I want a quiet, copper measure Conversing with the faded ink In the creases of a wrinkled, Weatered page Torn From an old notebook Made from one-hundred percent recycled paper.
I have no idea where I last left off, but I'm sure it was several years ago, where minimal posts at random intervals provided next to no information regarding current events in Cuke Land.
So, let me attempt to catch you all up ("you all" being the long-ago followers whose numbers have dwindled to zilch)...
Some crazy shit is happening in the land of The Cuke; here are the bullet points:
Library land has gotten more crazy; The Cuke is now full time and has acquired a new responsibility set on top of her current responsibilites as library ass.
The librarian herself has also acquired more responsibility in the form of an entire library at the school next door - literally, it's the Middle School next door at the other end of the crosswalk.
Due to the first bullet point, The Cuke has left Dot's until next summer break, approximately nine months from now. However,
The Cuke is still responsible for another project she had committed to prior to learning of the increase in school employment hours by over 100%
The project house The Cuke and Pistachio have been so lazy about improving may be on the market sooner than anticipated since moving in and learning how lazy we are about getting things done. Therefore, The Cuke is trying to get a move-on to make improvements, but, as you can see, I instead choose to type on a laptop in the front yard on a gorgeous end-of-summer weekend day on which I could be trying to figure out, and actively working on implementing, how to remove the basketball hoop pole from the yard next to the driveway.
And, I nearly forgot to mention, there is a new member of the family: Chuckie.
A number of people seem to be under the impression that I have somehow been afforded more hours in the day than the average cuke. Let the record reveal now, however, that I, in fact, am still operating on a 24-hour clock not unlike, to the best of my knowledge, the rest of the world. Please bear this in mind when hiring me as your webmaster, as I will not be able to commit time to stuffing, stamping and driving to the goddamned post office your envelopes of brochures, even now, in the middle of the summer. And, on that note, I can no longer be or try to be the answer to everyone's everything anymore. I am not the bank, the maid, the secretary, the Realtor or social worker and I don't appreciate being the dumping grounds for everything unfinished or not-yet-begun or in anyway all-fucked-the-hell-up because 'The Cuke can do it.'
Let's get The Cuke to do it, see if The Cuke can figure it out. So no, I can't come in on Saturday. And no, I can't make this coffee any less strong.
This is my coffee and this is how I like it and if you can't drink it then just don't fucking drink it. This is my Cukenation, damn it, and I will not stand to be cuked on.
In other news and complaints... Could you please-for-fuck's-sake-before-I-fucking-flip-this-bitch STOP being a terrible EVERYTHING. Whether you're acting as a pedestrian, a cyclist, or an operator of an automobile, PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION. Pay attention. Wait your fucking turn. Don't run down a walker on the sidewalk while you're illegally riding your bike on it and moving in the wrong fucking direction. Left-turn lanes are for, wait for it... LEFT FUCKING TURNS! They aren't for fucking around, waiting for an opening in traffic! Also, when in said lane, don't be an agitated asshole and motion for me to turn left directly IN FRONT OF A MOVING VEHICLE. Maybe you don't care about my car or health or the health and car of the driver in aforementioned vehicle, but I DO. So wait your fucking horses, you impatient donkey. I don't know where in the hell you thought you were turning, but wherever it was I'm sure it wasn't too far from UP YOUR ASS!
And another thing. LEASH YOUR DOG. Is it really that goddamn inconvenient? Are you just better than everyone else or do you just not fucking care? Do you know that, contrary to some ignorant beliefs, dogs have minds of their own and, when given the opportunity, will do as they please when they think they have a chance of getting away with it.
*
- Sons of bitches, papa says.
*Additional ranting should have been added here, but The Cuke procrastinated and got lazy, so the event of July 29th, 2011 at the Dot Hell will be shared in a later post.
I'm reminded of the times I wasn't supposed to be here, Of the times I sat on the floor, Spoke little Said even less, But wrote page after page Of scream after scream Behind snarky sentences Regarding ridiculous footwear And the Coriolis effect. I wrote on everything, And sent the ink stains everywhere. And then you walked by, Said, 'hi', And all but stepped on me As you made your way through the door You closed behind you.
I write with difficulty Because I have no grace With a pen, No "je ne sais quoi" with words. I articulate no thoughts potent enough To seize any mind And deliver no diction artful enough To maintain dignity In a single, disgracing phrase.
