was like ten times the length of the post that inspired it. There is some sort of genius buried deep within that nonsensical insanity.

  3. PS: You don't need to be alone.

    Invest in puppets.