You little Motherducker. Duck you.

So. There was a duck in my conservatory today. And I don't mean that I have a Conservatory where beautiful music is made. Because this duck was making everything BUT music to my ears.

All it did was get stuck behind a storage unit, and shit EVERYWHERE.
I'm not exactly impressed with this. And now it won't get out of my garden. I think maybe it hurt itself, and to be honest? I'm not fucking surprised.

I phoned my mum screaming about it, and she was equally appalled. And then it shit even MORE.

Anyway. Now it's out of the mess it made, and it can't even hold a fucking mop to clean up its own plops on the floor.

I'm pretty sure it knew I have Generalised Anxiety Disorder because it just kept hissing at me, and making me paranoid that it was going to attack me. Also? Pretty sure it had a switch-blade hidden in its feathers.

----

Trainwreck

A train races through the night.
Frightened, I close my eyes and try
to stop the train from crashing
into the walls of my peace.

The train races on.
The engine is overheating,
I can't find water to cool it off.
It is going too fast.

The rails are curved, spiraling.
They lead the train into the memories
I'd rather abandon.
My heart pounds.

Caught in my throat,
the fears of my past,
the cries of pain.
The train gets faster.

A handbrake catches my eye.
The relief of calmer times,
though I can't remember perfectly,
gives me pause.

I pull the brake, screaming.
Halting, the train seems to slow,
If only for a moment.
It still goes too fast.

The Fist of God is cushioned with duvets.

Ok, so I may be more excited than I should be. The Bloggess is following me on Twitter. For me, this is a big deal.

Why? Because she is amazing and I wish I was her neighbour (because who wouldn't want to be neighbours with a giant metal chicken and Jenny Lawson?)

She is the person who inspired this blog, after all. So if anyone is to blame for you needing brain bleach after reading my crap then, well.. Ok so it's not fair to blame her, but if you could send a little tiny bit of blame her way I'd appreciate it. But replace the word 'blame' with 'thanks' and we're getting on like a house on fucking fire.


So my story today comes from the shallows of my memory... Let us begin, children.

The year is somewhere between 1996 and 2001, but let's pretend it's further back, because that way it's scarier.
The year is 1903. The place is a farm. In the house on the farm are two cousins (both with the same first name, so it's more confusing and funnier). They are having a sleepover in the basement which is totally not humming with electricity. But it kind of is because it wants to have electricity so it can get the internet someday.

Whatever. My cousin and I were having a sleepover in her kick-ass basement. It had walls of rough wood and would have been creepy as fuck, but it wasn't cuz the house was full of love and kindness.

So we had the night-light on and we were trying to go to sleep (pah, like that would ever happen with teenage girls in a basement.) and then I saw something move on the wall. I figure it's just a little bug that I shouldn't care about cuz I WAS TOTALLY GOING TO SLEEP. Then my cousin says 'Can you deal with that, please?'. Deal with what, you might think? Deal with WHAT?


I then looked at the source of her angst and what do I see? Only the biggest beetle that I'd ever seen in real life. And I think my cousin reckoned it was going to eat her. I thought I was a wimp, but nothing compared to her.

This is still a mystery to me, because I have never EVER lived in the countryside, and that's the only place that she had EVER lived, so I figure she should know better.

Anyway. I go over to the wall, where the beetle was last espied, and it had gone into a knot in the wood. Great. I said to my completely lame-ass cousin that it wasn't going to bother her, and she commanded me like a brat to stay at that wall until it came back out, and kill it with death. So i did. I grabbed a bunch of kleenex and when it came out of its knot, I covered it with tissues and to make a point to my cousin (and hopefully wake her parents up) I punched that fucking beetle with all my little might. It went POP and I then dropped it in the trash. It clanged as it hit the bottom.

That poor little blighter never knew what hit him. I mean, he WAS covered up, so I can only assume it was akin to someone covering you with a duvet and punching you with the fist of God.

Sorry, beetle.