Practical Solutions for EveryDay Living
The bun is the one
NICHOLAS MACMAHON, staff
There comes a moment on the path of the transient soul, when only surrender will facilitate the great divide. Your doppelganger reaches for that dinner plate, curses it, and hurls it at the wall in defiance. Let me be your broomstick. Together we can pick up the shattered pieces.
Love,
Jeremy M. Drampton
We’ve made it through January. The days grow longer, except for Sunday, the day of rest. Rest is another name for sleep and sleep is a metaphor for death in some intellectual circles. The doctor rang this morning, little Henry won’t make it. A late January birthday will sustain me through the dead of winter, that’ll carry me well into early February. If Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces have no significance in your life, you may want to stop hanging out within eight meters of entrances and find a better way to deal with your b-b-blues. How can you ensure that you’ll make it to the doughy spring that mysteriously rises into the plump, cinnamon bun summer (which is usually dry, probably wasn’t baked this morning, as shadily advertised, and will expire in two days)?
Cheeky Clerk: Do you want some butter on your (now toasted to conceal staleness) Cinntastic Sinner?
Bastard: For 5 bucks, you should provide the Dionysian atmosphere and feed it to me, scallywag. In addition, I be thinking that should come with one of those misleading fancy teas imported from those communists who threaten our freedom here in US Junior.
Cheeky Clerk: What did you say?
Bastard: Let’s cut the role playing bullshit. Neither of us wants to be here . . . and Yerba Mate is nothing but dried dandelions and acorns. No, I don’t “instantly” feel “energized” and “creative”! Quite frankly, no tea can compete with Japan’s green gift to the world and no decent soul, working an honest 11 hours a week, has the time, nor the caffeine tolerance, to sit down and knock back 8 mugs of it to ward off heart disease. Besides, I already had my fate revealed to my by an Aboriginal Shaman on a recent walkabout in the Australian outback. On the edge of Now, we honored the “sacred bark” with a naked moon dance that went on for well over 7 hours. One thing led to another, and the formerly peaceful Shaman (who kept calling me “Michael Jackson”, usually followed by a nasally laughter that went on for just a little too long), was now chasing me with the formerly “sacred bark”, now a seductive weapon. Clawing away at my ankles with a determined precision, I yelped with unabashed delight. Okay?
Cheeky Clerk: Total comes to $5.36. (Hands over debit machine, with a smile that only comes from sheer apathy.)
Debit Screen: I could easily be an arbitrary sequence of 0s and 1s, so how about you give me $1.50? Agreed?
Bastard has been cornered again. He pauses, rabidly scratching a mosquito bite that reminds him of the summer of ’00, when he was bitten — it’s either a cancerous growth, West Nile Virus, or an unusual symptom of heart disease. Salivating, he ponders his uncertain future: If the Supreme Being is good to him and graces him with six more months of existential inquiry, he’ll buy a safe made of cast-iron (just like his cherished Japanese pot) and hide it in his bathroom wall behind a cheap canvas boasting a dull Manitoban landscape complemented by the ’60s flower-power décor; never again will those dirty banks receive another penny). Gasping for air, he realizes that he’ll have to go through the same alienated customer service relations at a shop that sells safes. He whispers to himself. What if the safe is a counterfeit from China? It would pose a major security threat and my Chinese is rusty. I could always invest in Master Mandarin in Minutes. That would be costly. That would be costly.
Poor Bastard. He scraps the idea altogether, and presses OK, whispering once more, Costly.
Debit Screen: Look Cheeky Clerk in the eye, and advise him how much his customer service is worth to you. Watch his affected smile turn to a scowl. If the gnashing of teeth is audible, leave before he scalds you with an asshole remark or a *pftt*-like sound.
Bastard (to the screen): Run away with me.
Debit Screen: Are you mad at me, pickle? Advise me on a scale of one to 10, just how little our relationship means to you. Go ahead!
Bastard: Debbie, please.
Debit Screen: That’s what I thought — Insufficient funds. And to think, before I met you, there were rumours about your fat wallet. In reality, all you have is a petite change purse!
Crowd: *hoots, woos and hollers* erupt, performing a symphony of inadequacy.
Cheeky Clerk (facing the audience and raising his arms in blessing): Cinntastic sinners, go forth to love and serve the world.
Sinners: Thanks be to God.
Facts: February is the coldest month of the year. Long johns help.
Myths: Long Johns are on sale right now. Cinnamon buns save lives.
