04 May 2014
739
R. Linda:
All around the office the week before last, it was chat about Game of Thrones and who poisoned King Joffrey the twit. I try to not get into these water cooler chats as I have too much walking to do, I mean work! But a week of that sort of thing does subconsciously work its way into one's sleeping psyche it does, and that is precisely what happened two Friday nights ago.
My brain works on having conversations with meself until I fall into oblivion. Which lasts maybe an hour when I am semi-conscious and in a discussion with meself, just where I left off before I fall into the sleep abyss, and it goes on like that all night. But Friday. the mind conversation started off in the office. where it was phone tag time for the entire day as I tried to get away from the water cooler chatters, who decided if I wasn't in the lounge, then they'd ring me on my mobile phone to talk about the Game of Thrones nonsense. Somehow, me sleeping thoughts got mixed up in the water cooler chat and I found meself dreaming and talking throughout the night about a Game of Phones.
Sometime during the night me brain was conjuring meself dressed as a knight in a tarnished suit of armour with a small person with a sword, she kept poking me in the back while we were on horseback. She, with the sword she named 'Spindle', was poking me because I wouldn't give her a pony and a warehouse full of fudge.
"Stop it!" I chided her as I spoke to her on me mobile phone.
"Not until you get me a pony and fudge!" She shouted in her mobile phone at me as I tried to hush her.
Suddenly, me dream/chat careened to a snowy place, and there was Wolfie dressed all in black with this massive black cape coat, his long blue-black and shiny hair blowing in the wind, snowflakes catching in it, and I realised he was in a snow storm at the bottom, and next to a very long and steep ice cliff. He was shouting into his mobile phone, "Send the fooking elevator down now, or I swear if I have to climb this ice when I get to the top, I will slice yer bloody fooking head off like a ham!"
That must have frightened me because next, I was looking through the bars of a dungeon where a very diminutive person in a green jerkin was sitting next to a post speaking into a mobile phone with a Mexican accent to a man with a hook for a hand who was holding a phone as well outside the dungeon window. As I got a better view, I realised the little person was you, me Muse, and the man with the hook for a hand was Capt. Jaack.
"I tole joo, I didn't due it. An I don't care cause when all is over an done wit, joo and all da others will be in da poor house and I won't care." You were saying all this like you really didn't care.
"Well, bro, I would try to avast you out of this place, but our sissy wants your head on a spike. I was trying to tell her plank walking would do you better, but she won't hear of it, har! And she wants your other half found and their head on a spike, too."
I was overcome with dizziness just then as I realised I was the OTHER half. Suddenly, I found meself at a wedding where Weasil was holding court (it seemed) and shouting with glee into a mobile phone. He was dressed in rich velvets and wearing a gold crown on his noggin that looked like someone had painted a bunch of sticks gold and made a circlet of it, thus sticking it on his head.
"An for a final treatie, I have da lesbian sister showdownie, a fightie to da deathie!" He was saying with malicious mayhem.
Everyone at the long table cheered into their phones unenthusiastically, and I felt faint. But I didn't have time to feel that way for long because someone was kicking me in the ankles. I looked down, and there you were, somehow freed from the dungeon. You looked up at me and said into your mobile phone, "Keng Weasil is tahksic, don't joo no?"
"He's wot?" I said into me phone, looking down at you.
"Tahksic joo no, like when joo need a chower."
"Toxic and shower? Got it, I think." I said into my phone. Then it dawned on me, "Hey, how did you get loose?"
"A fren len me a helpeen hook, I mean han. I geev heem Mexican chocolate fer beachin' yoob."
"Ohhh, ok," I said, suspicious as to who this mysterious friend with a hook for a hand would do a bitching job for chocolate was. Then I realised it was Jaack! He had let you out, of course. It was he who else would be scared of you besides me? Then I realised you were two tiny people at the same time. How was THAT possible?
"I need a nap," I said to no one in particular. Maybe my brain was the object of that remark.
"Eff joo nop joo will die eyoung." You said to me on your mobile phone.
