Things Which Happen When You've Nothing To Do
++ The phrase 'bunkering down' becomes inexplicably hilarious.
++ You invent, and immediately seek to disseminate, the phrase 'eenie meenie miney mammoth' as a way of selecting between important options.
++ You also invent an entire system of punctuation based on the word lion, prompted only by a single slightly obscure segment of a single slightly obscure webcomic. Thus, full stops become (lion), exclamation points become (LION) or (MANY LIONS), question marks become (querical lion), and so forth(lion)
++ You get bored enough to start biting things- your brother's notes, his arms, books, letters, the occasional small electronic device- but with a lackadasial sort of dedication which turns to disillusionment when you discover that biting peoples' heads, despite the apparent enjoyment of zombies partaking in the activity in movies, is not half as fun as it looks, and generally tastes rather bad. (Note: if you mention Freudian oral fixation I will throw you over a fence.)
++ On commission, you construct a Martha-Stewart-esque paper called '10 Easy Steps To Home Homicide', with tips, tricks and an appendix on the complicated etiquette of beheading.
++ Conversations now include the frequent use of the phrase 'Have you ever really LOOKED at a fork?', sheeples, the waaaaaahmbulance, and whether all of China has a cholesterol problem.
++ You are developing a list of childhood Disney movies (see: 101 Dalmations, Dumbo, Bambi) to watch, on the logic that if you are getting embarassingly close to no longer being a teenager, you'd better get working on your second childhood.
++ When a waiter in a French restaurant asks "What do you call a Frenchman wearing thongs? Phillipe Falop!", you think it is the most hilarious thing to happen gastronomically since the invention of haute cuisine.
++ When your brother mispronounces "sprechen Sie Deutsch?" (do you speak German?) as something vaguely resembling "essen Sie Deutsch?" (do you eat Germans?), you dissect it for ten minutes and even then cannot stop giggling.
Please send help. Brain melting in the summer heat and leaking out ears.
Comments
And the frenchman wearing thongs joke has an added level of weird over here, since we only ever call flip-flops just that-- thongs being underwear that pretty much equates to the humble G-string.
I have spent all of today reading Samuel Beckett. Thus, having considerable addlement already, I read the last line of your post as, 'Please send help. BRIAN melting in the summer heat and leaking out ears.' This, I propose, would be infinitely more interesting and horrific than the former. For example, one would wish to know who Brian is, and why he came to be in your ears in the first place. Does this mean, one wonders, he is especially minute in stature, or just folds up very, very well? Is Brian even a person, or some unidentified creature that belongs only to Australia, or indeed, to the house of Thorp?
Such are the workings of my fried cerebral matter at this time.
PS How would you feel if I were to write a paper about how all straight people are essentially fake gay, they just haven't realised it yet?
Do it. The world needs more essays about transformative queer theory (which is what that position essentially is, I did an essay on it too.) Actually, what it really needs is FUNNY transformative queer theory essays, so do that, please.