”Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull...” goes my alarm clock, not the alarm but the clock itself.
Obviously it really REALLY doesn’t say “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull” but since I’ve been lying on my bed for two hours straight now and still haven’t fallen asleep, my brain sort of picked up something to do and what’s better than to create a new non-existing sound to the alarm clock?! I couldn’t think of anything...so this must be THEE best idea so far in the history of mankind!
I know! I’ll start manufacturing “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm clocks on an industrial scale and sell them to the people in the need of “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm clocks worldwide...I will make a lot of money and with that money I shall buy a 6-pack of beer to help me sleep better!
Wait, I already bought a 6-pack of beer today...and drank it too, hmmm, so I guess this “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm clock business idea has sort of closed its own circle.
But why be so negative! On with the thinking process dude!
Hmm...maybe I could become a charity-kind-of-a “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm clock maker and hand out “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm clocks to the poor people who are in a desperate need of a “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm clock but cannot afford one! But how will I buy the 6-pack with this strategy? Think! Think! THINK, MAN! This is your one shot to become the “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm-clock-making-GOD for the history to remember, the one who the fair maidens whisper of, the one who all the brave men speak respectfully about, the one who the children of tomorrow sing about in the schools that are all named after the one who invented the “Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull, Pit-Bull”-alarm clock!
“Zzzzz..."
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The Exploding Pick-Up Truck
PT Loren
Waiting for a bus. I’m standing on the “safe side” of the sidewalk, about 20-30 centimeters from the window of this bar behind me and about two meters in front of me, on the “danger side” of the sidewalk, by the street, there is this dude smoking a cigarette. Looks like a ****-brand, I happen to have the eyesight of a hawk!
“Sure PT, just hold on to your contact lenses and WATCH that you don’t get your toes violated by the street maintenance pick-up truck approaching on the sidewalk from the left, that’s all you need to be concerned about! Besides, the guy has his back turned on you, can you tell the brand of his cigarette from the cloud of smoke or something?!”
“I can see the pack in his pocket, you d*ck!”
“What did you just say?! Who are you calling a d*ck!?”
“Well, you, you d*ck!!”
Wait a second, why am I calling myself a d*ck? Hmm...uhhh, here comes my bus! Saved by the bus:)! Damn, unfortunately it’s just “a” bus, not “the” bus, but I think it’s “the” bus for the guy in front of me since he accelerates “the” cigarette smoking.
The dude smoking a cigarette
Here comes my bus, hurray!
I take the one last puff from the cigarette and adjust my fingers for a Hollywood-style thumb/middle finger –toss. I make a cool upper body 180 turn and...hmmm, is that gas on the sidewalk?? The brain has no time to react, the command is still “Toss! Toss!”
PT Loren
It’s winter, but for one reason or another there is a window open on this bar behind me. It’s a rock music bar but weirdly enough, there is no rock music sounding from the inside, they probably have a jukebox that is just temporarily out of coins.
The pick-up truck just drove by about 3-4 seconds ago leaving me with a certain feeling of nostalgia since I too used to drive one of those street maintenance units for a living some years back.
...But NOT one leaking gas!
The dude smoking a cigarette
This is one of those very long seconds in life, I just tossed the cigarette and looks like it’s gonna go straight into the stream of gas!
The time sort of stops right there. *Cut!*.
And then starts moving again in slow motion. *Action!*
In this slow motion -motion, I can see my cigarette going for the kill, perfectly well knowing that there is not a god damn thing in this world that can stop it anymore!
PT Loren
The bus arrives->the guy in front of me takes one last puff from his cigarette, turns around and...
WOOSH!! The stream of gas instantly sets on fire and as the flames start eating their deadly way towards the leaking gas tank of the pick-up truck someone inside the bar inserts a coin into the jukebox and selects a heavy metal –song, a LOUD heavy metal –song! FIRE!! FIRE!!!
The two guys in the pick-up truck
“...Oh no you didn’t, man, no you didn’t!!? You just slaughtered them like that?” laughs out the guy in the passenger’s seat with his voice full of admiration.
“I sure did Johnson, I sure did! I gave it to them real good!” replies the driver with a big, happy smile on his face and continues “And afterwards I went to this other place to shoot some more...*Pool...hmmm, what are those people at the bus stop waving and shouting for...?* OUT OF THE CAR JOHNSON, OUT OF THE CAR RIGHT NOW!! THE ETERNAL DREAMS OF DYNAMITE, THE HELLOS OF HELLFIRE, THE TOKENS OF THUNDER AND THE DARTS OF DESTRUCTION ARE HEADING THIS WAY!!!”
And out they jumped, Johnson and the poet. In the nick of time. Boom.
Waiting for a bus. I’m standing on the “safe side” of the sidewalk, about 20-30 centimeters from the window of this bar behind me and about two meters in front of me, on the “danger side” of the sidewalk, by the street, there is this dude smoking a cigarette. Looks like a ****-brand, I happen to have the eyesight of a hawk!
“Sure PT, just hold on to your contact lenses and WATCH that you don’t get your toes violated by the street maintenance pick-up truck approaching on the sidewalk from the left, that’s all you need to be concerned about! Besides, the guy has his back turned on you, can you tell the brand of his cigarette from the cloud of smoke or something?!”
“I can see the pack in his pocket, you d*ck!”
“What did you just say?! Who are you calling a d*ck!?”
“Well, you, you d*ck!!”
Wait a second, why am I calling myself a d*ck? Hmm...uhhh, here comes my bus! Saved by the bus:)! Damn, unfortunately it’s just “a” bus, not “the” bus, but I think it’s “the” bus for the guy in front of me since he accelerates “the” cigarette smoking.
The dude smoking a cigarette
Here comes my bus, hurray!
I take the one last puff from the cigarette and adjust my fingers for a Hollywood-style thumb/middle finger –toss. I make a cool upper body 180 turn and...hmmm, is that gas on the sidewalk?? The brain has no time to react, the command is still “Toss! Toss!”
PT Loren
It’s winter, but for one reason or another there is a window open on this bar behind me. It’s a rock music bar but weirdly enough, there is no rock music sounding from the inside, they probably have a jukebox that is just temporarily out of coins.
The pick-up truck just drove by about 3-4 seconds ago leaving me with a certain feeling of nostalgia since I too used to drive one of those street maintenance units for a living some years back.
...But NOT one leaking gas!
The dude smoking a cigarette
This is one of those very long seconds in life, I just tossed the cigarette and looks like it’s gonna go straight into the stream of gas!
The time sort of stops right there. *Cut!*.
And then starts moving again in slow motion. *Action!*
In this slow motion -motion, I can see my cigarette going for the kill, perfectly well knowing that there is not a god damn thing in this world that can stop it anymore!
PT Loren
The bus arrives->the guy in front of me takes one last puff from his cigarette, turns around and...
WOOSH!! The stream of gas instantly sets on fire and as the flames start eating their deadly way towards the leaking gas tank of the pick-up truck someone inside the bar inserts a coin into the jukebox and selects a heavy metal –song, a LOUD heavy metal –song! FIRE!! FIRE!!!
The two guys in the pick-up truck
“...Oh no you didn’t, man, no you didn’t!!? You just slaughtered them like that?” laughs out the guy in the passenger’s seat with his voice full of admiration.
“I sure did Johnson, I sure did! I gave it to them real good!” replies the driver with a big, happy smile on his face and continues “And afterwards I went to this other place to shoot some more...*Pool...hmmm, what are those people at the bus stop waving and shouting for...?* OUT OF THE CAR JOHNSON, OUT OF THE CAR RIGHT NOW!! THE ETERNAL DREAMS OF DYNAMITE, THE HELLOS OF HELLFIRE, THE TOKENS OF THUNDER AND THE DARTS OF DESTRUCTION ARE HEADING THIS WAY!!!”
And out they jumped, Johnson and the poet. In the nick of time. Boom.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Designs by PT Loren: The Inside Story
Just the other week I was feeling a bit under the weather trying to come up with the solution to all the Problems of the World. Oh, what to do, WHAT, WHAT, WHAT?!
“I know! I’ll start making designs for t-shirts...and for things that are related to t-shirts, like mugs and bags. That ought to do it!”
So I started with the production.
And man! Much like with the “Owl Man Project”, this too was going just EXCELLENT...until I realized that I can’t bloody well draw worth a damn!
Ok, the Problems of the World: 1, PT: 0.
...But not so fast Problems of the World, I have another idea! “What if I’ll just glue some stuff on a sheet of paper...like pieces of cardboard...and better to use some duct tape too!” As a musician, I have learned that there is no such thing as too much duct tape...wait, an idea coming...“Now I got it! I’ll write something cute on the piece of cardboard with a black marker and then put the whole masterpiece into my Canon scanner!”
Alright, let’s go scanning, “I’m the Scan-Man!”
And the “Scan-Man” scanned, all-night-long, slept until it was dark again(since he was so tired after all that scanning), woke up and found a quite a lot of these sh*tty looking prints of cardboards with mysterious aphorisms and some duct tape on them lying on the floor.
Problems of the World: 2, PT the Scan-Man: 0.
At this point I was feeling slightly frustrated...and a bit-bit-BIT obsessed by the whole cardboard/duct tape/black ink...thing...*loose the cardboard*...”Hmmm, maybe it’s just that I’ve got too many elements here, hmmm...” *loose the cardboard* “But which one of these elements should I take out, the duct tape, the black ink or the...” *loose the CARDBOARD* “Man, this is a tough decis...” *LOOSE THE GOD DAMN CARDBOARD NOW!!!* “I know! What if I’ll just loose the cardboard and see how that would be!”
