To the BATMOBILE

Friday, May 26, 2006

parental advisory : may cause death

People around the world would tell you that Butlerman is afraid of no supernatural power. After all, everyone else should be afraid of the powers of Butlerman himself.

People who know Butlerman that little bit more would tell you Butlerman screams worse than a little girl when watching any scary movie, from Saw 2 to Barney the (Evil Vengeance-Seeking Blood-Hungering) Dinosaur.

Butlerman himself would tell you that he was stranded, alone, and afraid at Queensway Shopping Centre for two consecutive days (Friday: To purchase Puma Clydes and Saturday: To pass the time while waiting for the rest of the rugby team to appear for the supposed "Rugby" BBQ party at Normanton Park to take place), due to untimely thunderstorms. I was never on good terms with the various deities placed in charge of "Luck" in their respective pantheons of religions.

After surviving a painful and thoroughly distressing soaking (with my bloodcurling cries of pain shaking the likes of Hannibal Lector himself), and having made my way to Normanton Park after spending an hour at Queensway due to the marvelous time-adhereing abilities of the ACS(I) Rugby Team, I decided to proceed to the nearest toilet to relieve myself (akin to releasing a dammed Niagara Falls)/reapply my mascara.

What caught my eye was this poor, seemingly homeless old citizen (he had his toiletries with him) giving himself a shave in the toilet. Deciding this activity of self-grooming was nothing odd, as I myself was no stranger to rearranging my hair into a arresting array of spikes in front of the mirror after every shower for my own amusement, I thought no further of it.

Five hours later, at the unearthly hour of a quarter to midnight, having drunk more than my fair share of carbon dioxide/Cola, I found myself once more having the urge to tear off my shorts and urinate in public. In lieu of the parents present, and a couple of security guards, I hastened my way to the same toilet. Lo and behold! Right before my very eyes was this same man, still busy with his razor, with his facial hair in the same half-shaven state as that of 5 hours ago, and quite oblivious the growing puddle of urine beneath me.

I'm not taking the unlikely chance that this man was no denizen of the Underworld, and am therefore spreading the truth far and wide cometh the hour when my corpse would be found in my room, having been shaved to death (grated cheese comes to mind). Besides, as most horrror movies go (a la "The Ring") if you've read thus far, you've probably doomed yourself to a similar fate. I'd enjoy the company in the afterlife.

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 12:02 am
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