"If I nap I will die young? Hey, why are you speaking like Charo with a Mexican accent? You don't have a Mexican accent?" I whispered into me phone.
"Cuchi-cuchi." You laughed into your phone. "Because it throws them all off. I am not Capt. Jaack's brother. I'm really the little twerp that's been poking you in the back wanting a pony and fudge, lots of fudge!"
I knew it! I thought you looked familiar, but it was the accent that threw me at first.
Meanwhile, back at the cliff face, Wolfie was still at the bottom, his black clothing and hair almost white from the snow . . . and his designer stubble was looking quite a bit frosty.
"Look, YOU! I have to rescue the Clippers from Don Sterling's racist clutches, and I have to do it NOW! Get the fooking elevator down here, or I swear I will climb up there and slice your head like a bloody cheese!"
I shivered at the thought and was suddenly back at the dungeon. There was no one there but Capt Jaack looking out the barred door yelling for help and someone I won't name's arse. He used his hook to rattle the bars in the window while yelling things I can't print about a certain wee person who tricked him.
Suddenly, I was back at the King's feast, and there were these two giant, short-haired blond women going at each other with maces as King Weasil egged them on. I couldn't look. It was so damn bloody. Closing me eyes and clicking me heels, I suddenly was transported to a snowy cliff top. I was looking down as I realised I was wearing ruby slippers and a dress!
Then the elevator doors opened, and out came a morose and very angry Wolfie. He looked at me like he was going to throw me over the cliff, but then he said, "You should be glad I'm in a good mood." And off he went to do God knows what about the Clippers.
I realised I was fecking cold. I took meself to the same door I saw Wolfie enter, and when I opened it and went through, I was looking out on a desert city and a dragon flying around the battlements of the main fortress. It was me mother-in-law! I shook me head in denial and went back through the door and found meself not on the snowy cliff top, but looking out at a dark castle.
"Wot the hell?" I said into me phone to no one, amazed that the door opened to another place.
"So what's the trouble now?" A voice said from below. I looked down, and there you were on the phone with that damn sword you call Spindle, ready to poke me in the shins.
"Do not do that, or I swear this time there will be no pony, no rubber ducks, no wolf, no FUDGE!"
You weighed all that momentarily and then sighed as you sheathed Spindle. It was the mention of the fudge that gets you every time.
"Okay, now that we understand each other . . . sort of," I said into my phone, "Tell me what castle that be over there."
"Thattt beee Castle Wolfieee. As dark and ominous as Himself." You explained wistfully.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd rather be over there with Wolfie than here with me."
"He does have good hair." You said with a malicious grin.
Something caught my eye, and I pointed at it with my phone.
"Yeah, I can see the plume of white smoke coming from Castle Wolfie, and that means only one thing," you muttered into your phone.
"And wot might that be?" I bit, I shouldn't have, but I did.
"Wolfie must have gotten engaged and broken the curse! Oh, and look, 48 pairs of black skimpies are being hung at half-mast from Castle Woflie!"
"This is like a Quentin Tarantino movie," I muttered to meself, watching the panties flutter in the breeze.
"Maybe this will stop him trying to populate his own country." You said profoundly.
I squeezed me eyes shut and shook me head in denial I was even listening to you. But you didn't go away; instead, you asked me why I was wearing a dress and ruby slippers. That gave me an idea, and as soon as I clicked me heels together, I found I was someplace else. Only that someplace else was back at the gore feast the Weasil was hosting.
There he was, sitting behind the long table, toasting the bloody combatants who were thrashing each other mercilessly with the maces. The people on either side of him had their faces covered all except one woman wearing sticking plasters stuck into her hairline to keep her skin from sagging, who sat there drooling over Highwayman Tom, who just happened to be next in line for bachelor of the year since Wolfie had got himself engaged to someone named Hoda.