That would be AWESOME! Problems of the World: 2, PT: 1.
So, duct tape and black ink...one CANNOT go wrong with duct tape and black ink!! In your face Problems of the World, in your face man!!!
There is this bottle of soy on the kitchen table, the kitchen table by which I am making these final touches to this certain piece called “My Hardcore Mug” and...*Loose the cardbo...krhh, krhhh...cough...cough...sorry, I mean grab the bottle of soy, grab it now!*...and like a divine intervention, like the infinite finger of destiny tapping on my shoulder, like the echo of my own scream, like a blind man with a reflection of his past, like an earthquake in reverse I suddenly knew exactly what I gotta do.
2-2.
“I know! I’ll start making designs for t-shirts...and for things that are related to t-shirts, like mugs and bags. That ought to do it!”
So I started with the production.
And man! Much like with the “Owl Man Project”, this too was going just EXCELLENT...until I realized that I can’t bloody well draw worth a damn!
Ok, the Problems of the World: 1, PT: 0.
...But not so fast Problems of the World, I have another idea! “What if I’ll just glue some stuff on a sheet of paper...like pieces of cardboard...and better to use some duct tape too!” As a musician, I have learned that there is no such thing as too much duct tape...wait, an idea coming...“Now I got it! I’ll write something cute on the piece of cardboard with a black marker and then put the whole masterpiece into my Canon scanner!”
Alright, let’s go scanning, “I’m the Scan-Man!”
And the “Scan-Man” scanned, all-night-long, slept until it was dark again(since he was so tired after all that scanning), woke up and found a quite a lot of these sh*tty looking prints of cardboards with mysterious aphorisms and some duct tape on them lying on the floor.
Problems of the World: 2, PT the Scan-Man: 0.
At this point I was feeling slightly frustrated...and a bit-bit-BIT obsessed by the whole cardboard/duct tape/black ink...thing...*loose the cardboard*...”Hmmm, maybe it’s just that I’ve got too many elements here, hmmm...” *loose the cardboard* “But which one of these elements should I take out, the duct tape, the black ink or the...” *loose the CARDBOARD* “Man, this is a tough decis...” *LOOSE THE GOD DAMN CARDBOARD NOW!!!* “I know! What if I’ll just loose the cardboard and see how that would be!”
That would be AWESOME! Problems of the World: 2, PT: 1.
So, duct tape and black ink...one CANNOT go wrong with duct tape and black ink!! In your face Problems of the World, in your face man!!!
There is this bottle of soy on the kitchen table, the kitchen table by which I am making these final touches to this certain piece called “My Hardcore Mug” and...*Loose the cardbo...krhh, krhhh...cough...cough...sorry, I mean grab the bottle of soy, grab it now!*...and like a divine intervention, like the infinite finger of destiny tapping on my shoulder, like the echo of my own scream, like a blind man with a reflection of his past, like an earthquake in reverse I suddenly knew exactly what I gotta do.
2-2.
Friday, October 30, 2009
The Halloween Story
Man, is it just me or has the temperature REALLY dropped like 10 degrees Celsius during those 3 hours we spent inside this club in the dead center of the nighttime Hellsinki, Finland.
I left a little early and am now walking by myself on this street called Aleksanterinkatu, "the street of the Alexander", and in a few seconds my brisk feet will take my slightly tipsy head pass the Helsinki Cathedral Church, which I’m sure will throw it’s dark & gloomy glance and it’s long finger of blame over me like a blanket of...something.
What is it with these colossal illuminated churches by night and their blaming fingers and their blankets and their glances, man!
Anyway, I was thinking about going to..."*Grrunch!*"...hmmm, I seem to have stepped on a rotten dude, what are the odds of that happening!
"God damn it, look where you are going mister, I was here only like 150 years before you ever came along!" Yells the corpse with my boot...sort of stuck in his rotten guts.
"Sorry Mr. Corpse..."
"Well, could you please remove your boot from my guts!"
"What...oh yes, yes, of course, sorry about that!"
I’m a bit amazed that a 150-year-old corpse is still in such a good form, or BAD form, ANY form! But then again, what do I know about anything.
Whatever happened to this guy? Oh well, I’ll probably never kno..."Hey mister, do you wanna hear what happened to me?" Mr. Corpse answers with a promise of an answer like if he just read my mind!
"I’d love to hear! Do you smoke Mr. Corpse?" I ask and offer him a cigarette
"Well, yes I do actually! I mean, what harm could it do now...he, heh, krrrh, *caugh*, *caugh*" Mr. Corpse starts killing himself in laughter...like he could do that either.
Mr. Corpse sits up. Very gently I place a cigarette in his mouth, light it up and sit down across him myself too as if we had an imaginary campfire in the middle.
"Ahhh, that’s what I’m talking about, I haven’t had one of these for a LONG time!" goes Mr. Corpse, takes another puff from the cigarette and begins with the story.
"See mister, I used to be a bit of a player back in the 50’s, that would be the EIGHTEEN 50’s of course, anyway, that playerism pretty much was what killed me...if that’s a real word, *playerism*...but you understand what I mean, don’t you mister?"
"Yes I do Mr. Player Corpse, please continue!"
"Jolly good. See, I used to work for this landowner who had a son who had a wife...a wife whom I might have sort of accidentally, you know...seduced...which obviously caused a slightly delicate situation once the landowner’s son unavoidably finally found out about us."
"So the landowner’s son killed you?"
"Well no, I mean yes, I mean, well...sort of, see it went like this: The landowner’s son obviously had no choice but to either murder me or to challenge me to a duel, which were both pretty poor options from his point of view: The first one would lead to my death, sure, but also to his dishonor, and the second one most likely to HIS death, since I was a genuine marksman in my time. So the landowner’s son had to improvise a bit in order not to get killed himself and to also re-gain his dignity at the same time" Mr. Corpse explains and continues "So the only real option for him was to arrange some sort of a fixed duel, right?"
"Right!" I find myself shouting a bit
"Ok, so the landowner’s son and I marched into this nearby forest alongside with our seconds, who had together picked the spot where the duel was to take place. The pistols that were used in the duels of our time where the kind of ones that could only be fired once and I was feeling pretty confident that the landowner’s son’s round would never leave his pistol. This was until I started hearing something from the around bushes and felt a sudden pain in my left side."
"Your leftside?"
"No. My left SIDE, like a part of a person’s body! Look...here, here is where I got shot" Mr. Corpse points at his left side with his gray finger "and here...and here...and here" Mr. Corpse has numerous gunshot wounds all around his body "Get the picture mister?"
"Those sons of b*tches!" I find myself jumping up to my feet and shouting quite loudly this time
"I thought so too" Mr. Corpse says in a much more calm fashion "I thought so too".
"So what now, Mr. Corpse? What are you gonna do?"
"Oh, just relax and take it night-by-night, you know!"
"Let me guess, the night is always the same, right?"
"Right, the night of October 31th".
I left a little early and am now walking by myself on this street called Aleksanterinkatu, "the street of the Alexander", and in a few seconds my brisk feet will take my slightly tipsy head pass the Helsinki Cathedral Church, which I’m sure will throw it’s dark & gloomy glance and it’s long finger of blame over me like a blanket of...something.
What is it with these colossal illuminated churches by night and their blaming fingers and their blankets and their glances, man!
Anyway, I was thinking about going to..."*Grrunch!*"...hmmm, I seem to have stepped on a rotten dude, what are the odds of that happening!
"God damn it, look where you are going mister, I was here only like 150 years before you ever came along!" Yells the corpse with my boot...sort of stuck in his rotten guts.
"Sorry Mr. Corpse..."
"Well, could you please remove your boot from my guts!"
"What...oh yes, yes, of course, sorry about that!"
I’m a bit amazed that a 150-year-old corpse is still in such a good form, or BAD form, ANY form! But then again, what do I know about anything.
Whatever happened to this guy? Oh well, I’ll probably never kno..."Hey mister, do you wanna hear what happened to me?" Mr. Corpse answers with a promise of an answer like if he just read my mind!
"I’d love to hear! Do you smoke Mr. Corpse?" I ask and offer him a cigarette
"Well, yes I do actually! I mean, what harm could it do now...he, heh, krrrh, *caugh*, *caugh*" Mr. Corpse starts killing himself in laughter...like he could do that either.
Mr. Corpse sits up. Very gently I place a cigarette in his mouth, light it up and sit down across him myself too as if we had an imaginary campfire in the middle.
"Ahhh, that’s what I’m talking about, I haven’t had one of these for a LONG time!" goes Mr. Corpse, takes another puff from the cigarette and begins with the story.
"See mister, I used to be a bit of a player back in the 50’s, that would be the EIGHTEEN 50’s of course, anyway, that playerism pretty much was what killed me...if that’s a real word, *playerism*...but you understand what I mean, don’t you mister?"
"Yes I do Mr. Player Corpse, please continue!"
"Jolly good. See, I used to work for this landowner who had a son who had a wife...a wife whom I might have sort of accidentally, you know...seduced...which obviously caused a slightly delicate situation once the landowner’s son unavoidably finally found out about us."
"So the landowner’s son killed you?"
