Of Switch-ups and Other Trivialities.

So, once again we return. I apologize for the rather lengthy hiatus, for I have been busy. Oh well. All is not lost. Shall we begin? I think we should.

So, what shall I be writing about today? Should it be a classic port-a-john post? I don’t remember having done one of those in a long time. Shall it be a dark story with a humorous ending? I don’t think so. Let’s just write and see where this goes.

Think back, to when you guys were kids. To a carefree time, a time of pleasures and joy.  In a lush meadow, full of lush greenery and beautiful flowers. The sound of small children playing, it pleases the ears, as long as you don’t know what they’re saying. Have that image in your mind? Hang on to it for a quick second. Now, it’s time for the switch-up. A thousand cows fall from the sky, bellowing out cries of alarm at being tossed out of God’s hands like a fat kid dropping ice-cream on the sidewalk. The first cows splat on the ground with a horrible sound and an even more horrible smell. In their fear, the rest of the cows release enough methane gas to block out sunlight for a moment. Children running everywhere, tripping over themselves and disembowelled cow bellies.  Confused cows falling from the skies. Crippled cows stampeding everything in their path. The meadow smells of blood and gore. Within seconds, the meadow runs red blood with blood. A hundred children moan in pain, drowned out only by the sound of five hundred cows dying.

Let us move away from that horrible scene in your mind right now.  You sick person, I bet your mind automatically added in horrible visual and sound effects. So sick.  Whatever. Let’s move on. Imagine yourself lying on a pristine beach. The sand is pearly white, soft to the touch. The sea laps invitingly ten feet from your spot. It is azure and sparkling,  nary a high roller in sight for miles. The sun is bright and yellow, yet not unbearably hot. You take in a deep breath. This is the life. Once again, the switch up. A huge hole appears in the ground next to you. A million, no a billion small crabs crawl out of the hole at the nearest rock looking object. You. A thousand spiny legs crawl over you, a thousand pincers nibble into your soft flesh, drawing blood. Your skin is slowly peeled off, exposing the raw flesh underneath. That’s not it. A thousand fishes rise up from the sea, arcing in graceful trajectories to land on your body. Salt water enters every crevice of your body, stinging you painfully everywhere there is exposed flesh. You struggle to get up, but nothing works. The fish start puking into your mouth, your nostrils, your navel. Horrible yellow liquid comes out of the fishes every orifice, smelling offensive. It is thick and tarry. You try to scream but no sound comes out as your mouth is already full of the yellow liquid.

Still haven’t pressed that ‘X’ yet? Very well. I can see that you are a resilient character. Let us move on. You are lying in your bed. It is raining outside. Thunder and lightning are out and about. You are safe and warm in your bed, under the covers. Your laptop or mobile device rests on your lap. Headphones obscure your hearing. What are you listening to? Well, anything you want to. Pick a favourite song or tune. Put it on. Then continue reading. All good? Okay. You’re feeling at peace with the world. The world feels at peace with you. You read on, waiting for the punch line. So far, so good. Where’s the switch up ? Maybe I’m doing all this to put you on your guard against falling cows and puking fish. Maybe I’m just messing with your mind. Or maybe there is something but I’m just not showing you. Ok then. Time for the obligatory switch-up. You’ve all been waiting for this. Here we go.

The Problem

I'm not in the mood for formalities of greetings so please forgive me for jumping straight to the point.

Courtesy is dead, or so they say. So are good manners. And don't let me get started on chivalry and politeness. Yet, people have forgotten one important component of our human values. The art of listening. In the age of the iPhone and other such gadgets, people are becoming less and less in tune with things happening right in front of their faces. The little strip of white wire running down your shirt that symbolized your coolness in having a portable music player, a bubble, of sorts, in which you lived in your own head. That man pounding the asphalt? He has one too. That spaced-out woman in the supermarket bobbing her head to an unseen tune? She has one too. Portable music might provide a fun source of unseen and personal entertainment to some, but to others it is only a source of agony. 


What does this have to do with listening, do you say? Well, everything. This age should be called the age of distractions. Its impossible for one to have even a glimmer of hope in having an actual conversation once the phones and tablets and laptops show up at the table. People lock themselves out of the loop, occasionally nodding their head to some unheard point. And that leaves us few who enjoy actual conversation, as they say, on the beach. We patter along smoothly in our statements until we hit a dead end, a virtual wall of silence in which speaking is an invitation for one to be ignored. 


People might argue that they DO in fact hear what you are saying, but there is a whole lot of difference between hearing and listening. In fact, the death of listening has gone so far as to the fact that just when you needed a listening ear, someone to pour out your hopes and worries, you can't find anyone. Sure, they'll listen to you, but will they actually absorb what's being said? In this, the age of the internet, the age of trolls and memes, pouring your deepest worries out to someone will most likely get you a "Why are you telling me this?" Accompanied by a raised eyebrow. No one wants to hear that as a response. 


