Originally posted at Xanga, see the discussion here –>

 

 

Bzzz. Xanga, I have something to tell you.  Something secret.  A short story that will leave you scratching your head, sick to your stomach, and shivering from the chills.  A little sumpin’ sumpin’ bout your friend Jason.

You don’t know me, not a’ one of you.  My name is Jweruojee and I’m a house fly.  Bzzzz. In fact, I’m the biggest and baddest of all house flies this side of the Pacific Ocean.  A lordly black stallion borne up upon wings.  King of the wing-ed, leader of Little Earth — I am both the alpha and the omega.  ‘Jweruojee the Plentiful’ is what they call me back in the colony.

I was born on a pile of shit.

Bzzzzz. Now I’m not quite sure if my homeland was deposited in that Gastown back-alley by a dog or a homeless guy — (often, the colony would sit enraptured in theological debates such as, “Do dogs eat corn?”)  — but what I do know is that ever since I was a just a wee maggot I’ve had the strangest affinity for ass.  Ahh, what an aroma.  Such bouquet!  Bzzzzzzzz.

So about Jason.  You’re sitting on the edge of your seat are you not? Bzz.

Well I was flying around earlier today, caught up upon a stiff wind that brought me five floors straight up and in through his open windows.  Oh my lord, and what there do you think I discovered?  What treasures did I uncover?  Oh dear Xanga I do believe that I have found Nirvana.  The sublime.  All my fantasies and dreams come true.  At long last all of life’s answers have been unveiled to me.

There in Jason’s washroom was_

 

I relax my incredible grip on the rolled up business section of the newspaper and take a long look at my kill. ”Blech.  That’s a big sucker,” I think as I flick the splattered house fly into the open toilet.

Mes amis, I’m in the washroom today.  Just in time for an early Spring Cleaning .

Yeah, I’m a few months ahead of the game but my washroom has been needing it.  It’s an unholy place where only the bravest might wander.  Well, the brave — and those who really need to pee.

It is here where I have been scrubbing floors and polishing porcelain.  In here where I happened upon Jweruojee.  He was a kind bumbling ol’ house fly, who never ever hurt a.. er… fly.  Ladies n’ Gents, please hang your head in a moment of silence whilst we give him a burial out to sea.   *flush*

Sincerely yours,

Jason

 

RIP Jweruojee
September 02, 2006 - October 29, 2006

PS__ Extra-curricular Game Results:

So the tally is in!  My number of subscribers changed by……

*sounds the trumpets*

(plus)15

Eh? Yeah? Hoohaw! Go figure.

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Originally posted at Xanga, see the original here –>

Originally posted at Xanga, see the discussion here –>

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What it is about a woman’s under-world that holds man’s fascination so firm?  And why are there such contradictions in how we feel about those nether-places?  I’ll illustrate.

Once upon a time in a high school far away there was a teenage boy who went by the name of Jason.  An unassuming lad of 13 or 14 whose precociousness was exceeded only by his keen observation skills.  Skills that would later enshrine Jason in the high school hall of fame.

That boy, mes amis, was me.

//

One fateful day in science class we were attended to by an incredibly hot substitute teacher named Ms Nelson who just happened to be every teenage boy’s fantasy.  The school teacher next door.

Now some people may argue whether it was with coincidence or purpose that I opted to sit up at the head of the class, in perfect position to star-gaze up towards her various celestial wonders.  I like to think that it was coincidence.  Destiny.  One of those magic moments that perhaps she and I were born to share together.

There’s no way to remember what she was talking about at that particular moment.  It’s quite doubtful that anybody was paying close attention.  We were watching in wonder as she climbed up upon the front of her desk where she sat dangling her legs over the edge facing the class.

And that’s when it happened.  BAM! WHAM! KAPOW!

I was given (and I took) a long glance up her skirt, where my eyes fell upon her most covetted region.  The desire of every boy (and teacher, most likely) in my little small-town high school.

Ms Nelson’s secret.

//

And of course I had to share my experience with my friends.  The story fell upon the perked ears of a half dozen horn-dog youth in our school’s lounge area — and hear me mes amis — they were rivetted.  And jealous.  And congratulatory.  I became legendary in our hallowed halls that day — worshipped  for having been given such a holy vision.

Ahh, Ms Nelson.  She’ll always hold a special place in my heart.

Ciao bellas (e bellos),

Jason

º

PS__ Story Number Two

Yesterday I was invited out for coffee by a woman in my building.  Interesting conversation about marketing and brand strategy and what-not.  Networking.

Anyway, I don’t drink coffee.  My hot beverage of choice is tea.  Tea in glasses.  Tea in pots.  Tea in take-out paper cups.  I selected the take-out variety yesterday — without the plastic lid. Commando style.

A short time later as I was listening to this lady intently I took a long sip from the wrong side of the cup and got a huge swathe of the teabag string in my mouth.

“BLECH!”  I silently recoiled.  Instantly my mind left the conversation and got stuck on that feeling of having string in my mouth. It’s happened before of course, and every single time I have the exact same thought:

(Children, cover your ears.  Ladies, cover your eyes.)

Tampon string.

“It feels like a tampon string in my mouth,” my inner child said and shuddered.

PS²__ Extra-curricular Game of the Day:

Count how many subscribers Salty_Soul loses for talking about tampon strings in his mouth.  Hoohaw!

 

 

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Originally posted at Xanga, see the discussion here –>