"Well no, I mean yes, I mean, well...sort of, see it went like this: The landowner’s son obviously had no choice but to either murder me or to challenge me to a duel, which were both pretty poor options from his point of view: The first one would lead to my death, sure, but also to his dishonor, and the second one most likely to HIS death, since I was a genuine marksman in my time. So the landowner’s son had to improvise a bit in order not to get killed himself and to also re-gain his dignity at the same time" Mr. Corpse explains and continues "So the only real option for him was to arrange some sort of a fixed duel, right?"
"Right!" I find myself shouting a bit
"Ok, so the landowner’s son and I marched into this nearby forest alongside with our seconds, who had together picked the spot where the duel was to take place. The pistols that were used in the duels of our time where the kind of ones that could only be fired once and I was feeling pretty confident that the landowner’s son’s round would never leave his pistol. This was until I started hearing something from the around bushes and felt a sudden pain in my left side."
"Your leftside?"
"No. My left SIDE, like a part of a person’s body! Look...here, here is where I got shot" Mr. Corpse points at his left side with his gray finger "and here...and here...and here" Mr. Corpse has numerous gunshot wounds all around his body "Get the picture mister?"
"Those sons of b*tches!" I find myself jumping up to my feet and shouting quite loudly this time
"I thought so too" Mr. Corpse says in a much more calm fashion "I thought so too".
"So what now, Mr. Corpse? What are you gonna do?"
"Oh, just relax and take it night-by-night, you know!"
"Let me guess, the night is always the same, right?"
"Right, the night of October 31th".
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Mr. Rigate Goes to Sleep for the Winter
"Smoking seriously harms you and motherf*ckers around you" or what was it that the warning label on the side of a pack of Brand X cigarettes said earlier today at the store...uhmmm, ah...ok, "others around you", not "motherf*ckers around you".
A classic example of "just because one imagines things that aren’t there, it doesn’t necessarily make one a visionary".
Blaah, blaah, blaah...what does that even mean, not much and moreover doesn’t REALLY change the fact that I’m a BIT hung over and the LAST thing on my mind right now would be to smoke a Brand X cigarette, or any other sort of cigarette for that matter, you know, like not wanting to die throwing up and all that.
Maybe I’ll go out for a while, there’s always the chance that I’ll run into a talking hedgehog or something.
I open the door and..."Hey PT Loren!" someone, or -THING calls my name from the ground level.
YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!! I mean, I take like two steps out of the door and there is Mr. Rigate, the talking hedgehog again! Don’t get me wrong, it’s always nice to bump into Mr. Rigate and this was obviously what I was hoping for; it’s just a bit weird sometimes how Mr. Rigate seems to have his tiny paw on the pulse of the stream of...things.
"Hey Rigate, what on earth are you still doing here? I mean, it’s almost November, shouldn’t you be asleep for the winter already under some pile of leaves or something? No disrespect of course!"
"None taken PT Loren. It’s just that the wife has been a bit ill lately, so we have been forced to delay the bedtime slightly. It has been quite sad..."
"I’m so sorry to hear about that Rigate, hopefully the..."
"No, no, no PT Loren, don’t worry, the wife is alright already and the company has agreed to transfer us tonight, I was just talking to the manager a few hours ago!"
"Oh-key-dough-key Mr. Rigate, I guess this is it for a few months then. Keep yourself a male and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do...I mean, when you wake up again!"
"Indeed PT Loren, you too...well, I do a lot of funny things, so I can’t really return the greeting...but hey PT Loren, if you write about me in the meantime, will you treat me with respect?"
"Of course Rigate, see you in a few months!"
Why would I not treat Mr. Rigate with respect, Mr. Rigate is awesome!
A classic example of "just because one imagines things that aren’t there, it doesn’t necessarily make one a visionary".
Blaah, blaah, blaah...what does that even mean, not much and moreover doesn’t REALLY change the fact that I’m a BIT hung over and the LAST thing on my mind right now would be to smoke a Brand X cigarette, or any other sort of cigarette for that matter, you know, like not wanting to die throwing up and all that.
Maybe I’ll go out for a while, there’s always the chance that I’ll run into a talking hedgehog or something.
I open the door and..."Hey PT Loren!" someone, or -THING calls my name from the ground level.
YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!! I mean, I take like two steps out of the door and there is Mr. Rigate, the talking hedgehog again! Don’t get me wrong, it’s always nice to bump into Mr. Rigate and this was obviously what I was hoping for; it’s just a bit weird sometimes how Mr. Rigate seems to have his tiny paw on the pulse of the stream of...things.
"Hey Rigate, what on earth are you still doing here? I mean, it’s almost November, shouldn’t you be asleep for the winter already under some pile of leaves or something? No disrespect of course!"
"None taken PT Loren. It’s just that the wife has been a bit ill lately, so we have been forced to delay the bedtime slightly. It has been quite sad..."
"I’m so sorry to hear about that Rigate, hopefully the..."
"No, no, no PT Loren, don’t worry, the wife is alright already and the company has agreed to transfer us tonight, I was just talking to the manager a few hours ago!"
"Oh-key-dough-key Mr. Rigate, I guess this is it for a few months then. Keep yourself a male and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do...I mean, when you wake up again!"
"Indeed PT Loren, you too...well, I do a lot of funny things, so I can’t really return the greeting...but hey PT Loren, if you write about me in the meantime, will you treat me with respect?"
"Of course Rigate, see you in a few months!"
Why would I not treat Mr. Rigate with respect, Mr. Rigate is awesome!
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Owl Man
Just the other day, I was wondering if putting my palms behind my ears like spoons would amplify my hearing, you know, like give me a SUPER-hearing.
And man, did it ever! Well, maybe it only amplified the “cosmic white noise” but the course of this story puts it’s cosmic head in the sand where no one can reach it’s cosmic essence:).
Anyway, the only problem was that only the sounds coming from in front of me got amplified, and on the other hand, the sounds coming from behind me got slightly muffled, making it a bit difficult to comprehend from where a certain sound was coming from...which set me thinking about owls and their heads that seem to be spinning almost 180 degrees both ways.
“Ok” I thought, “now that I have my owl-hearing I might as well start howling a bit!” I mean, it doesn’t look all that stupid when a grown man places his palms behind his ears and howls like an owl, does it?
“Hoooo, hoooo!”
At this point, it was all going just EXCELLENT and I was about transform into “The Owl Man”, the new superhero who all the villains would fear!
...But then I started trusting my ability to fly, with or without my hands grabbing my ears a bit too much and things started getting worse from there on.
“Since I’ve been successful so far I might as well go all the way” I figured at the time, “After all, I am The Owl Man, damn it!”
“Here we go...”
The number of Owl Men lying face down on the floor: 1
The Owl Man’s vision: Blurred
The Owl Man’s owl-hearing: Gone
The Owl Man’s ability to fly: Apparently not very good
F*ck!:)
And man, did it ever! Well, maybe it only amplified the “cosmic white noise” but the course of this story puts it’s cosmic head in the sand where no one can reach it’s cosmic essence:).
Anyway, the only problem was that only the sounds coming from in front of me got amplified, and on the other hand, the sounds coming from behind me got slightly muffled, making it a bit difficult to comprehend from where a certain sound was coming from...which set me thinking about owls and their heads that seem to be spinning almost 180 degrees both ways.
“Ok” I thought, “now that I have my owl-hearing I might as well start howling a bit!” I mean, it doesn’t look all that stupid when a grown man places his palms behind his ears and howls like an owl, does it?
“Hoooo, hoooo!”
At this point, it was all going just EXCELLENT and I was about transform into “The Owl Man”, the new superhero who all the villains would fear!
...But then I started trusting my ability to fly, with or without my hands grabbing my ears a bit too much and things started getting worse from there on.
“Since I’ve been successful so far I might as well go all the way” I figured at the time, “After all, I am The Owl Man, damn it!”
“Here we go...”
The number of Owl Men lying face down on the floor: 1
The Owl Man’s vision: Blurred
The Owl Man’s owl-hearing: Gone
The Owl Man’s ability to fly: Apparently not very good
F*ck!:)
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Goldie the Dog and PT, Cameo-PT
Goldie
My name is Goldie. I am a dog, a golden retriever.
I’m a pretty on-going guy, you know, waking up around 8-9am, eating these cereals…well, I don’t know if they really, REALLY are actually cereals but if I imagine hard enough->cereals they are!
After this I usually take a p*ss. I have been encouraged to do this outside.
So, out of the door into the hallway and down the stairs it is, “Rop, rop, rop” I go like a super-dog when it comes to downward stair climbing.
I’m downstairs and opening the hallway door now by jumping against it and grabbing the handle with my front paws, E-Z! I’m outdoors.
PT
It's 8:59 on a Saturday morning and there seem to be some senior citizens piled up against the front door of the supermarket, “Let us in!” some of them are shouting…and it is possible that this is just my imagination.
Anyway, it’s about time. The young guard on the inside of the supermarket walks towards the doors, I can smell the fear on his face…if that’s possible, you know, to be able to smell fear on a person’s face through 2 glass doors. Oh well, I guess ANYTHING’s possible in this great future.
The young guard opens the doors->the senior citizens obviously go nuts…buuut he only gets violated slightly by a wheelchair and lives to tell the story. All good.
So what the heck is PT doing here?
Scenario 1.
PT went to bed early last night and now has a two hour head start over the others who are trying conquer the world.
Scenario 2.
PT is still breathing the decadence of yesterday and wants to support the La Vida Loca.
Goldie
Man, isn’t this just wonderful, 9:15 on a Saturday morning, everything so fresh and non-decadent…EXCEPT for that dude with a beanie hat walking my way in about 40 meters distance.