I did notice a wee hand adjusting Lady Grabaire's necklace down on the other end of the dais. I also noticed that one stone seemed to be missing after the adjustment. It was a second or so later that I saw that same hand crushing the stone into King Weasil's goblet, and a second later, Weas was taking a big swig, and suddenly he stood up clutching his throat as the jewel-encrusted goblet fell, clanging to the ground. He did a wheelie of sorts as he spun around, gagging, and his mother, Fioncee of the sticking plasters, tore herself away from Tom and ran to catch Weasil, but too late. He hit the ground with a thud. Blood streamed from his nose, mouth and eyes, and he looked a right mess as he grunted and pointed to his throat.
"I got it. You were poisoned!" Fioncee announced as Weasil nodded and succumbed to the evil draught. As soon as he was deader than a doorknob, Fioncee stood up, dropping the Weasil, who, if he had been alive, would have been sporting a giant-size egg on his noggin where he hit the ground hard. Fioncee demanded to know where the short person had gone to. Yes, she meant you, my muse!
"Bring that poisoner of my beloved son to me NOW!"
With that, everyone ran off as if to do her bidding, but I knew they weren't doing what she wanted, they were all running to save their arses, OR they were going to the pre-wedding feast at Castle Wolfie.
It was just too much for me, so I hung up my phone and suddenly was transported to Castle Wolfie, where Lord Walder Rogue was holding court. He was Wolfie's distant cousin and had decided to throw Wolfie and Hoda a party, but he stood up there psycho-analysing them instead, and the analysis wasn't good. Something about Wolfie swearing an oath he'd never marry again, and now he's gone and done it. As for Hoda, Hoda needed to stop beating dead horses because the dead horse population was getting massive, and you needed to be very tall to step over all the dead horses. I tell ya!
I looked around, bored out of me skull at the redundancy of it all and noticed that one of Walder Rogue's guests, a certain Rooster Bolton, looked odd to me. Under his chain-mailed cap, I thought I saw a blond hair sticking out. On closer examination, I saw that, indeed, there was blond hair and soft skin as well as violet eyes looking out of major stubble glued around the face. That wasn't Rooster Bolton. That was Lady Lenny come to do some damage at being jilted. And I was right, but before I could turn me phone on and dial Wolfie, it was too late. She had walked up to him and garroted him with her nine-inch dagger fingernail. He was toast, I tell ya! He went limply down, bleeding out, as Hoda came crashing through the crowd and knelt down next to the dying Wolf.
Speaking into his phone in a rush of emotional words, Hoda professed he'd get even, and I thought Hoda had a very high voice for a man, but before Hoda could do that, Rooster Bolton, I mean Lady Lenny had stabbed Hoda too! Hoda fell over Wolfie. As he did, his wig came off, and there was this massive amount of blond hair that just flooded the room. It grew and grew and grew, and I knew who Hoda really was, it was Dewdropper in disguise!
"Did ya think Wolfie was a gay man just because he has good styling hair?" Me muse phoned me.
"Wot? I thought Hoda was a man's name." I spoke incredulously into my phone.
"Hodor maybe, but Hoda, nah, not so much. I knew it had to be Dewdropper in there somewhere," you said, kicking the bloody hair out of your way. The hair was growing from the liquid blood like it was water. "It was all a set-up to draw out the killer of King Weasil."
"How'd you figure?" I spoke clearly into me phone because I wanted to know where you got your intelligence from.
"I am standing here, aren't I? They think I killed that little weasel varmint, but I didn't." You said smugly.
"Then who was it?" I asked, anxious to know because, for some reason, people in the room were looking at ME! "Tell me who it was!" I demanded.
"Hok K," you said, reverting to that Mexican accent, "it was . . . "
AND I FECKING WOKE UP!
See, this is what that water cooler chat does; I didn't know who killed Joffrey that entire week, and I didn't know who poisoned Weasel either. The reason I woke up I can give you. I must have been yelling at you in my sleep to tell me who done it when the wife had had enough and gave me a punch in the stomach to shut up. Yup, she did that and yup, it hurt and yup, for a few minutes, I was confused, and yup, I got no more sleep that night. And yup, I blamed it on you, and to teach you a lesson, I got up at 4 a.m. and made meself a pan of FUDGE. Yes, I did. So there.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
All around the office the week before last, it was chat about Game of Thrones and who poisoned King Joffrey the twit. I try to not get into these water cooler chats as I have too much walking to do, I mean work! But a week of that sort of thing does subconsciously work its way into one's sleeping psyche it does, and that is precisely what happened two Friday nights ago.
