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November 23, 2005
Sam Park
I like to bite my fingernails and then distribute them, as evenly as I can, across the world. A taxi cab, for example, will usually drive away with one of my fingernails beneath a seat. When I worked in a library, I would seal fingernails into books I was laminating. On the beach I’ll insert them into pretty shells that hopefully will get made into necklaces. That kind of thing.
Why?
I figure humankind is quite capable of killing itself, and probably will. After it does, in a few billion years, there may evolve a new intelligent race, maybe from cockroaches. Oh, they will have their problems too, like when the North Korean roaches start building a massive thong. Of course the American cockroaches will use their pre-emptive thong first. So the North Korean Cockroaches will have to employ defensive methods:
Cockroach Presidente: Quick, everyone – get under your fridges!
Assistant: But we’ve evolved too much, and no longer can!
Cockroach Presidente: Great Scott!
‘Great Scott’ will still be an exclamation of surprise in this strange future, but it refers to an adventurer roach called Scott who discovers a vast new region which he christens ‘The Bone Fields’. Interestingly enough, this is where America used to be.
Anyway, whoever this new race is, they will eventually start digging up human remains (fossils), and may eventually get to the stage where they can pull a bit of a Jurassic Park. Now, I know it’s a long shot, but I want as much of my DNA available as possible, as widespread as possible, to maximise my chances that when they start cloning humans ... well, let’s just say I prefer the Sam Enclosure to oblivion.
My main worry is that in Jurassic Park, when they have incomplete DNA strands, they fill in the blanks with frog DNA. Dunno if I’d like that. Puberty is hard enough without growing legs in new places. And hey, the Year My Voice Croaked wouldn’t be fun either.
Puberty Greens.
But generally I don’t mind the idea. In zoos, they try to replicate a creature’s natural environment as best they can, to keep it happy. I wouldn’t mind that. I don’t mind the idea of being trapped in an enclosure full of DVDs, booze and internet access.
Plus hopefully they’d try to mate me with someone. I don’t understand these endangered species in zoos who won’t mate. Like it’s really hard to get pandas to mate if the right conditions aren’t met. Like if the humidity is wrong, the ph of the soil, the type of bamboo, time of year, time of day, value of the dow jones ... you don’t have these kinds of problems with people, do you? You never get ‘sorry babe, I can’t have sex with you.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Well, I like you and all, but there aren’t any mountains to the north.’ People have sex anywhere. Put people in a house on television, and they’ll stick their hands into each other’s pants despite the knowledge that probably their parents are watching. So I have little sympathy for pandas. ‘So, can’t get an erection because the moon is too full, eh? Well, enjoy oblivion my panda friend. I’ll be over here procreating on the ashes of a rainforest.’
Mind you there is something disturbing about the idea of trying to get it on while an excursion of evolved cockroach school children point and laugh, like its the funniest thing they’ve seen since Little Jimmy got his head chopped off and kept on living. Something disturbing about that.
They won’t keep me forever though.
Life will find a way.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 12:03 AM | Comments (0)
November 21, 2005
The Vole Strikes
Dear Diary
Well, it has been an unforgivably long time my darling! No doubt you feel very neglected. I have sometimes felt neglected too, so has everyone, get the fuck over it, you’re not special.
Things have happened since my last entry, many colourful things.
Today I remembered the first time I went to a club. I was 18, and my more experienced club-going friends had this cheat when it came to paying for entry. Roughly a third of the group would pay legitimately for entry, then put sticky tape on the fresh stamps on their wrists, then go back out to the others outside and give them crappy second-hand stamps. Then the bill was split between everyone. JESUS! What kind of crazed animal was I? I suppose it’s best I was inside a club, rather than roaming the streets striking fear into the hearts of all with my criminal ways.
Anyway, I got my crappy second-hand stamp, faint enough to look like the kind of bruise you get from bumping into a moonbeam. Nervous, afraid, scared and other synonyms, I walked down the club stairs to show the bouncer my smudge. He looked at it, looked at me, and we had this exchange:
BOUNCER MAN
This stamp is very faint.
SAMMYKINS BOW WOW
I bin dancin’.
BOUNCER MAN
What time did you come in?
MR SAM
Um ... like 10:30, 11:30 I’m not sure.
Note: I think this was at about 11:45.
BOUNCER MAN
You must have some idea of what time you came in.
SAMMY SAM (doing very bad impression of indignation)
I think it was like 11.
BOUNCER MAN (to the door girls)
Hey – do you recognise this guy from coming in before, around 11?
The door girls look at me. I look back. I hope to look endearing. Some moments pass.
DOOR GIRLS (slowly)
Yes.
BOUNCER MAN (disgusted)
Here’s a new stamp. (stamps me) Go in.
To this day I don’t know whether those door girls were being nice, being uncertain, couldn’t give a shit, or were so hopped up on razzle dazzle that I seemed to them more like an enormous vole who would steal away the starlight if they fucked with my aura.
Earnest would be his name, I think.
Anyway, that wasn’t really an update on things that have happened since my last entry. So ...
I wrote a play that went on recently, that was fun. Oh, and I invented a new salad. It’s called ‘Explorer Salad’, because there’s so many different things in it that you never know what’s going to be around the next lettuce leaf. It is so amazing that it takes longer to describe than to eat, especially if you are eating it at the time.
Oh and also, Squeakfeather has informed me that my neighbours are plotting to tap into our pipes and steal our hot water away. I told him to give them hell, in that special way that only a flying pink mouse can. It can be freaky, trust me.
And that’s about it!
Stay tuned, me.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 11:55 PM | Comments (0)