She looked at me like I’d pulled a dead kitten out of a bag.*

“If you’re flappy and you know it, flap your flaps!

Isn’t that how they taught the song at school?

Flaps is my current favourite curse word, along with its derivatives: flappy, flappish, flappity etc. A particularly broad-minded female friend assures me it’s quite offensive, the opinion reinforced by the look* she gave me when i said it in conversation. Huzzah, a swear word that still works!

If one really wants to offend, the F-word is well prefaced by words like piss-stained, oozing, odourous and so on.

I’m rather hoping this becomes more widespread in use.

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(Ahem.)

(I’m not a misogynist, Mum, honest.) 

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So, you may have noticed I’ve been away from the world of blogging for a while, after initially only briefly dipping my toes. Hello again, blogsphere. All three of you. I’ve decided to give it another go. The concept needs re-jigging a bit, and I have to dig up the random paper jottings that may or may not be worth expanding, but bear with me and you may be entertained yet.

Shall we dance the Orangutango?

The following is what I said to the office worker who berated me after he’d decided to walk directly across my path this evening, as I was pushing a trolley loaded with boxes through pedestrian peak traffic:

“I was watching where I was going. It’s lucky for you that I was.”

After all, it wouldn’t have been my ankles getting broken if I hadn’t seen him and reacted in time. Nope.

I mean, come on, if you’ve spent five minutes in a city you know the deal - respect the flow of traffic, car and foot, and if you choose to interrupt it either have a good reason or be prepared to take the consequences (and either way, be careful). This oaf saw a stream of people walking from a pedestrian crossing, and was, himself, heading towards another crossing which was blocked by vehicle traffic. The polite and expedient thing to do would be for him to stand and wait until everyone had exited the active crossing, yet he impatiently (and pointlessly) chose to leap into the small gap before me - which I respectfully leave between me and the next person whenever I’m pushing the trolley, with an ankle-height pointy end, through a moving crowd - causing me to slam the brakes (i.e. my legs and arms) and jerk the trolley back. For him to then shout that I should “Watch where (I’m) going,” speaks of an obliviously arrogant self confidence, and is exactly the kind of ego that makes me despair at the usefulness of notions such as “cooperative society.” Someone has to tell people like him they’re idiots, or they’ll pass it on to their children as carelessly as they inflict it upon the world around them. Luckily for today’s throwback, I was wearing company livery and thus remained civil.

Some folks invite injury, and only defy natural selection because other people take action to avoid hurting them. As I once read on a t-shirt: “Some people are only alive because it’s illegal to kill them.” I suppose I should be grateful, because I suck at fighting, but that doesn’t stop me from resenting the random stupidity that washes through my senses every day. It just makes me more annoyed that we can still be such fucking stupid animals, after so many aeons of evolution. Don’t get me started on when I catch myself out.

Ook? Ook ook, OOOK!

Ook.
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SWEAR score: somewhere between 1 and 2. Because dicks like him also drive cars, and lead nations, too.
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(Trolley photo linked from the website of the good folks at Castle Forklifts. If you’re looking for any kind of mechanical lifting/lugging conveyance, their range appears unbeatable.)

Roll me to the moon.

It appears that even the adrenaline rush of seeing one’s savings disappear isn’t enough for some Las Vegas tourists. They’re so tired out by the prospect of not driving that their legs seem to fail them. I suppose exercise should be done at the gym, if it must happen at all.

I’m sure there’s something more cutting or profound to say, other than, “Idiots,” but it’ll have to do for now. Idiots.
Species Worthy Extinction Anxiety Rating: 2

In the beginning …

Why “the Canary”? Because canaries were once kept in cages by miners down their mines, as a natural indicator of toxic gas levels inside the shaft. If the sensitive canary snuffed it, it was time for the humans to climb out or risk the same fate.

This is not altruism. This is my therapy. I figure it’s better to shout quietly in text, on a page which nobody need suffer without choosing to, rather than shout on the busy street, splashing all and sundry with my bile whether they like it or not. Not everyone deserves that, and it’s nicer to err on the side of caution when judging a person’s stupidity in a crowd. Besides, I’d like to keep my job.

Somedays I feel like I’m suffocating on the insidious pollution that we, the human race, have created - environmental, cultural, social, aesthetic, moral and spritual smog all combined. I’ve been told that I’m oversensitive. So, “Canary” it is. Pay attention, cocksuckers.