My brain works on having conversations with meself until I fall into oblivion. Which lasts maybe an hour when I am semi-conscious and in a discussion with meself, just where I left off before I fall into the sleep abyss, and it goes on like that all night. But Friday. the mind conversation started off in the office. where it was phone tag time for the entire day as I tried to get away from the water cooler chatters, who decided if I wasn't in the lounge, then they'd ring me on my mobile phone to talk about the Game of Thrones nonsense. Somehow, me sleeping thoughts got mixed up in the water cooler chat and I found meself dreaming and talking throughout the night about a Game of Phones.
Sometime during the night me brain was conjuring meself dressed as a knight in a tarnished suit of armour with a small person with a sword, she kept poking me in the back while we were on horseback. She, with the sword she named 'Spindle', was poking me because I wouldn't give her a pony and a warehouse full of fudge.
"Stop it!" I chided her as I spoke to her on me mobile phone.
"Not until you get me a pony and fudge!" She shouted in her mobile phone at me as I tried to hush her.
Suddenly, me dream/chat careened to a snowy place, and there was Wolfie dressed all in black with this massive black cape coat, his long blue-black and shiny hair blowing in the wind, snowflakes catching in it, and I realised he was in a snow storm at the bottom, and next to a very long and steep ice cliff. He was shouting into his mobile phone, "Send the fooking elevator down now, or I swear if I have to climb this ice when I get to the top, I will slice yer bloody fooking head off like a ham!"
That must have frightened me because next, I was looking through the bars of a dungeon where a very diminutive person in a green jerkin was sitting next to a post speaking into a mobile phone with a Mexican accent to a man with a hook for a hand who was holding a phone as well outside the dungeon window. As I got a better view, I realised the little person was you, me Muse, and the man with the hook for a hand was Capt. Jaack.
"I tole joo, I didn't due it. An I don't care cause when all is over an done wit, joo and all da others will be in da poor house and I won't care." You were saying all this like you really didn't care.
"Well, bro, I would try to avast you out of this place, but our sissy wants your head on a spike. I was trying to tell her plank walking would do you better, but she won't hear of it, har! And she wants your other half found and their head on a spike, too."
I was overcome with dizziness just then as I realised I was the OTHER half. Suddenly, I found meself at a wedding where Weasil was holding court (it seemed) and shouting with glee into a mobile phone. He was dressed in rich velvets and wearing a gold crown on his noggin that looked like someone had painted a bunch of sticks gold and made a circlet of it, thus sticking it on his head.
"An for a final treatie, I have da lesbian sister showdownie, a fightie to da deathie!" He was saying with malicious mayhem.
Everyone at the long table cheered into their phones unenthusiastically, and I felt faint. But I didn't have time to feel that way for long because someone was kicking me in the ankles. I looked down, and there you were, somehow freed from the dungeon. You looked up at me and said into your mobile phone, "Keng Weasil is tahksic, don't joo no?"
"He's wot?" I said into me phone, looking down at you.
"Tahksic joo no, like when joo need a chower."
"Toxic and shower? Got it, I think." I said into my phone. Then it dawned on me, "Hey, how did you get loose?"
"A fren len me a helpeen hook, I mean han. I geev heem Mexican chocolate fer beachin' yoob."
"Ohhh, ok," I said, suspicious as to who this mysterious friend with a hook for a hand would do a bitching job for chocolate was. Then I realised it was Jaack! He had let you out, of course. It was he who else would be scared of you besides me? Then I realised you were two tiny people at the same time. How was THAT possible?
"I need a nap," I said to no one in particular. Maybe my brain was the object of that remark.
"Eff joo nop joo will die eyoung." You said to me on your mobile phone.