Sometimes, its just better to shut up and listen, not just with your ears, but with your heart and your mind. Store everything you've heard in your mind, and file it away for another day. Do not offer false "help" or "joy" by telling them its going to be alright, but rather keep quiet and give them your undivided attention. Remove those ear buds from your ears for a moment, pull your eyes away from the screen of your phone, leave your hands free and loose at your sides, and just listen. Who knows? You might just brighten up someone's day instead of just your own. Just listen.

Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Bloody.

The calendar year of 2011 draws to a close in a few days. I would like to present to all of you readers the last piece of the year. I felt it fitting that it should be a story, not just any mere rambling. Enjoy, and I'll see all of you again next year.

The library was always quiet at this time of night. Fluorescent tubes provided the only source of light, the sound of cockroaches scurrying along the walls the only sound to be heard. He turned yet another page of the book, immersed completely in his pursuit of knowledge. As he turned to yet another page, he realized an odd flickering of the fluorescent tube directly above him. He glanced up crossly just as all the tubes in the library failed and he was left alone in the darkness. He took a deep breath in, refusing to give in to the urge to slam on the table with his fist. Slowly, he got up and walked to the door, careful not to walk into any obstacles unlighted by the moon, shining bright through the large windows. 


Once outside, he decided on a whim to take the short walk to the top of a nearby hill. It was a long walk, but finally he reached the summit. Sitting in the middle of a patch of lonely wild flowers, he looked up at the bright full moon and took in a deep breath. All of a sudden, a rustling sound from a stand of trees nearby made him startle and turn. He strained his eyes and squinted, but all he could see was nothing. Wait! There it was again! Just standing in the shadow of the tree. Barely able to make out its silhouette against the pale moonlight, he narrowed his eyes and focused hard on the apparition. It seemed to be making beckoning gestures towards him. He knew that no good was going to come out of this, but it was as if he was under a spell. Upon their own accord, he got up and staggered towards the figure. On closer inspection, it turned out that the figure was a girl. And boy, was she beautiful. He felt his heart speed up at the sight of her. Yet, there was something wrong with her. She looked familiar enough, but he just could not place it.


She smiled sweetly at him and bared her teeth. Teeth, that he noticed, ended in points. It was as though he was being drugged. He could not think clearly, nor could he see clearly. His vision was blurring, the image of the girl in his mind was swimming. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his mind.She was moving closer to him, letting him see her fully, and then he remembered. He knew her face now. He remembered the beach, at sunset. The fateful last conversation. The last meal. He closed his eyes and prayed that it would be over soon enough. As he sank to his knees, the last thing he heard was the sentence, "Never forgive, never forget."

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and cleaned her blood-stained fingertips with a piece of tissue paper. She looked down at her handiwork, pleased with herself. She was sure that she had left an indelible enough mark, a mark that would remind people to never mess with the fairer sex. The mark was a mockery, a mere image of the turmoil in her. Yet, she felt extremely satisfied with her night's work and felt hope grow in her chest as her broken heart mended with the coming of the sun rising high into the sky. 


That very day, a startling discovery was made. A man was found spread-eagled on the top of a hill, face towards the sun, a smile on his face. All was well, except for the fact that his chest was cracked open like a walnut and his heart was cut into two by what seemed to be a very serrated blade. As one police officer remarked, his heart was well and truly broken.


THE END


*This story is dedicated to a friend of mine. This one's for you, buddy. 

Turtle Theory (Part 4)

Welcome back to Tales From Behind The Port-A-John. Today we shall be continuing with our Turtle Theory in this, part 4 of the multi-part segment. In the previous three segments, readers were introduced to the concepts of the Tadpole, Fish, and Fisherman. These segments can be read here.
Part 1
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/07/turtle-theory-part-1.html
Part 2
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/09/turtle-theory-part-2.html
Part 3
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/11/turtle-theory-part-3.html
Well, enough of the shameless self-advertising. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. Let us go on and enlighten ourselves about the most mystical and misunderstood creatures of the ocean blue. The turtle, also known by its scientific name as Testudines. But then again, that is not important. Let us begin.


The Turtle


The turtle is an ancient creature, much like the fisherman and the fish. They are mainly characterized by their unwillingness to either be caught by fishermen or catch fish. Thus, they are secretive and secluded creatures, often living alone or in groups of two or three. These turtles swim the oceans endlessly, only stopping for sustenance and rest. They observe without being observed, note without being noted, and you get the idea. Often, they are misunderstood and prejudiced against by fishermen, most of the time being labelled mistakenly as fishermen who are unable to catch fish of their own. As such, they normally do not get on very well with fishermen. Conversely and strangely, they often find that they can get on very well with fishes. Maybe its because fishes feel safe and that there is no danger in mixing with turtles. So the turtle roams endlessly, building opinions and gathering information on the ocean floor. The turtle is known to be a blind creature, unable to see what is happening around it. Yet, contrary to popular belief, the turtle is not deaf. It is able to hear remarkably well for a creature that spends most of its time underwater. It merely refuses to acknowledge the things it hears unless they are deemed important. As such, very little is known about turtles up till a point where even turtles are uncertain if they themselves are turtles.