There is a slight resemblance here, it looks somewhat like my friend PT Loren…wait a second, it IS PT Loren!
PT
Ok, the situation is a bit intense, there are these two gates ahead that one must pass in order to enter the supermarket and one has to run like the wind in order to get through these or one might never make it to the other side and will be stuck in a commercial limbus 4-eva!
So run like the wind PT, run like the wind!
I am absolutely and totally fearless and like a knight in his shiny armor I rush towards the gates...suddenly the loudspeaker of the supermarket starts to make an announcement:
“PT, PT, you da man, you da man!” it starts…and continues: “Remember, go right from the Two Gates, go right and straight to the beer section, all other products are for children” it goes.
How the heck did they know?
I mean, I never said I was DA man, did I? Ok, maybe I DID but damn sure not to the chicks at the info desk who make these announcements. Go figure.
So bravely into the supermarket through the Two Gates I go.
I’m in.
Hmm, what did they say...oh yes, right, go right->going right now, and uhmm...I need some assistance here guys!
The loudspeaker goes: “Walk 25 meters, again turn to your right, grab a 6-pack of beer and continue to the check-out”
Ok, I think I’ll manag…wait it still continues “Put the 6-pack on the line, take out your wallet from your pocket and give the nice lady on the desk a 10 euro bill!”
Sounds pretty simple, I’m going...wait-WAIT, it still-STILL continues!
“Let her do the math, do NOT start arguing about it, she knows!”
Ok, so walk 25 meters. Walking, “rump, rump, rump”.
I’m here.
Grab the beers. Grabbing the beers now, “Grrrrab!”
Go to the check-out. Going, “rump, rump, rump”.
Take out the wallet->give a 10 euro bill to the nice lady on the desk->let HER do the math->do NOT start arguing about it, she knows!
And just like that I’m out of the store with a 6-pack of beer! Awesome!
Ok, gotta get out of here, like NOW, NOW, NOW before the virtual finger of the common morality catches me and makes me about 1 meter tall.
What a beautiful Saturday morning though and here I am, just swaggering in the streets of the eastern Helsinki about to go home to have a cold one; the beautiful side of life right before it makes a 180 turn!
I will jam that side to stay the way it is with a few bottles of beer...let it make that 180 turn a little later.
But say, isn’t that Goldie the golden retriever taking a p*ss over there by the fire hydrant? It is Goldie!!
Goldie
“There you have it fire hydrant…and there, and there!! Oh, hi PT Loren!"
What on earth are you doing here at this hour PT, this is Saturday MORNING, shouldn’t you still be, you know, in your self-created penalty box for a while?
“Hrrrr...Ghholdie my friend, I’m coming home from a party last night and you won’t behhhlieve what just happened!!!”
PT looks somewhat like he would like to open about this, so I just let him continue.
“See, Goldie” starts PT Loren and continues “While coming home, I went to the supermarket and guess what!?”
I go “woof!” and PT seemingly takes it as a “Please continue”…since he still continues!
“Schee, there was this loudspeaker...a LOUD schpeaker, which guided me straight to the beer section, almost like HAND-IN-HAND, man!! ...Which is where I grabbed these from!” goes PT, shaking a 6-pack in his hand.
“PT, you are the…”
“Man, I know, the loudspeaker at the schhhupermarket said the same thing” PT interrupts and mumbles something about the significance of being a credible artist and makes his entrance in to the hallway I just exited.
Say, that’s a nice looking golden retriever...ess across the street, I think I’ll go and introduce myself.
My name is Goldie. I am a dog, a golden retriever.
I’m a pretty on-going guy, you know, waking up around 8-9am, eating these cereals…well, I don’t know if they really, REALLY are actually cereals but if I imagine hard enough->cereals they are!
After this I usually take a p*ss. I have been encouraged to do this outside.
So, out of the door into the hallway and down the stairs it is, “Rop, rop, rop” I go like a super-dog when it comes to downward stair climbing.
I’m downstairs and opening the hallway door now by jumping against it and grabbing the handle with my front paws, E-Z! I’m outdoors.
PT
It's 8:59 on a Saturday morning and there seem to be some senior citizens piled up against the front door of the supermarket, “Let us in!” some of them are shouting…and it is possible that this is just my imagination.
Anyway, it’s about time. The young guard on the inside of the supermarket walks towards the doors, I can smell the fear on his face…if that’s possible, you know, to be able to smell fear on a person’s face through 2 glass doors. Oh well, I guess ANYTHING’s possible in this great future.
The young guard opens the doors->the senior citizens obviously go nuts…buuut he only gets violated slightly by a wheelchair and lives to tell the story. All good.
So what the heck is PT doing here?
Scenario 1.
PT went to bed early last night and now has a two hour head start over the others who are trying conquer the world.
Scenario 2.
PT is still breathing the decadence of yesterday and wants to support the La Vida Loca.
Goldie
Man, isn’t this just wonderful, 9:15 on a Saturday morning, everything so fresh and non-decadent…EXCEPT for that dude with a beanie hat walking my way in about 40 meters distance.
There is a slight resemblance here, it looks somewhat like my friend PT Loren…wait a second, it IS PT Loren!
PT
Ok, the situation is a bit intense, there are these two gates ahead that one must pass in order to enter the supermarket and one has to run like the wind in order to get through these or one might never make it to the other side and will be stuck in a commercial limbus 4-eva!
So run like the wind PT, run like the wind!
I am absolutely and totally fearless and like a knight in his shiny armor I rush towards the gates...suddenly the loudspeaker of the supermarket starts to make an announcement:
“PT, PT, you da man, you da man!” it starts…and continues: “Remember, go right from the Two Gates, go right and straight to the beer section, all other products are for children” it goes.
How the heck did they know?
I mean, I never said I was DA man, did I? Ok, maybe I DID but damn sure not to the chicks at the info desk who make these announcements. Go figure.
So bravely into the supermarket through the Two Gates I go.
I’m in.
Hmm, what did they say...oh yes, right, go right->going right now, and uhmm...I need some assistance here guys!
The loudspeaker goes: “Walk 25 meters, again turn to your right, grab a 6-pack of beer and continue to the check-out”
Ok, I think I’ll manag…wait it still continues “Put the 6-pack on the line, take out your wallet from your pocket and give the nice lady on the desk a 10 euro bill!”
Sounds pretty simple, I’m going...wait-WAIT, it still-STILL continues!
“Let her do the math, do NOT start arguing about it, she knows!”
Ok, so walk 25 meters. Walking, “rump, rump, rump”.
I’m here.
Grab the beers. Grabbing the beers now, “Grrrrab!”
Go to the check-out. Going, “rump, rump, rump”.
Take out the wallet->give a 10 euro bill to the nice lady on the desk->let HER do the math->do NOT start arguing about it, she knows!
And just like that I’m out of the store with a 6-pack of beer! Awesome!
Ok, gotta get out of here, like NOW, NOW, NOW before the virtual finger of the common morality catches me and makes me about 1 meter tall.
What a beautiful Saturday morning though and here I am, just swaggering in the streets of the eastern Helsinki about to go home to have a cold one; the beautiful side of life right before it makes a 180 turn!
I will jam that side to stay the way it is with a few bottles of beer...let it make that 180 turn a little later.
But say, isn’t that Goldie the golden retriever taking a p*ss over there by the fire hydrant? It is Goldie!!
Goldie
“There you have it fire hydrant…and there, and there!! Oh, hi PT Loren!"
What on earth are you doing here at this hour PT, this is Saturday MORNING, shouldn’t you still be, you know, in your self-created penalty box for a while?
“Hrrrr...Ghholdie my friend, I’m coming home from a party last night and you won’t behhhlieve what just happened!!!”
PT looks somewhat like he would like to open about this, so I just let him continue.
“See, Goldie” starts PT Loren and continues “While coming home, I went to the supermarket and guess what!?”
I go “woof!” and PT seemingly takes it as a “Please continue”…since he still continues!
“Schee, there was this loudspeaker...a LOUD schpeaker, which guided me straight to the beer section, almost like HAND-IN-HAND, man!! ...Which is where I grabbed these from!” goes PT, shaking a 6-pack in his hand.
“PT, you are the…”
“Man, I know, the loudspeaker at the schhhupermarket said the same thing” PT interrupts and mumbles something about the significance of being a credible artist and makes his entrance in to the hallway I just exited.
Say, that’s a nice looking golden retriever...ess across the street, I think I’ll go and introduce myself.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Hostage Situation
We’ve got a hostage situation.
The evil crow, Edgar, has somehow gotten the hedgehog, Mr. Rigate standing on a pile of empty 2 deciliter cartons of cream and has put a noose with the other end tied to the above branch around poor Mr. Rigate’s neck.
“I demand 2 pieces of stale bread or Rigate hangs!” shouts Edgar his demands “And don’t get any ideas, this is one fragile pile of cartons!”
“We do not negotiate with terrorists!” barks Goldie the golden retriever
“Yeah, yeah, we don’t do that!” shout Rick the Raven, Mr. Roror the seagull and the other hedgehog Mr. Somerville like they were echoes of their collective soul.
“Well, so be it, bye-bye for Mr. Rigate then!” goes Edgar
“Wait, wait, ok, what if I offered you ONE piece of stale bread, that I think I will be able to find, how’s that?” Goldie takes a half step back.
“ONE piece of stale bread, hmm…ok Goldie, you’ve got ONE minute!”
