Today the January winds were very brisk and very cold in Utter Despair, New Jersey. THE FUTURIST! buttoned his overcoat up, wrapped his scarf around his neck and even had to don a fleece ski cap to protect his head from the gusts of frigid air. His attention was paid mostly to his not being blown away and keeping his eyes alert from flying debris; he dodged a trash can lid, an errant maple tree branch, the Sports Section of The Utter Despair Times, a fast food beverage cup, a woman's wig, an empty baby stroller and a teacup Chihuahua (THE FUTURIST! memorized the phone number on the dog's collar in order to, later, call Tito's owner when he got home).
As he walked at a Dutch Angle to the door of his abode, he noticed that his next door neighbor, Miss Angela Deppler, had had her trash can knocked over by the wintry gusts. THE FUTURIST! is known to be very neighborly to Miss Deppler. She is a young woman in her twenty-somethings who is polite, soft spoken, always genial and practices Pilate's, yoga and other body toning regimens clad in the most skimpy of undergarments and, oft times, naked, but at an angle of a PG-13 nature, in her bedroom window. The perfect neighbor.
Miss Deppler is a 2nd Grade teacher at August Strindberg Elementary and lives alone. She once, dressed in her tennis outfit, very perspired and showing off her attributes much like the showcase window of Tiffany's, asked haiku if he could bring in her mail and daily newspaper while she was spending her vacation at Easter Island. He acquiesced and took a tumble into the azaleas, lost his favorite fountain pen and frightened a squirrel who then bit his right pinkie. THE FUTURIST! rushed him to a physician. As he was being administered varied hypodermics of oddly colored serums, haiku kept muttering, "Miss Deppler spoke to me. She spoke to me. She ... she ... spo- " and he fainted. After haiku's 5th abdominal injection, THE FUTURIST! passed out, as well.
This day, however, there was no chance of fainting to the ground. If THE FUTURIST! had succumbed to a spell of vapors, he would never have hit the macadam. The forceful winds would have kept his unconscious body hovering above the terra firma and would carry him away. He noticed Miss Deppler's overturned trash receptacle and walked over to put it in an upright position. It was his way of being a good neighbor. Of course, the trash can was on the side of her bedroom window wherein THE FUTURIST! knew she practiced her art of free-spirited calisthenics. Perhaps, she was home? Perhaps, she was feeling the need for stretching? THE FUTURIST! lifted the can to a standing position and saw that some debris had fallen out. He gingerly, since he is germ conscious, picked up the garbage and threw it back into the can. As he performed this action, he noticed a large green rubber surgical glove hanging out of the can. It had something written on its palm....
As he walked at a Dutch Angle to the door of his abode, he noticed that his next door neighbor, Miss Angela Deppler, had had her trash can knocked over by the wintry gusts. THE FUTURIST! is known to be very neighborly to Miss Deppler. She is a young woman in her twenty-somethings who is polite, soft spoken, always genial and practices Pilate's, yoga and other body toning regimens clad in the most skimpy of undergarments and, oft times, naked, but at an angle of a PG-13 nature, in her bedroom window. The perfect neighbor.
Miss Deppler is a 2nd Grade teacher at August Strindberg Elementary and lives alone. She once, dressed in her tennis outfit, very perspired and showing off her attributes much like the showcase window of Tiffany's, asked haiku if he could bring in her mail and daily newspaper while she was spending her vacation at Easter Island. He acquiesced and took a tumble into the azaleas, lost his favorite fountain pen and frightened a squirrel who then bit his right pinkie. THE FUTURIST! rushed him to a physician. As he was being administered varied hypodermics of oddly colored serums, haiku kept muttering, "Miss Deppler spoke to me. She spoke to me. She ... she ... spo- " and he fainted. After haiku's 5th abdominal injection, THE FUTURIST! passed out, as well.
This day, however, there was no chance of fainting to the ground. If THE FUTURIST! had succumbed to a spell of vapors, he would never have hit the macadam. The forceful winds would have kept his unconscious body hovering above the terra firma and would carry him away. He noticed Miss Deppler's overturned trash receptacle and walked over to put it in an upright position. It was his way of being a good neighbor. Of course, the trash can was on the side of her bedroom window wherein THE FUTURIST! knew she practiced her art of free-spirited calisthenics. Perhaps, she was home? Perhaps, she was feeling the need for stretching? THE FUTURIST! lifted the can to a standing position and saw that some debris had fallen out. He gingerly, since he is germ conscious, picked up the garbage and threw it back into the can. As he performed this action, he noticed a large green rubber surgical glove hanging out of the can. It had something written on its palm....
THE FUTURIST! promptly fainted. The wind carried his unconscious body half a block. In a very cramped awkward position, he awoke in the runaway empty baby stroller that had passed him earlier. A low decibel grow came from underneath his lower back and he felt a wriggling sensation and his overcoat being gnawed. He took out his cell and dialed Tito's owner.
5 comments:
hahaha!
I often find myself walking at Dutch angles, usually right after viewing Carol Reed movies.
How do you then straighten yourself, Michael? Obviously not with a Gus Van Sant movie.
Kubrick films.
I'm moving to New Jersey.
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