Fucking Ants!

I'd just arrived home from a Penis BBQ Party (BYO party) at Milos's place involving many degrees of margarita drinking by E@L, many businessmen drinking wine, and unfortunately therefore not the depth of conversation that theoretically was possible...

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl,
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to ho-oo-oo-ooo-ooo-oooo-oooo-oooooowl.

... to find that those fucking immortal kitchen-based ants of mine had survived my most recent incredibly aggressive attack upon there assumed domicile - the water-logged chipboard under the sink - and shrugged it off to reappear in force...

But from whence arriveth they thiseth time? All along the kitchen bench they crawled like barefoot servants bearing crumby gifts for their ravenous bitch of a queen.

I got down on my knees, as you do when assiduously drunk, and I began to trace their travels with an heightened and keen ocularity... I traced and I traced. I had to keep my eyes upon an individual ant lest he blur into oblivion, and track just his progress alone, verily, one ant at a time watcheth I them.

Man shit, this fucker's going the other way! I crept back in the opposite direction to what I had anticipated, toward that array of implements with which I commit electronic torture upon my food - the toaster, the kettle, the coffee machine, the margarita machine - as my current ant (I kept losing sight of that one ant and had to find another one ant in order to follow) progressed, along with the chain of his fellow downtrodden workers, toward the door! They went under the edge of the formica where they were formicating, filthy beasts, before passing across to the door jamb. Down the jamb they went, all the way to the floor. Around the door frame they skirted the skirting board and went out into the marble tiles of my floor -- out into the middle of the space between the kitchen, the second toilet and Izzy's room. Fuck! Who would have thought to look here for fucking ants?

With carefully honed drunken observational skills I noted that at a certain juncture between two certain tiles, the jittery movements of the trail of ants ceased. It discontinued. It ceased. It stopped. It went down a hole. A tiny eensy-weensy hole. About the size of an ant.

This is my life laze and germs - I hunt ants.

I go to parties and come home alone, to hunt ants.

Fucking ants.

I got my ant spray, and FUCK did I spray the fucking bejesus out of those fuckers?

Yes, I did.

The assiduous ant is a lesson to us all. Just not a good one.

~~~~~~~

And now, a word from our sponsor ---



The hour is getting late and, whoopsie, the very minute of sleep aproacheth and golf beckoneth this knave upon the morrow. Verily. Very verily. Verily, verily, verily, life is but a dream.

Snore...

E@L

(Wot, is it, like, talk like a twat day?)



p.s. I put this Michael Hedges video up because there was guy there at the party who was left-handed but wanted to learn to play a right handed guitar...