Goldie is on the job, run Goldie, run!!
“Say, that’s a nice looking golden retriever…ess across the street->no, no, no...no time for that now, Mr. Rigate’s life depends on me!”
“But SAY, what an awesome fire hydrant, I just GOTTA take a p*ss!!->No time man, Rigate is dying over there…well, maybe just a small p*ss, I’ll come back later…”
“A postman too?! F*cking h*ll, you’ve gotta be kidding me!!”
Goldie resets his mind of all this and continues the chase of one, just ONE single piece of stale bread with the price tag on it that is the life of Mr. Rigate’s!
“There…no, not there…there, no, not there either…there, THERE! There lies a piece of…*sniffing*…yep, STALE bread, AWESOME!!”
Goldie grabs the bread, disregards the overwhelming urge to eat it himself, makes a 180 turn and starts running back to the hostage situation site!
“Please don’t hang me Edgar, I’ve got a wife…and possibly some kids too, I used to drink a LOT when I was younger!” Mr. Rigate cries out
“Begging is futile Rigate, it’s all about your buddy Goldie making it back here in 10 seconds…9, 8, 7…”
6, 5, 4, the clock is ticking, run Goldie, run!!
And Goldie runs, boy does he run, ignores all the fire hydrants->ignores all the female golden retrievers->ignores all the postmen->“Run!”
3, 2, 1…it’s gonna be close!!
“Bye-bye Rigate!” Edgar kicks the first carton from under Mr. Rigate…who is now one stretched out little hedgehog.
“I don’t think so!!” Goldie approaches the elevated situation from around the corner, makes a hhhuge 3 meter jump and kicks Edgar straight in the face with his left front paw and while still in the air makes a gravity-defying-magic-like 180 turn and kicks Edgar straight in the face with his right BACK paw too! Bang-bang!! Edgar has been neutralized…for now.
“Wet the wedgewog wovn!!!” they are shouting, what does that mean? “Wet the wedgewog wovn!!” I have no idea.
Misters Roror and Somerville let Mr. Rigate down and they stop shouting… it probably had something to do with that. This is one delicious piece of stale bread I tell you! Woof!
The evil crow, Edgar, has somehow gotten the hedgehog, Mr. Rigate standing on a pile of empty 2 deciliter cartons of cream and has put a noose with the other end tied to the above branch around poor Mr. Rigate’s neck.
“I demand 2 pieces of stale bread or Rigate hangs!” shouts Edgar his demands “And don’t get any ideas, this is one fragile pile of cartons!”
“We do not negotiate with terrorists!” barks Goldie the golden retriever
“Yeah, yeah, we don’t do that!” shout Rick the Raven, Mr. Roror the seagull and the other hedgehog Mr. Somerville like they were echoes of their collective soul.
“Well, so be it, bye-bye for Mr. Rigate then!” goes Edgar
“Wait, wait, ok, what if I offered you ONE piece of stale bread, that I think I will be able to find, how’s that?” Goldie takes a half step back.
“ONE piece of stale bread, hmm…ok Goldie, you’ve got ONE minute!”
Goldie is on the job, run Goldie, run!!
“Say, that’s a nice looking golden retriever…ess across the street->no, no, no...no time for that now, Mr. Rigate’s life depends on me!”
“But SAY, what an awesome fire hydrant, I just GOTTA take a p*ss!!->No time man, Rigate is dying over there…well, maybe just a small p*ss, I’ll come back later…”
“A postman too?! F*cking h*ll, you’ve gotta be kidding me!!”
Goldie resets his mind of all this and continues the chase of one, just ONE single piece of stale bread with the price tag on it that is the life of Mr. Rigate’s!
“There…no, not there…there, no, not there either…there, THERE! There lies a piece of…*sniffing*…yep, STALE bread, AWESOME!!”
Goldie grabs the bread, disregards the overwhelming urge to eat it himself, makes a 180 turn and starts running back to the hostage situation site!
“Please don’t hang me Edgar, I’ve got a wife…and possibly some kids too, I used to drink a LOT when I was younger!” Mr. Rigate cries out
“Begging is futile Rigate, it’s all about your buddy Goldie making it back here in 10 seconds…9, 8, 7…”
6, 5, 4, the clock is ticking, run Goldie, run!!
And Goldie runs, boy does he run, ignores all the fire hydrants->ignores all the female golden retrievers->ignores all the postmen->“Run!”
3, 2, 1…it’s gonna be close!!
“Bye-bye Rigate!” Edgar kicks the first carton from under Mr. Rigate…who is now one stretched out little hedgehog.
“I don’t think so!!” Goldie approaches the elevated situation from around the corner, makes a hhhuge 3 meter jump and kicks Edgar straight in the face with his left front paw and while still in the air makes a gravity-defying-magic-like 180 turn and kicks Edgar straight in the face with his right BACK paw too! Bang-bang!! Edgar has been neutralized…for now.
“Wet the wedgewog wovn!!!” they are shouting, what does that mean? “Wet the wedgewog wovn!!” I have no idea.
Misters Roror and Somerville let Mr. Rigate down and they stop shouting… it probably had something to do with that. This is one delicious piece of stale bread I tell you! Woof!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Axel the Ant
5-leg Thompson at the back starts waking up and goes: “Hey you sad son of a b*tch who everyone kicks in the n*ts and you just ask for more…are we there yet?!”
Axel stops pulling the sledge, goes to the back and asks: “Say what my main man?”
“You ignorant m*therf*cker, I said that are we ther…”
Ok, let’s rewind a bit.
Once upon a time there was this tiny little ant called Axel.
Axel was one of the most hardest working members of the ant community he was a part of; every day traveling many, many ant-miles on his trips to fetch anything he could find to help make the community’s nest the biggest god damn ant nest there ever was.
Axel the Ant was proud of his work!
One shiny day Axel’s homies, alleged homies, “Stone-cold Stephen” and the one called “The 5-leg Thompson” asked Axel to go with them to have a drink in this far away tavern, many, many ant-miles from home. This was the payday.
Axel thought it for a while…thought it for another while and “Ok, I think I’ll go”.
And off they went three of them.
In his limited spare time, Axel had built this sledge out of a leaf, in which he pulled the two alleged homies to the location, just to try that the sledge works ok. Or that’s how the 2 lazy b*stards justified the reason not to walk themselves.
Once the three ants got to the tavern, Stone-cold and 5-leg right away jumped off of the sledge leaving some empty bottles and cigarette butts and other trash behind, went inside and immediately started raising some hell; picking fights, harassing the grrrls and ordering rounds of drinks for everyone…for which poor Axel had to make good for with his well deserved pay check. This continued for several hours.
Finally, at 4am the manager of the place started kicking the ants out, Stone-cold and 5-leg were both sound asleep-passed out at his point.
This was a slightly, slightly delicate situation for Axel, “Oh what to do with those two passed out…comrades…who just spent my entire pay check for their own pleasures!”
Axel thought it for a while…thought it for another while and “Ok, in the end they are ones of my own and I have to see to it that they get home safely”.
Axel dragged the two drunken ants into the leaf-sledge and started pulling.
“Home is so far away and the road full of dangers” thinks Axel “But back home we must get!”
Axel pulls the sledge with every single muscle gained from the hard every day work stretching to the maximum, “Pull, Axel, pull!” bangs the thought in his head!!
“Girls…Mexico…gimme a shot of that tequila…hrarrr…girls…tequila…Mexico” 5-leg Thompson mumbles in his sleep from the back…
But after 5 ant-miles Axel’s powers are finally starting to run out “I must continue, we MUST get hooom….” Axel falls down on his belly.
Suddenly out of nowhere, like an icicle landing on a person’s head, like a cell phone starting to ring in a movie theatre just when “they” are about to kiss, like a Rottweiler biting a person in the *ss, there is this circle of bright light hovering above Axel and from within that circle of bright light presents itself this tiny, tiny fairy with the whitest dress there ever was and with the wings so brittle that even breathing against them would make them fall apart.
“Axel, my child” goes the fairy with a sweetest of voices and continues “You are the chosen one and you will be featured in many, many PT Loren-stories to come…and therefore it can’t be your destiny to die here! Go on, Axel, go on! And oh by the way, you might wanna consider NOT taking that sh*t anymore! Just an opinion, just an opinion…”
“Must…go…OOOONNNNN!” Axel rises and starts pulling the sledge again “PHULLL, PHULLLL!!!!” Axel phulls like a doped up athlete!
This is the brand new Axel the Ant, the one that no one better NOT f*ck with!!
5-leg Thompson at the back starts waking up and obviously doesn’t know this and goes: “Hey you sad son of a b*tch who everyone kicks in the n*ts and you just ask for more…are we there yet?!”
Axel stops pulling the sledge, goes to the back and asks: “Say what my main man?”
“You ignorant m*therf*cker, I said that are we ther…”
Axel kicks 5-leg in the n*ts once, kicks 5-leg in the n*ts twice, kicks 5-leg in the n*ts THREE TIMES…and asks again: “Say what my main man?”
“Euuwwww, anything you want man, just please PLEASE don’t kick me in the n*ts anymore!!!” Moans 5-leg.
Axel goes back to the driver’s seat, adjusts the harnesses a bit and phhulls the sledge, with the passengers, safely all the way home.
The Road will never be dangerous again for this tiny little ant called Axel.
Axel stops pulling the sledge, goes to the back and asks: “Say what my main man?”
