Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Urban living (no cows in the city)

There's been a bit going on lately that has resulted on all being quiet on the blogging front. It's not that I've nothing to say, but I've been a bit worried about confidentiality and that sort of thing. Relating to the company I work for. I just want to make sure that they're not very easily identifiable based on what I've written here.

That said, I think there is very little chance of that happening in regard to this post.

When I was in high school, A friend and I used to toy with the idea of writing children's books. specifically a children's book entitled something along the lines of, "Stories for Bad Children" or something like that. It would be a collection of short tales and rhymes in the theme of Paul Jennings, Edward Scarey, and others I can't be bothered to remember. We wrote two poems, both of which I recite when drunk, so some may have heard them before.

Here is the first.
'Moo,' went Daisy, as she chewed on the grass
Thinking of the abattoir and horrors not yet past
She thought for a while of old Jimmity Parkett
Whose guts has been sold at the evil Cow Market
She though of her brother and the fate he became
What a horrible Christmas! But still, all the same...
For the field it was green, and the grass it was yummy
'What a sensation!' She thought, as it swirled in her tummy

Too much thought for a cow of her age
She was unaware of the man on the range
With his gun fully loaded and a bottle of gin
He laughed and he cackled as he did Daisy in.

Daisy was special now she is gone
Her parting was short
Our grieving was long
O how we will miss you,
Your coat soft as silk
For only you could produce
The best chocolate milk.

And here is the second.

At Christmas when the children cheer
The turkey drowns his angst in beer
In trying to avoid that which is fated
He's become self-marinated

Oh, yeah.

So I'm waiting for a bus to take me to the shops and it's not turning up, so with homicide not being a viable option, my thoughts return to children's stories. In particular those best suited to an urban environment, which is where "Where's my Bus?" comes in. That's right, it is essentially exactly the same as "Where's my Cow?", the story that appears in Terry Pratchett's "Thud!" So with apologies to Sir Terry, here are a few ideas:

Page 1.

I am waiting for a bus but it hasn't come yet.
Where's my bus?

Page 2.

Is that my bus?
It goes, "Get outta the way!"
It's a van.
That's not my bus!
Where's my bus?

Page 3.

Is that my bus?
It goes, "If you kids don't shut up, you can get out and walk!"
It's someone's overworked mum.
That's not my bus!
Where's my bus?

Page 4.

Is that my bus?
It goes, "No, I'm not going in that direction."
It's a taxi.
That's not my bus!
Where's my bus?

Page 5.

Is that my bus?
It goes, "One toke? You poor fool! Wait till you see those goddamn bats."
It's Hunter S. Thompson.
That's not my bus!
Where's my bus?

And so on and so forth.

After a while I got bored and went to the other bus stop from where I would watch the dogs running about. It could have been worse; I could have been waiting for a train. Of course, like so many things, the bus is a metaphor. But for what I will leave you to figure out yourself.

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