"If I nap I will die young? Hey, why are you speaking like Charo with a Mexican accent? You don't have a Mexican accent?" I whispered into me phone.
"Cuchi-cuchi." You laughed into your phone. "Because it throws them all off. I am not Capt. Jaack's brother. I'm really the little twerp that's been poking you in the back wanting a pony and fudge, lots of fudge!"
I knew it! I thought you looked familiar, but it was the accent that threw me at first.
Meanwhile, back at the cliff face, Wolfie was still at the bottom, his black clothing and hair almost white from the snow . . . and his designer stubble was looking quite a bit frosty.
"Look, YOU! I have to rescue the Clippers from Don Sterling's racist clutches, and I have to do it NOW! Get the fooking elevator down here, or I swear I will climb up there and slice your head like a bloody cheese!"
I shivered at the thought and was suddenly back at the dungeon. There was no one there but Capt Jaack looking out the barred door yelling for help and someone I won't name's arse. He used his hook to rattle the bars in the window while yelling things I can't print about a certain wee person who tricked him.
Suddenly, I was back at the King's feast, and there were these two giant, short-haired blond women going at each other with maces as King Weasil egged them on. I couldn't look. It was so damn bloody. Closing me eyes and clicking me heels, I suddenly was transported to a snowy cliff top. I was looking down as I realised I was wearing ruby slippers and a dress!
Then the elevator doors opened, and out came a morose and very angry Wolfie. He looked at me like he was going to throw me over the cliff, but then he said, "You should be glad I'm in a good mood." And off he went to do God knows what about the Clippers.
I realised I was fecking cold. I took meself to the same door I saw Wolfie enter, and when I opened it and went through, I was looking out on a desert city and a dragon flying around the battlements of the main fortress. It was me mother-in-law! I shook me head in denial and went back through the door and found meself not on the snowy cliff top, but looking out at a dark castle.
"Wot the hell?" I said into me phone to no one, amazed that the door opened to another place.
"So what's the trouble now?" A voice said from below. I looked down, and there you were on the phone with that damn sword you call Spindle, ready to poke me in the shins.
"Do not do that, or I swear this time there will be no pony, no rubber ducks, no wolf, no FUDGE!"
You weighed all that momentarily and then sighed as you sheathed Spindle. It was the mention of the fudge that gets you every time.
"Okay, now that we understand each other . . . sort of," I said into my phone, "Tell me what castle that be over there."
"Thattt beee Castle Wolfieee. As dark and ominous as Himself." You explained wistfully.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd rather be over there with Wolfie than here with me."
"He does have good hair." You said with a malicious grin.
Something caught my eye, and I pointed at it with my phone.
"Yeah, I can see the plume of white smoke coming from Castle Wolfie, and that means only one thing," you muttered into your phone.
"And wot might that be?" I bit, I shouldn't have, but I did.
"Wolfie must have gotten engaged and broken the curse! Oh, and look, 48 pairs of black skimpies are being hung at half-mast from Castle Woflie!"
"This is like a Quentin Tarantino movie," I muttered to meself, watching the panties flutter in the breeze.
"Maybe this will stop him trying to populate his own country." You said profoundly.
I squeezed me eyes shut and shook me head in denial I was even listening to you. But you didn't go away; instead, you asked me why I was wearing a dress and ruby slippers. That gave me an idea, and as soon as I clicked me heels together, I found I was someplace else. Only that someplace else was back at the gore feast the Weasil was hosting.
There he was, sitting behind the long table, toasting the bloody combatants who were thrashing each other mercilessly with the maces. The people on either side of him had their faces covered all except one woman wearing sticking plasters stuck into her hairline to keep her skin from sagging, who sat there drooling over Highwayman Tom, who just happened to be next in line for bachelor of the year since Wolfie had got himself engaged to someone named Hoda.
