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".
Friday, October 30, 2009
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.
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