South Park Self

a ten shilling postal order for one and three, and a piece of holly

Ah, right, December. No wonder mall crowds are apocalyptic, the weather is melting me into a limp puddle of thing, and work has been invaded by phosphorescent hordes of gibbering origami rodents embossed with curriculum rules, and bearing board schedules in their teeth. Faculty Examinations Committees, the new hell. I'm also horribly glandular again, tending to rampant insomnia, and basically dead, which is certainly contributing to the committee hallucinations, but is also making it difficult to get up a good head of steam on my "bah, humbug!" practice. I shall persevere. In the meantime, unleash the wayward puppies!

  • The billboards have been a bit boring of late, but apparently the Daily Voice has finally decided to allow their billboard poet out from the poet-hutch, because there were a couple of fun ones recently. Yesterday:

    BRIGHT SPARKS ADD FOOL TO FIRE!

    I blush to confess that this did a delayed drop on me; I wandered along for a few seconds thinking "but that makes no sense" in a vague sort of way, until I suddenly clicked. Points for creative alliteration and word-play suggesting a classic Darwin Award scenario of the more inflammable sort. Also, in my defence work is year-end hell, see above, no brain.

    Today's was simply fun:

    CLINTON SHRINK RAPPED

    Preserved for posterity, perhaps? Vacuum sealed to ensure freshness? My mind defaults to Bill for some reason, possibly because he has an essentially plastic quality. The mental image is far more fun than the more probable dodgy conduct of a celebrity health professional.

  • Yesterday I shambled out to my car to be confronted by an elderly, white-haired, white-bearded gent, who emerged from the Engineering building and trotted solemnly past me bearing a very large watermelon. He caught my involuntary grin and gave me a brief, why-yes-I'm-carrying-a-giant-watermelon sort of nod and smile, and trotted off. Now I'm trying to work out if they have a Seekrit Greenhouse down there somewhere, or if they construct them from first principles and random particles down in the engineering labs.

  • Last night I dreamed I was transformed into a small, bright red, plastic robot, promptly self-destructing when I leaped off a tall somethingorother in the mistaken belief that my new form could fly. This is obviously deeply symbolic of somethingorother, probably Iron Man envy and stress.
  • Current Mood: bored undead, undead, undead
white-bearded watermelon
Clearly, you have stumbled upon Father Christmas's seekrit plot to fuel his reindeers' unfathomable watermelon addiction.
As a resident of the same building, I have to insist that the first rule of the Greenhouse is we don't talk about the Greenhouse.

Do you think it a coincidence that our cafeteria is the Glasshouse? Hmm? Mention of Greenhouses can be passed off as a mere slip of the lip.
All becomes clear! those fiendish, inscrutable engineers. Although it still doesn't explain why, with an entire fiendish underground greenhouse at their disposal, they have to bloody well go and grow watermelons.

Unless they're explosive watermelons? it was, in retrospect, a slightly shifty grin...
the weather is melting me into a limp puddle of thing

Come to London. Things are solidifying outside. Things that should be liquid.
CLINTON SHRINK RAPPED

My guess is that the Clinton family's psychologist was chastised.

Edited at 2010-12-01 03:26 pm (UTC)
Well, yes. Hence "dodgy conduct of a celebrity health professional", by which I actually meant "dodgy conduct of a celebrity's health professional", but didn't say so owing to the absence of brain. You can't get the wood, you know.