Friday, November 11, 2005

"Jesus. Jesus Christ. Y'know what'd be sooooo great and fancy? If you could one single time manage to be within 50 feet of a cop without needing to somehow, through whatever means of communication, get him to understand how much you hate cops."

[in the voice one can only rarely push him hard enough to evoke, the one that veers so close to that of "The Simpsons"' Snake that God, not to giggle, the effort required . . . ] "That so. Uh-huh. Well, it would be super great if you could one time manage to enter and exit a fucking Walgreens without looking at EV-er-y, SIN-gle, NAY-il POLishhh."

"Huh. Tough shit on that."

[Snake slowed down to half speed] "Tough shit on YOURRR shit." - the end of "shit" sounding snapped off and swallowed.

And that's like a huge outburst of sass from him, that's him insolent (this's the new one, the tawny one with the crushed-rock-candy irises, mind). His temperament still fascinates and mystifies me, I'm so unaccustomed to such creatures - how is his surface so very fucking smooth? Where are the parts you can ruffle?

I assume the two crickets who've recently arrived in my closet were scooped up off the floor of (it could only be) the Vivarium, forcibly relocated because I'd complained about how long it's probably going to be before I again live somewhere where I hear crickets at night. But I haven't asked for confirmation. Somehow to do so'd knock some of the honey dust off the matter.


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