“You ignorant m*therf*cker, I said that are we ther…”
Ok, let’s rewind a bit.
Once upon a time there was this tiny little ant called Axel.
Axel was one of the most hardest working members of the ant community he was a part of; every day traveling many, many ant-miles on his trips to fetch anything he could find to help make the community’s nest the biggest god damn ant nest there ever was.
Axel the Ant was proud of his work!
One shiny day Axel’s homies, alleged homies, “Stone-cold Stephen” and the one called “The 5-leg Thompson” asked Axel to go with them to have a drink in this far away tavern, many, many ant-miles from home. This was the payday.
Axel thought it for a while…thought it for another while and “Ok, I think I’ll go”.
And off they went three of them.
In his limited spare time, Axel had built this sledge out of a leaf, in which he pulled the two alleged homies to the location, just to try that the sledge works ok. Or that’s how the 2 lazy b*stards justified the reason not to walk themselves.
Once the three ants got to the tavern, Stone-cold and 5-leg right away jumped off of the sledge leaving some empty bottles and cigarette butts and other trash behind, went inside and immediately started raising some hell; picking fights, harassing the grrrls and ordering rounds of drinks for everyone…for which poor Axel had to make good for with his well deserved pay check. This continued for several hours.
Finally, at 4am the manager of the place started kicking the ants out, Stone-cold and 5-leg were both sound asleep-passed out at his point.
This was a slightly, slightly delicate situation for Axel, “Oh what to do with those two passed out…comrades…who just spent my entire pay check for their own pleasures!”
Axel thought it for a while…thought it for another while and “Ok, in the end they are ones of my own and I have to see to it that they get home safely”.
Axel dragged the two drunken ants into the leaf-sledge and started pulling.
“Home is so far away and the road full of dangers” thinks Axel “But back home we must get!”
Axel pulls the sledge with every single muscle gained from the hard every day work stretching to the maximum, “Pull, Axel, pull!” bangs the thought in his head!!
“Girls…Mexico…gimme a shot of that tequila…hrarrr…girls…tequila…Mexico” 5-leg Thompson mumbles in his sleep from the back…
But after 5 ant-miles Axel’s powers are finally starting to run out “I must continue, we MUST get hooom….” Axel falls down on his belly.
Suddenly out of nowhere, like an icicle landing on a person’s head, like a cell phone starting to ring in a movie theatre just when “they” are about to kiss, like a Rottweiler biting a person in the *ss, there is this circle of bright light hovering above Axel and from within that circle of bright light presents itself this tiny, tiny fairy with the whitest dress there ever was and with the wings so brittle that even breathing against them would make them fall apart.
“Axel, my child” goes the fairy with a sweetest of voices and continues “You are the chosen one and you will be featured in many, many PT Loren-stories to come…and therefore it can’t be your destiny to die here! Go on, Axel, go on! And oh by the way, you might wanna consider NOT taking that sh*t anymore! Just an opinion, just an opinion…”
“Must…go…OOOONNNNN!” Axel rises and starts pulling the sledge again “PHULLL, PHULLLL!!!!” Axel phulls like a doped up athlete!
This is the brand new Axel the Ant, the one that no one better NOT f*ck with!!
5-leg Thompson at the back starts waking up and obviously doesn’t know this and goes: “Hey you sad son of a b*tch who everyone kicks in the n*ts and you just ask for more…are we there yet?!”
Axel stops pulling the sledge, goes to the back and asks: “Say what my main man?”
“You ignorant m*therf*cker, I said that are we ther…”
Axel kicks 5-leg in the n*ts once, kicks 5-leg in the n*ts twice, kicks 5-leg in the n*ts THREE TIMES…and asks again: “Say what my main man?”
“Euuwwww, anything you want man, just please PLEASE don’t kick me in the n*ts anymore!!!” Moans 5-leg.
Axel goes back to the driver’s seat, adjusts the harnesses a bit and phhulls the sledge, with the passengers, safely all the way home.
The Road will never be dangerous again for this tiny little ant called Axel.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Tunnel Diggers
”Hey-ho-hey-ho, we are gonna dig a tunnel, hey-ho-hey-ho, we don’t care for anything else!” sing the 3 little golden retriever puppies after, once again, coming up with a plan on how to escape from the yard surrounded by a fence.
“The first one will do the digging and the other two try not to fall asleep while keeping guard” they continue.
“And once we DO get caught for this, we’ll start another one” sings the digging-puppy solo with it’s head already half way in the tunnel.
“So, what’s the point of all of this?” Replies the first guard-puppy, with a high note
“There’s totally no point to any of this!” Sings the second guard-puppy, with a surprisingly LOW note
The 3 puppies go as one: “The point is irrelevant, this is what we do!”
“Hey-ho-hey-ho, we are gonna dig a tunnel, hey-ho-hey-ho, we don’t care for anything else!”
“The first one will do the digging and the other two try not to fall asleep while keeping guard” they continue.
“And once we DO get caught for this, we’ll start another one” sings the digging-puppy solo with it’s head already half way in the tunnel.
“So, what’s the point of all of this?” Replies the first guard-puppy, with a high note
“There’s totally no point to any of this!” Sings the second guard-puppy, with a surprisingly LOW note
The 3 puppies go as one: “The point is irrelevant, this is what we do!”
“Hey-ho-hey-ho, we are gonna dig a tunnel, hey-ho-hey-ho, we don’t care for anything else!”
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Rick the Raven vs. Edgar the Crow
Edgar
”F*cking H*ll, mind the speed limit please!!” Roars the handsome, slightly PT Loren-looking gentleman on my left as I fly by his balcony…like AT LEAST 100 km/h!!! I’m a pretty good flyer.
Anyway, hi, my name is Edgar!
I’m a crow and you might remember me from the earlier PT Loren-story “Never Mess with Another Bird’s Piece of Bread or He’ll Kick You in the N*ts”.
I’m that crow…and I’m still a bit sore from the beating the damn seagull, Mr. Roror gave me back then!
My name is Edgar, I steal bread…from mouths.
Rick
Hi! My name is Rick, I’m a raven, you know, “Rick the Raven”.
Most of my friends call me Rick-Rick, I think it’s because I have a rather distinctive voice for a raven and I guess it sounds a bit like that, “Rick-Rick!”
What a nice day today!
Here I am, just chilling under this pine tree in the eastern Helsinki, I’m an eastern Helsinki kind of bird, you know, pretty tough…at least compared to the western Helsinki ravens, those fools!
“Pomp-pomp-pomp” I jump on the sidewalk, see I’m also a sort of a pomp-pomp-pomping kind of bird, I usually just “Pomp-pomp-pomp” until I can’t “Pomp-pomp-pomp” no more!
Say, that’s a nice piece of stale bread on the curb of this sidewalk just waiting to be eaten.
Better hurry and get it right away, I have heard some rumors about these vicious crows…
Pomp-pomp-pomping to the bread now…and grabbing it…small difficulties in the swallowing department…trying…still trying…
“EDGARRRR!!!” Someone screams above me with an irritating voice and I can feel a gentle crowish breeze just before I get wing-slapped right in the face, which makes me drop the bread.
Edgar
“EDGARRRR!!!” I scream like a maniac and attack the raven with an awesome looking piece of stale bread in his mouth!
I wing-slap the b*stard once…touché! Right in the face!
I grab the bread from the ground and fly away.
Rick
…what the h*ll just happened?
Oh yes, it’s all coming back to me now, I was trying to swallow the oversized piece of bread…had some difficulties with that and…oh yes…I mean, OH NO! I mean, GOD DAMN IT, THE CROW IS SOOO GONNA GET IT NOW!!!
Revenging Raven 1, Revenging Raven 1, you have been cleared for takeoff.
PT Loren
“F*cking H*ll, mind the speed limit please!!” The damn crow flying by my balcony about 200 km/h almost just gave me a heart attack!!
What was it that it had in it’s mouth? Looked a bit like a very large piece of bread…oh well, not very relevant PT, is it!
But say, that’s gotta be the most funniest sounding raven EVER that just landed on a branch of this tree right in front of my balcony, how would I describe it…it sounds a bit like “Rick-Rick!” like if the fellow would be called “Rick” and it was just trying to say it’s own name, how cute:).
“Hi Rick the Raven!” I say. “Rick-Rick!” it goes back.
And just look at it pomp-pomp-pomp from one branch to another like it would be trying to locate the crow that just flew by with a bread in it’s mouth. Priceless!
Rick
I’m airborne now, chasing the crow…where the heck did the son of a b*tch go!?
Better to land on this tree here, calm down a bit and take a good looksy at the situation!
On my left, on a balcony by this tree there is this human being with a rather stupid grin on his face saying something like “Hi Wick the Waven”…whatever that means.
I pomp-pomp-pomp from one branch to another trying to spot the b*stard crow.
There…no, not there…there, no not there either…there…THERE!! GOTCHA!!!
Edgar
“Lah-la-la-lah, what’s better than a freshly stolen bread, lah-la-la-lah!” I find myself singing.
That looks like a nice rooftop, I think I’ll go and enjoy my bread there…only 20 meters to go…only 10 meters to go and…”Rick-Rick!” screams someone above me with a rather irritating voice!
God damn it, not again!!
Edgar & Rick
“What the…oh you wanna piece of me raven, huh?! Bring it on man! Bring it on!”
“I’ll kick you in the n*ts man!” There you have it! And there! And there!
“Awww, my n*ts!”
“Give up the bread man!”
“No way José!”
“I’ll kick you in the n*ts man!”