I did notice a wee hand adjusting Lady Grabaire's necklace down on the other end of the dais. I also noticed that one stone seemed to be missing after the adjustment. It was a second or so later that I saw that same hand crushing the stone into King Weasil's goblet, and a second later, Weas was taking a big swig, and suddenly he stood up clutching his throat as the jewel-encrusted goblet fell, clanging to the ground. He did a wheelie of sorts as he spun around, gagging, and his mother, Fioncee of the sticking plasters, tore herself away from Tom and ran to catch Weasil, but too late. He hit the ground with a thud. Blood streamed from his nose, mouth and eyes, and he looked a right mess as he grunted and pointed to his throat.
"I got it. You were poisoned!" Fioncee announced as Weasil nodded and succumbed to the evil draught. As soon as he was deader than a doorknob, Fioncee stood up, dropping the Weasil, who, if he had been alive, would have been sporting a giant-size egg on his noggin where he hit the ground hard. Fioncee demanded to know where the short person had gone to. Yes, she meant you, my muse!
"Bring that poisoner of my beloved son to me NOW!"
With that, everyone ran off as if to do her bidding, but I knew they weren't doing what she wanted, they were all running to save their arses, OR they were going to the pre-wedding feast at Castle Wolfie.
It was just too much for me, so I hung up my phone and suddenly was transported to Castle Wolfie, where Lord Walder Rogue was holding court. He was Wolfie's distant cousin and had decided to throw Wolfie and Hoda a party, but he stood up there psycho-analysing them instead, and the analysis wasn't good. Something about Wolfie swearing an oath he'd never marry again, and now he's gone and done it. As for Hoda, Hoda needed to stop beating dead horses because the dead horse population was getting massive, and you needed to be very tall to step over all the dead horses. I tell ya!
I looked around, bored out of me skull at the redundancy of it all and noticed that one of Walder Rogue's guests, a certain Rooster Bolton, looked odd to me. Under his chain-mailed cap, I thought I saw a blond hair sticking out. On closer examination, I saw that, indeed, there was blond hair and soft skin as well as violet eyes looking out of major stubble glued around the face. That wasn't Rooster Bolton. That was Lady Lenny come to do some damage at being jilted. And I was right, but before I could turn me phone on and dial Wolfie, it was too late. She had walked up to him and garroted him with her nine-inch dagger fingernail. He was toast, I tell ya! He went limply down, bleeding out, as Hoda came crashing through the crowd and knelt down next to the dying Wolf.
Speaking into his phone in a rush of emotional words, Hoda professed he'd get even, and I thought Hoda had a very high voice for a man, but before Hoda could do that, Rooster Bolton, I mean Lady Lenny had stabbed Hoda too! Hoda fell over Wolfie. As he did, his wig came off, and there was this massive amount of blond hair that just flooded the room. It grew and grew and grew, and I knew who Hoda really was, it was Dewdropper in disguise!
"Did ya think Wolfie was a gay man just because he has good styling hair?" Me muse phoned me.
"Wot? I thought Hoda was a man's name." I spoke incredulously into my phone.
"Hodor maybe, but Hoda, nah, not so much. I knew it had to be Dewdropper in there somewhere," you said, kicking the bloody hair out of your way. The hair was growing from the liquid blood like it was water. "It was all a set-up to draw out the killer of King Weasil."
"How'd you figure?" I spoke clearly into me phone because I wanted to know where you got your intelligence from.
"I am standing here, aren't I? They think I killed that little weasel varmint, but I didn't." You said smugly.
"Then who was it?" I asked, anxious to know because, for some reason, people in the room were looking at ME! "Tell me who it was!" I demanded.
"Hok K," you said, reverting to that Mexican accent, "it was . . . "
AND I FECKING WOKE UP!
See, this is what that water cooler chat does; I didn't know who killed Joffrey that entire week, and I didn't know who poisoned Weasel either. The reason I woke up I can give you. I must have been yelling at you in my sleep to tell me who done it when the wife had had enough and gave me a punch in the stomach to shut up. Yup, she did that and yup, it hurt and yup, for a few minutes, I was confused, and yup, I got no more sleep that night. And yup, I blamed it on you, and to teach you a lesson, I got up at 4 a.m. and made meself a pan of FUDGE. Yes, I did. So there.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved
