Titanic Tuesday.

Today is Tuesday. It was an eventful, enjoyable day. I went to a careers fare. It was an experience but uninformative. I thought joining the army but they wouldn't allow me to fly helicopters so fuck that shit bitch. Choppers or nothing for me. I then journeyed to the canteen and enjoyed a bottle of ice tea and a truly delicious chocolate muffin. I briefly contemplated the kiwi dilemma. I am now remembering that I purchased the newspaper but forgot to both read it and do the crossword.

I went home. I lazed for few hours and then attended a table quiz. At present I am unable to put this into words. It was ephemeral. I will postulate a table quiz related post in due time. For now I am returning to food and television.

Thank you for your patient attention, for Push The Envelope this has been Titanic Tuesday.

The Kiwi Man

I enjoy giving people nicknames, secret nick names that only I and a few select others know. One of my favourite features about the television show "Lost" is the variety of nick names the character "Sawyer" uses when referring to other Lostees.

Among my favourite nick names are those that end with "man". Examples, "the gay man", "the hair man", "RoRo man", "the cock man" and "the mole man". (Please note: I have not invented these simply for this post, these are names that I have either given to people or that other close confidantes created and I use.)

Over the weekend, saturday to be excact, I was on a train. Unfortunately, I am still forced to to travel on public transport at times due to the punitive price of motor insurance. So until such a time as our domestic market is opened to greater competitive forces I must rely on bipedal locomotion and public transportation for longer journeys. Anyway, back to the point. I was on a train. Sitting to my right was a middle aged man with a rural accent, speaking on his mobile telephone. I was enjoying listening to him, he was returning from visiting a relative (at least I assumed it was a relative) who had suffered a stroke. After he hung from his rather long and unnecessarily loud conversation he removed a lunch box from his back-pack. The lunch box contained a banana and a kiwi fruit.

He proceeded to peel and eat the banana. After the banana and with a mere moments pause he then progressed to devour the kiwi. This is where he earned his nick name. I enjoy the occasional kiwi fruit but I am mildly put off by the quantity of seeds found in kiwi fruit. I am not such a big fan of very seedy fruits. However, when I do partake of a kiwi I cut it in half, around the circumfrence as opposed to length-ways, then begin to scoop out the fruit from its fuzzy skin with a skin and eat it, mouthful by mouthful.

This man, however, began to take whole bites from the kiwi. Skin and all. This both disturbed and fascinated me. Do many people eat kiwi this way? Am I, with my spoon method, the exception? Surely the fuzzy skin can't be an enjoyable culinary experience. Am I wrong? Is it delectable? I have been pondering whether or not to find out for myself but have not made it to the supermarket. Partly out of lazyness, partly out of unbridled fear of the kiwi.

Needless to say, as soon as I saw this gentleman devour the fruit, skin and all, he instantly became "kiwi man" in my mind.

Based on true events.

Dark, wet, cold and windy. The perfect night for a funeral. I strode purposefully into the funeral home, my mind set on accomplishing my mission. The heat and smell of embalmed corpse was overpowering but I struggled on, feeling a knot of tension build in my stomach. Maybe it was just that sea-food fajita I'd had for lunch. Tasty but rank with risk.

I followed the hum of mornful weeping and dull commiseration and found myself swamped by a herd of mentally sub-normal individuals clad all in black and reeking of low proced after-shave. My eyes began to sting and water. I scoured the room with my eyes, searching for my prize. I found it. There, standing next to me. The coffin. "Fucking Brillaroo!", I exclaimed. Many of the androgynous mourners threw an angered look in my direction. I pointed at each one with an out-stretched index finger, "fuck you all, mothersuckers."

I withdrew a lenght of led pipe from my over-sized coat and approached the coffin. Elation washed over me. Salvation was nigh. I lifted the pipe over my head and proceeded to clobber the shit out of the corpse. "hahahahaha, die more zombie bitch!"

Then it happened. 7 rather large gentlemen all leapt on me. Pain. I began to fight back against the biting and invasive groping. "Not the ass, you fuckers!" I bellowed as I began to fight back. I grabbed one of the fuckers with my teeth and began to spin around, systematically knocking every one of the other 6 assailants into orbit, I spat the seventh and kicked him in the goolies, "Don't mess with the best 'cause the best don't care about making orphans out of your ugly children", I told him.

The rest of the wretched mourners backed off but still looked at with quizzical, uninformed faces. I retrieved my pipe from the corner of the room and went back to bashing in that bride of satans face. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to behold an elderly gentleman looking at me. He was in his early 60's, balding and quite rotund. He spoke with the high-pitched whine of a mole. "What are you doing?" He asked of me. I sighed. Fucking idiots.

I looked at him, letting out another pained, exasperated sigh. "She's a zombie you dullard, you know one of the walking undead? Here to eat our brains and impregnate our impressionable teens. Do you watch TV"

He looked trouble. "But she hasn't moved since you began your merciless assault on her, are you sure she's a zombie?" Another sigh. "I fucking attacked her, didn't I? I don't make mistakes. Here, I'll prove it." I rolled the corpse over on its stomach and jammed the pipe right up its butt-hole. Immediately the cunning shithead jumped to life and began eating the brains of the nearest mourner. "YES! I exclaimed. "Fun for Ian". I wielded my pipe and flaked that birch right in the elbow, the super secret zombie weak point. ZAP! It was gone. "Thats what you get! Jurassic Park!" I turned and departed in search of a taco and a fudge brownie.

Fin

(This is pretty fucking bad. I apologise. School is being a pain in the butt-hole.)