“Awww, my n*ts!”
Rick
The bread is mine, all mine, I think I’ll enjoy it on this nearest rooftop here.
I just hope the guy on the balcony wasn’t a storywriter or anything…
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The Cigarette Vending Machine
Yesterday, while standing in a checkout-line in this supermarket, I noticed there was an A4 sized paper taped to the cigarette vending machine.
Hmmm, what is this? Obviously something about the machine not working, if that’s comprehensible, a machine…and yet it’s not working!:)
Someone once said something about this great future that we live in, I can’t recall who and where...and seemingly not even when or what, but I’m pretty sure someone said something:).
And yes, when I take a closer look it truly IS a printed A4-sheet saying that the machine is busted and that “they” are sorry for the inconvenience.
With a ballpoint pen, some smart ass customer has written “That’s ok, don’t worry about it!” under the printed text:).
Hmmm, what is this? Obviously something about the machine not working, if that’s comprehensible, a machine…and yet it’s not working!:)
Someone once said something about this great future that we live in, I can’t recall who and where...and seemingly not even when or what, but I’m pretty sure someone said something:).
And yes, when I take a closer look it truly IS a printed A4-sheet saying that the machine is busted and that “they” are sorry for the inconvenience.
With a ballpoint pen, some smart ass customer has written “That’s ok, don’t worry about it!” under the printed text:).
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Neurotic Bee
”Bzzzzzzz…”
Now, THAT’s what I call a nice flower down there! But so are the ones around it too. How the heck does the management expect me to make a decision like this!
What did the boss say back at the base, “Just pick one and stick with it Jonesy!”
Boss is wise, tonight we’ll make some hooooney!
“Bzzzzzzz…” I’m on the flower now.
Hmm, somehow this doesn’t quite feel right, I don’t know why, just doesn’t.
This one is definitely THE flower but better to go up again and get a clear overview on the situation and do the landing-part over again, yep, that’s what a responsible bee would do!
Up we go, “Bzzzzzzz…”
And turning now for the clear overview…uhmmm, which one of those was my flower again?
What did the boss say, “Just pick one and stick with it Jonesy!”
Sticking with it boss! “Bzzzzzzz…”
From a distance a slightly p*ssed off looking bear is watching this,
“Hopefully they are not ALL this slow or I’ll NEVER get the honey!”
Now, THAT’s what I call a nice flower down there! But so are the ones around it too. How the heck does the management expect me to make a decision like this!
What did the boss say back at the base, “Just pick one and stick with it Jonesy!”
Boss is wise, tonight we’ll make some hooooney!
“Bzzzzzzz…” I’m on the flower now.
Hmm, somehow this doesn’t quite feel right, I don’t know why, just doesn’t.
This one is definitely THE flower but better to go up again and get a clear overview on the situation and do the landing-part over again, yep, that’s what a responsible bee would do!
Up we go, “Bzzzzzzz…”
And turning now for the clear overview…uhmmm, which one of those was my flower again?
What did the boss say, “Just pick one and stick with it Jonesy!”
Sticking with it boss! “Bzzzzzzz…”
From a distance a slightly p*ssed off looking bear is watching this,
“Hopefully they are not ALL this slow or I’ll NEVER get the honey!”
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The Hedgehog Boxing Fight
Players:
-Mr. Rigate – a hedgehog
-The new guy, Mr. Somerville – a hedgehog
-Mr. Roror – a seagull
-Acorn helmet-Steve – a squirrel
-Goldie, the teller of the story – a golden retriever
Mr. Rigate and the new guy have been having this quarrel for a week now.
I think it has mostly been about Mr. Rigate getting the feeling that the new guy is trying to challenge his authority as the older guy and on the other hand, about the new guy, Mr. Somerville, getting the feeling that Mr. Rigate is trying too hard to show him to his place.
Anyway, it has pretty much been a week long pissing contest now and we decided that it was about time to do something about it.
And what’s a better way to solve a quarrel between the two guys than to organize a good ol’ fashion gloves-off boxing fight! So we thought anyway.
Both Mr. Rigate and Mr. Somerville agreed to this so we set the date and started promoting the event.
“Where are my posters Mr. Roror?”
“Coming boss, coming!”
Mr. Roror does these posters one at a time by hand…wing and there is only so much he can do in this given period of time, I understand that.
If you ever saw a weird set-up of rocks, pine needles and cones out there that somehow made sense, that’s the handy work of Mr. Roror’s!
Here we are, this is the big night!
Both Mr. Rigate and Mr. Somerville have been training hard with their Personal Trainers and they look very fit and weirdly enough, very much alike too since they both seem to have chosen the same spike polisher, the one who they call the “Acorn helmet-Steve” who is now standing behind me counting his dollars with a rather stupid grin on his face.
“Gonnnggg!” Round one.
Mr. Rigate seemingly wants to end it right here, right now and aggressively goes at it!
…and goes, and goes…
“God damn it, who idiot set the boxing ring to 5 meters!?” I find myself barking.
Ok, round two.
There was no real need to ask the boxers to their corners and Rigate continues with the assault.
Somerville is no coward either and also starts advancing.
Rigate: “Phewww, phawww, man, this is hard!”
Somerville: “Phewww, phawww, man, this is hard!”
The two fighters are closing in
The 1x1 cm fist of Rigate’s throws the first punch
The punch lands
“Euwwww, that hurts so much!” goes Mr. Rigate, grabbing his hand!
Somerville sees his window and takes a shot
Here comes the punch
lands
“Euwwww, that hurts so much!” goes Mr. Somerville too, also grabbing his hand.
“Finish him, finish him!” shout the ones who have been making the bets, on both sides.
Mr. Rigate recovers first and again proceeds towards Mr. Somerville
Mr. Somerville too at this point has re-gained full force
“Finish him, finish him!” they keep on shouting!
From somewhere under that spiky ball that is Mr. Rigate rises a tiny hand
A hand and not a fist anymore
Mr. Somerville does the same
Here they are, one tiny hand seeking for another
“Slap!”
“Let’s not fight anymore”
-Mr. Rigate – a hedgehog
-The new guy, Mr. Somerville – a hedgehog
-Mr. Roror – a seagull
-Acorn helmet-Steve – a squirrel
-Goldie, the teller of the story – a golden retriever
Mr. Rigate and the new guy have been having this quarrel for a week now.
I think it has mostly been about Mr. Rigate getting the feeling that the new guy is trying to challenge his authority as the older guy and on the other hand, about the new guy, Mr. Somerville, getting the feeling that Mr. Rigate is trying too hard to show him to his place.
Anyway, it has pretty much been a week long pissing contest now and we decided that it was about time to do something about it.
And what’s a better way to solve a quarrel between the two guys than to organize a good ol’ fashion gloves-off boxing fight! So we thought anyway.
Both Mr. Rigate and Mr. Somerville agreed to this so we set the date and started promoting the event.
“Where are my posters Mr. Roror?”
“Coming boss, coming!”
Mr. Roror does these posters one at a time by hand…wing and there is only so much he can do in this given period of time, I understand that.
If you ever saw a weird set-up of rocks, pine needles and cones out there that somehow made sense, that’s the handy work of Mr. Roror’s!
Here we are, this is the big night!
Both Mr. Rigate and Mr. Somerville have been training hard with their Personal Trainers and they look very fit and weirdly enough, very much alike too since they both seem to have chosen the same spike polisher, the one who they call the “Acorn helmet-Steve” who is now standing behind me counting his dollars with a rather stupid grin on his face.
“Gonnnggg!” Round one.
Mr. Rigate seemingly wants to end it right here, right now and aggressively goes at it!
…and goes, and goes…
“God damn it, who idiot set the boxing ring to 5 meters!?” I find myself barking.
Ok, round two.
There was no real need to ask the boxers to their corners and Rigate continues with the assault.
Somerville is no coward either and also starts advancing.
Rigate: “Phewww, phawww, man, this is hard!”
Somerville: “Phewww, phawww, man, this is hard!”
The two fighters are closing in
The 1x1 cm fist of Rigate’s throws the first punch
The punch lands
“Euwwww, that hurts so much!” goes Mr. Rigate, grabbing his hand!
Somerville sees his window and takes a shot
Here comes the punch
lands
“Euwwww, that hurts so much!” goes Mr. Somerville too, also grabbing his hand.
“Finish him, finish him!” shout the ones who have been making the bets, on both sides.
Mr. Rigate recovers first and again proceeds towards Mr. Somerville
Mr. Somerville too at this point has re-gained full force
“Finish him, finish him!” they keep on shouting!
From somewhere under that spiky ball that is Mr. Rigate rises a tiny hand
A hand and not a fist anymore
Mr. Somerville does the same
Here they are, one tiny hand seeking for another
“Slap!”
“Let’s not fight anymore”
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Snobby Finnish Crows
So basically the English Crow is ”Crrrrow!” to the Swedish Kråka and the Swedish Kråka is “Krrrråka!” to the German Krähe and therefore the German Krähe must be “Krrrrähe” to the Finnish, uhmmm...”Varis”?
Hmmm, somehow this doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Maybe it’s just me. There are a few of these fellows outside, I think I’ll listen for a while, the merry mind sometimes makes it so when you think hard enough!
One by one.
“Crrrrow!” yes definitely sounds like that.
“Krrrråka!” yes yes, these would pass for Swedish Kråkas.
“Krrrrähe!” quite right, the German Mr. Grey Jacket would probably understand it’s English or Swedish cousins.
