Thinking of you, but I avoided the subject.
What the Hell? Alright, so Franklin Reed was just sitting there sipping his tea (no teonanctyl. Just Earl Grey tea, alright?) and there's a knock at the door. What the Hell? It's 3:45 in the morning. So Reed puts down his cup of tea, and it sort of morphs into a buscuit. What the Hell? The lights flicker and he goes to the door. Looking through the peephole, he sees fucking Ted Nealson. He's even wearing that stupid hat of his, the one with the blue logo all over it. So Reed unlocks the bolt and the door lock and opens the door. And there's a goddamned rabbit on his porch instead. Listen to what I'm fucking saying. A rabbit. On Franklin Reed's doorstep. What. The. Hell.
Okay. If that wasn't enough. If that wasn't crazy enough, guess who's buying chrome rims in L.A. at that very moment. Lou Pucci Taylor. What the Hell? First of all, Lou lives in New Jersey. New Fucking Jersey. That's clear across the country! And he's buying rims? For what car? Lou doesn't own a pimpin' ride. His car is probably a Sentra. Go Nissan go. Right, right. So he has an entire collection of every album the Beatles ever released in America before 1966. (Shit, that means he doesn't have Yellow Submarine.) But anyway. What does he DO with this marvelous collection? I don't even know. He's probably got them stacked up like a coffee table in his room and he drinks Earl Grey tea on it.
Right, new city. Welcome to Moscow, Idaho. It's pretty far north, actually. Population just over twenty thousand. Right. So every house is identical. Pretty plain late 1960s archetecture, double-planed front side with a chimney on the right side and the den right behind the garage. Two large bedrooms, a smaller work-room and a two full bathrooms. Plenty of kitchen space. The outside is this horrible shade of brown, this kind that makes you go 'What the Hell? An infinite number of colours, and they choose the one that makes me want to look straight into the sun?' They all even face the same direction: NNW. So the streets only really use one side, it's all really bizarre. If you fly a helicopter over the residential area of the city, it will be the weirdest thing. Like, row after row of these brown bumps on beautifully kept green lawns with an indistinguishable maple tree in the front of each. A grid of metal fences weaves across the area, seemingly all connected. And the people?
They don't live there. That's probably more bizarre than if they did. In the 'downtown' section of town, about two streets east of Mr. Leon’s School Of Hair Design and right next to a AM/PM there's a huge building, rivalling the Petronas Towers. This is where you will find the 20k residents of Moscow, Idaho. They're packed into this monstrous building. The building is layed out very similarly to the waterfront warehouses in Milwaukee, only smaller and stacked on top of each other. Are the people in chemical coma's, or what the fuck? Thousand upon thousand of three tiered bunkbeds with the occupants hooked up to IV drips with clearish blue contents. What the Hell? Who's maintaining Moscow while the citizens sleep away their drug-induced slumber? Who even put them there?
There's a nice fireworks factory on the edge of town, Kowabunga Fire Sales. They never really got off the ground after starting up in the late 50s. It's been One Year Without Light for them, I seem to remember there being a small fire during the 80s. Anyway. They don't do much work there, but the reason I bring it up is because of the fantastic door they have leading up to the roof. It's a bit rusty, but it's this fantastic out-dated contraption, tri-panelled steel with quarterly insets and a fringe of re-inforced iron lining the edges. Simply amazing. It was probably stolen from an old army bomb shelter or something, it seriously doesn't match the rest of the factory, which is brown from age, while this door, despite a stain here and there, looks beautiful. If I was attracted by inanimate hinged objects, it would probably turn me on. I want this door. I want it to be my front door one day. It's not particularly sturdy, with what strides we've made in design, but it's sensational.
Extricate your from your feelings the deepest, most immersed emotion you currently have. Is it anger? I read somewhere today that almost everyone has this subliminal level of constant anger. Right, well, I disagree, but Johnathan Cleary is a bitch. No, see, what had happened was he dressed up in women's clothing, a nice blue floral skirt with a dark blue shirt and a 'cute little jacket'. What the Hell? But he is 98% sure he's straight. And then people wonder. Things. Right, so he's out in public this way. Scaring the children. What the Hell? You're not fucking Billy Tipton or goddamned Charles-Geneviève-Louis-Auguste-André-Timothée Éon de Beaumont. I'm not against cross-dressing, per se, but it's pretentious and unnecessary. Are you afraid to get the surgery done, Johnathan? For a few thousand dollars, you could BE a woman. Go to South America and ask them about it. Buy the plane ticket there and I'll actually pay for the operation. And then you can wear a dress and look natural in it.
Anyway. Johnathan is at Walgreens, it's just after 2 am in the morning. It's pretty desolate. There are, what, four other people? About that. He half-forgot what he came for in the first place and took to wandering the aisles. Numerous products, how many would he use in his lifetime? Who was the last person to buy one of these beady pillows that had become so popular? Was it today? They aren't even very comfortable. You lay your head on them and it sinks through the beads straight to the bottom. What the Hell? I bet Johnathan wanted to buy the pink heart-shaped one. He was suddenly struck by his mission, and dragged his ass over to the beverages. What to get? Wait....wait....Lemonade. That's what he wanted. That's what dragged him just over 5 blocks to this convenience store. Lemonade. But what brand? Shit. Three choices? Well, screw the one in the plastic bottle. What the Hell? Lemonade was made to drink in a glass. Whoever's the corperate fuckhead who decided that one needs to be drawn and quartered. So that leaves what? C'mon. This isn't hard. What do you want, Johnathon? A herd of unicorns are prancing at the edge of his eyesight. Do they have wings? I mean, that's one of life's greatest mysteries, right? Do unicorns have wings? He can't tell. He looks over at them and they disappear, a man with a mop and bright yellow bucket replacing them. What the Hell? Right, Snapple. Aid the Beast. Okay, so he's heading towards the counter, meanwhile he's thinking 'Don't drop it.' and guess what? Whoops. It hits the floor. Surprisingly strong glass, though. Good design? It doesn't break. But think about it. I find the whole experience quite entertaining. The woman at the register had very wide eyes. They freaked Johnathon out.
Okay. 2 am. Night. Think about me.
Posted at 02:06 am by Akumeon