THIS CONCLUDES PART 4. PART 5 IS COMING SOON!

A long-awaited Break

Just a quick story here to intersperse between the segments of the Turtle Theory. Found this on the back of a Port-A-John in some school I was in. Why they have portable toilets, I do not know, but do not question what you have been blessed with.

Mouth is burning. Throat is dry, parched. Legs are about to fall off. There's a rumbling in my tummy. Why did I have to try the Chili Con Carne? It feels as though I'm excreting fire. Breath is coming in short spurts. I can barely move my arms. Every time I cough, I emit smoke and I let off another rocket. Any moment now, and I'm going to take off and fly. 


No! I must be strong. I must leave my mark in this dark portable can. If not now, it will never happen. Okay, deep breaths, boy. Just let is out slow- oh damn. That WAS NOT slow. Is it me, or is it really hot in here? It kinda feels like a sauna. I had best be out of here before the heat melts the toilet walls and I'm left out here with my posterior hanging out for everyone to see. Honestly, I don't really mind, but I think the sight of a shiny red posterior would scare away a lot of kids. Possibly a boatload of kids. 


Now that raises a question. How many makes a boatload? I suppose it depends on the number of boats you have. I think I could scare away a raft-sized boat full of kids, but if a boat the size of the Titanic came around, I don't think they'd be scared. Maybe they'd laugh and point at me. Oh no. They'll POINT at me! I should probably go right after this- oh wow. That hurt. Okay, maybe I'll go as soon as I can get up without excreting recently digested Chili Con Carne. 


If there is anything I've learnt from this, it's to never eat Chili Con Carne, especially if its cooked by a Mexican looking guy who speaks with an Asian accent and claims to be selling "All-American Chili". If that was what America tastes like, I never want to lick it. Hang on, how do you lick a country? I supp-

At this point, the writing stops, and the wall is coated in a reddish-brown substance that is soft to the touch and feels slightly warm. I had better wash my hands after touching that. I think I saw a bean in there. 
For those of you who don't know what Chili Con Carne is, check this out:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chili_con_carne
Hey look! You're getting an edookayshun!

Turtle Theory (Part 3)

Hello again. In the first two parts of our multi-part segment on the Turtle Theory, I introduced you people to the concept of the Tadpole and of the fish. These can be read at http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/07/turtle-theory-part-1.html
and
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/09/turtle-theory-part-2.html
If you have not read any of these parts, I suggest that you do so. If, however, you insist on being a rock-headed pig with no respect for the rules, go right ahead. I am not stopping you. But I have stalled for too long. We shall now proceed to enlighten ourselves on the next parts of our Turtle Theory, that is the tale of the fisherman.


The Fisherman


The role of the fisherman, much like the fish, is an ancient one. Where there are fish, there will always be a fisherman or two. As the name implies, these fishermen are tasked with corralling and catching these fish. They search the wide oceans, hunting, occasionally in packs, but more often than not alone. They employ a wide range of lures and traps to catch their fish, often spiking these utensils with the most luscious of all bait. When they have identified their fish, they will move in for the kill. Again, please be reminded that this is a mere metaphor and that no actual killing is involved except in the case of psychopaths. Once catching said fish, fishermen may choose to either keep these fish as trophies and be content for evermore, or eat them, stripping them to their bony carcasses and hurling these empty shells back into the sea. It all matters on the personality of the fisherman. As such, the fisherman is almost always portrayed as the villain of this piece, the so-called bad guy, when in actual reality all he OR she wants is to have a fish of their own. Such pitiful misunderstandings often occur and can be damaging for life. Not the fishermen, but the fish.

THIS CONCLUDES PART 3. PART 4 IS COMING SOON!

Turtle Theory (Part 2)

In the first part of our multipart Turtle Theory, we discussed the humble origins of turtles and other creatures. We have laid down the fact that everyone starts life at the same point, as a tadpole. Now, let us carry on to the first of the creatures a tadpole might evolve into after puberty. This creature will come in a pair with another creature, but more on that later. For now, I present to you:

The Fish

The fish is the default creature that most tadpoles evolve into. As the name implies, it is an ever-wandering creature, exploring the deeps and gaining experiences. Yet, it remains susceptible to trickery and is a creature that is easily confused and lured. Yes, I said that. Confused. The fish is, as is the case with real fish, easily baited. Simple lures, simple promises of trust and security, are able to bamboozle these innocent fish. Before you know it, these fish are caught out in the open air, gasping to live, flopping on the shore, at the mercy of their tormentors. But, as I said, more on that later. Basically, the fish is the type of person who is easily lured. Emotionally unstable, these fish are no more than mobile volcanoes, ready to explode at any given moment. They swim the oceans deep, searching for stability, a rock to anchor themselves to. If the rock turns out to be dangerous for them, they are unable to retreat, snagged as they are by the danger’s stunning allures. If by chance, they manage to escape, they often do so at the expense of being scarred for life. 

THIS CONCLUDES PART 2. PART 3 IS COMING SOON!