…but these are Finnish crows and no matter how hard I try to pull a muscle in my brain, it still doesn’t sound like “Varis!” at all, it sounds like “Krr…” followed by the variable national alphabets above.
“What is it with you, you Snobby Finnish Crows?”
“Kraak!”.
I get the feeling that they didn’t understand the question.
Hmmm, somehow this doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Maybe it’s just me. There are a few of these fellows outside, I think I’ll listen for a while, the merry mind sometimes makes it so when you think hard enough!
One by one.
“Crrrrow!” yes definitely sounds like that.
“Krrrråka!” yes yes, these would pass for Swedish Kråkas.
“Krrrrähe!” quite right, the German Mr. Grey Jacket would probably understand it’s English or Swedish cousins.
…but these are Finnish crows and no matter how hard I try to pull a muscle in my brain, it still doesn’t sound like “Varis!” at all, it sounds like “Krr…” followed by the variable national alphabets above.
“What is it with you, you Snobby Finnish Crows?”
“Kraak!”.
I get the feeling that they didn’t understand the question.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Noah of the Ants...Who Forgot to Build the damn Ark
Here I am, walking in the streets of Helsinki E, minding my own and just spitting in the wind.
It was raining hard just a few minutes ago, the time which I spent…in the pouring rain, I don’t wanna talk about it:).
Anyway, puddles here, puddles there, puddles everywhere and I somehow find it highly important to declare myself "The Noah of the Ants…Who Forgot to Build the Damn Ark!"
“Stop being so negative, man! Ants are very good swimmers are they not?”
Hmmm, either they are chilling…or then they have sort of, you know, drowned:).
Seemingly I’m not very good at this Noah-stuff.
Five meters ahead of me, there is this sweet old lady walking, probably minding her own like me and just spitting in the wind too...somehow this doesn't quite fit:).
There’s a huuuge puddle on the right, five meters right…here comes the car…and here comes the "SPLASH!!"
The sweet old lady is now a WET sweet old lady…and screams out: “PERKELE!!!”
Tell me, what is more funny than a sweet old lady getting puddle-splashed by a car and afterwards screaming out for the Anti-Christ!
I couldn’t think of anything.
It was raining hard just a few minutes ago, the time which I spent…in the pouring rain, I don’t wanna talk about it:).
Anyway, puddles here, puddles there, puddles everywhere and I somehow find it highly important to declare myself "The Noah of the Ants…Who Forgot to Build the Damn Ark!"
“Stop being so negative, man! Ants are very good swimmers are they not?”
Hmmm, either they are chilling…or then they have sort of, you know, drowned:).
Seemingly I’m not very good at this Noah-stuff.
Five meters ahead of me, there is this sweet old lady walking, probably minding her own like me and just spitting in the wind too...somehow this doesn't quite fit:).
There’s a huuuge puddle on the right, five meters right…here comes the car…and here comes the "SPLASH!!"
The sweet old lady is now a WET sweet old lady…and screams out: “PERKELE!!!”
Tell me, what is more funny than a sweet old lady getting puddle-splashed by a car and afterwards screaming out for the Anti-Christ!
I couldn’t think of anything.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Bottle-Returning-Machine
”Inserting a bottle, inserting a bottle, inserting a bottle…”
Goddamn it PT, not so fast, they can’t handle your bottle inserting skills!
“Inserting a bottle, inserting a bo…” “UAA-UAA-UAA” sounds the alarm! Oh great, now the machine broke down!
“What did I just tell you, you imbecile?” asks Mr. Richard Head…inside my head obviously.
On my right, there is another bottle-returning-machine, I don’t know the English word for this-> so it’s a bottle-returning-machine:).
Anyway, on my right, there is another dude “Inserting a bottle, inserting a bottle, inserting a bottle…”
Goddamn it Another Dude, not so fast, they can’t handle your bottle returning skills!
“Inserting a bottle, inserting a bo…” “UAA-UAA-UAA”.
I guess his name is Richard too.
Goddamn it PT, not so fast, they can’t handle your bottle inserting skills!
“Inserting a bottle, inserting a bo…” “UAA-UAA-UAA” sounds the alarm! Oh great, now the machine broke down!
“What did I just tell you, you imbecile?” asks Mr. Richard Head…inside my head obviously.
On my right, there is another bottle-returning-machine, I don’t know the English word for this-> so it’s a bottle-returning-machine:).
Anyway, on my right, there is another dude “Inserting a bottle, inserting a bottle, inserting a bottle…”
Goddamn it Another Dude, not so fast, they can’t handle your bottle returning skills!
“Inserting a bottle, inserting a bo…” “UAA-UAA-UAA”.
I guess his name is Richard too.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Never Mess with Another Bird's Piece of Bread or He'll Kick You in the Nuts
”Oh you little…” the damn crow just grabbed my perfectly nice piece of stale bread directly from my mouth->time to kick some ass!
“Seagull 1, Seagull 1, you have been cleared for take-off”.
The game begins.
Where’s that little gray piece of s**t?
“There, gotcha!”
My plan is to go up, wayyyy up and strike from above, the fool will never know what hit him!
Here I go, assaulting now with only one thing on my mind: Tom Cruise!
“What the…oh you wanna piece of me seagull, huh?! Bring it on man! Bring it on!”
“I’ll kick you in the nuts man!” There you have it! And there! And there!
“Awww, my nuts!”
“Give up the bread man!”
“No way José!”
“I’ll kick you in the nuts man!”
“Awww, my nuts!”
The bread is mine, all mine. I’ll enjoy it on this nearest rooftop here.
Across the street there is this guy smoking a cigarette on a balcony, hopefully he is not a blogger or anything…
“Seagull 1, Seagull 1, you have been cleared for take-off”.
The game begins.
Where’s that little gray piece of s**t?
“There, gotcha!”
My plan is to go up, wayyyy up and strike from above, the fool will never know what hit him!
Here I go, assaulting now with only one thing on my mind: Tom Cruise!
“What the…oh you wanna piece of me seagull, huh?! Bring it on man! Bring it on!”
“I’ll kick you in the nuts man!” There you have it! And there! And there!
“Awww, my nuts!”
“Give up the bread man!”
“No way José!”
“I’ll kick you in the nuts man!”
“Awww, my nuts!”
The bread is mine, all mine. I’ll enjoy it on this nearest rooftop here.
Across the street there is this guy smoking a cigarette on a balcony, hopefully he is not a blogger or anything…
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Seagulls.
“Goddamn it PT, do you know what time it is?!”
The sun is about to come up and you really really should go to bed already!
I went.
10 minutes…nothing, 20 minutes…pretty much the same.
Here comes the sun.
And here come the Seagulls.
“SEA-GULL!”, SEE-GULLLL”, they scream, over and over again, every now and then taking a pause to laugh at me with the same “Seagullish”-voice!
“Oh, Come on Seagulls, what’s up with that!?”
“We are Seagulls Mr. Loren, Mr. high and mighty PT Loren, this is what we do!”
“Well, could you do it somewhere else?”
“We are SEA-GULLLLLS!”
The sun is about to come up and you really really should go to bed already!
I went.
10 minutes…nothing, 20 minutes…pretty much the same.
Here comes the sun.
And here come the Seagulls.
“SEA-GULL!”, SEE-GULLLL”, they scream, over and over again, every now and then taking a pause to laugh at me with the same “Seagullish”-voice!
“Oh, Come on Seagulls, what’s up with that!?”
“We are Seagulls Mr. Loren, Mr. high and mighty PT Loren, this is what we do!”
“Well, could you do it somewhere else?”
“We are SEA-GULLLLLS!”
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Hedgehog 2.
I step out of the bus. This is quite late.
"Rigate, Penne Rigate" introduces himself the hedgehog on the ground and asks me to follow.
Awfully stuffy in here, don't you think Mr. Rigate?
Oh you want me to follow you into the bushes Mr. Rigate?
Ok, let's go, I find myself answering even though I know it's not the best of ideas to go head first into the bushes like that at this hour.
Where are you Mr. Rigate?
Mr. Rigate taps me on my Shoulder and offers a high-5, which I gladly accept, my big hand against the tiny hand of Mr. Rigate's, "Slap!".
Mr. Rigate's hand is only about 1cm x 1cm, so this is a cool moment.
"Oh you must be Mrs. Rigate? Nice to meet you!"
Mrs. Rigate somehow has some reservations towards me since Mr. Rigate and I are coming home this late. I won't go there, that's between Mr. Rigate and Mrs. Rigate.
Mr. Rigate owns a couch, we'll be sleeping there:).
"Rigate, Penne Rigate" introduces himself the hedgehog on the ground and asks me to follow.
Awfully stuffy in here, don't you think Mr. Rigate?
Oh you want me to follow you into the bushes Mr. Rigate?
Ok, let's go, I find myself answering even though I know it's not the best of ideas to go head first into the bushes like that at this hour.
Where are you Mr. Rigate?
Mr. Rigate taps me on my Shoulder and offers a high-5, which I gladly accept, my big hand against the tiny hand of Mr. Rigate's, "Slap!".
Mr. Rigate's hand is only about 1cm x 1cm, so this is a cool moment.
"Oh you must be Mrs. Rigate? Nice to meet you!"
Mrs. Rigate somehow has some reservations towards me since Mr. Rigate and I are coming home this late. I won't go there, that's between Mr. Rigate and Mrs. Rigate.
Mr. Rigate owns a couch, we'll be sleeping there:).
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