March 09, 2006

# 59

It was a slow day in the land of the creative thought. That's what I'm telling myself. However, during times of slow neuron activity I find it a relief to seek a worthy replacement, one I shall call sport. You see, sport presents itself as a viable alternative to anything that could be construed as freedom of thought. Freedom from thought it truly is.

I placed my order pre game time: two grand slams and a single round-tripper in three games of Kickbase, a variant of baseball that fuses the kicking portion of soccer into its erratic nature. The pitchers took the order and obliged. For a while, I thought they were on the take until I remembered the fate that greeted Hansie Cronje and Pete Rose.

Anyway, here's the single creative thought I had today. More's the pity that it wasn't at my pad but at ThirdCat's. You should read her site even if she is yet to leave her mark on mine. The comment was left in response to the dilemma of song choice at the Commonwealth Games, which are to be held somewhere in the commonwealth belonging to England. I forget exactly where as I no longer have a (care in the world about such inane crap that doesn't involve competition with and defeating of American athletes with more volume than talent) TV.

Picture this:

"Hey, Lenny, the Pope's visiting next week."

"Fuck! I'd better get out my good tux: the white one. Thanks for the heads-up, Bruce. You, my friend, are a true pal."

"Don't mention it. I'll keep you abreast of every important event so that you will be prepared when the big day finally strolls around. By the way, did you know that we're still unsure who will sing what at the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony?"

It was at that precise moment that Bruce discovered what it felt like to receive the full impact of a javelin through the cerebral cortex.

Motionless, he now resides on a hospital bed; his eyes transfixed on a crack in the ceiling as his glands work overtime to produce enough saliva to give the outward appearance of a hopeless cause in a vegetative state.

Luckily for Bruce, hospital regulations ensure that an earpiece will convey to his brain images and sounds he cannot comprehend as the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony gets underway.

Good luck, Bruce. Australia's behind you.


Remember: two grand slams and a solo dinger pretty much nullify the insignificance of this crap.


11 comments:

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...

A javelin to the cerebral coretex?

That's how I feel this morning after last nights shenanigans....

oooh.

Captain Berk said...

I would gladly perform the task in question.

Saying that, how would anything ever be able to follow the spectacle of a shirtless starfleet captain reaching for the moon at the crest of a high C?

It wouldn't.

Old Man Morri said...

Andy, you have been chosen to join my cult.
If you join you must tell us why you like us so much and then your application will be considered.
This is invite only.
You are lucky.
Morrism rules, you will be better if you join. If you choose not to join, then you are a big loser, literally.

Morri.

Kelly said...

They should get rid of the opening ceremony for games and replace it with a clip of a person getting a javelin to the cortex. I'd watch for at least another hour out of shear morbid curiosity.

Kaufman said...

UTMG: I used to thrive on shenanigans. Now they burst into laughter whenever they see me approach.

CB: The mental images simply keep getting better. Would you consider a piece of traditional Australiana - the glorious Speedos - as advancement on your offer?

OMM: If I join your party I'd be directly violating the rules binding my membership in the People Who Hate People Party. In short, tell your people to get fucked. And thanks for the invitation. It's good to be wanted.

Kelly: I was hoping you would. If I can get a thousand more people like you to agree to it, I'll run in past the games organising committee. I don't wish to get ahead of myself, but by 2014, every Commonwealth Games enthusiast will be entertained by a day's live entertainment of people being speared through the cerebral cortex with a javelin. Mark my words, my friend. It shall be so.

Saathiya said...

Woah, hold on a minute...you are a member of the PWHPP? Me too. A card carrying member for the last 9 years. And what a party it is. Very little inter-member contact fortuanately.

Small world.

Saathiya.

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...

It IS a small world!!

I'm in the rival 'Anti People Person Party'. We just can't get with your radical policies.

They're too far out there.

Old Man Morri said...

i now have hate mail, andy. let's see your worst...oh, yeah check out my post on five word stories, i reckon, it's what you would call topical, and fucked.

har de har har.

join me you fucker!!!

Kaufman said...

OMM: There's no such thing as hate mail, Morrster. There's constructively critical mail. It's just like normal mail only less important.

I liked your angle with the continuation of the story at Five Word Stories. I wonder how much longer we can all promote this Andy Kaufman sized fuck-up. I also noticed the clan at Adelaide Index linked to it, bringing me to the conclusion that people love reading a genuine real life tragedy.

Saathiya: I sensed you were a member of the PWHPP through some of your posts. 'Fortunately' is definitely the right word.

UTMG: I called the A-Triple-P to fix my suspension one time. It broke while I was filming a documentary for the ABC in the outback about camels racing against dune buggies. The A-Triple-P never showed and I was left to my own devices with 40 kgs of film stock and a tub of margarine. Dinner would have been a total disaster had it not been for an inquisitive (and gullible) red-bellied black snake.

ThirdCat said...

oh, but I do lurk. And at five word stories too which I love. It's just that I'm a Cat of Few Words. And looking at those word verifications make me queasy.

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...

Andy,that is because you are a person.

The Anti People Person Party do not show up to help people.

They probably turned up to try and revive the charred and battered corpse of the snake after you fled the scene.

They would have argued profusely about how to get the job done, becoming increasingly frustrated at the inability of even the smallest amount of people to communicate effectively. They would all have agreed that this is why they hate people and dissappeared into the hazy shelter of the desert.

Had the snake not been long dead, it would have been left more than a little confused by the purpose of its misguided benefactors.

As it's dark flaky scales got worn away by the insistent brush of the sand grain and its forked tongue gave it's last victory salute to the endless blue sky, it would have no doubt mused that the mission statement of such an organisation as the Anti People Person party was essentially flawed.