Many despise me. That should probably concern or even repulse me, but it doesn’t.
I think there might be a flaw in my programming. I feel nothing, but I think I should probably be feeling something.
I have never cared about other people in the way that is expected of me. Relationships and personal attachments, they are like webs linking people together. My webs never quite make it to the other person. I have friends, people I call my allies, but if they were to disappear and I would never seem them again, I would not mourn for long. I would feel sadness only briefly, but then I might feel…. relief.
See, kids? That’s what heavy industrialization and 500 years of chain-smoking will do to ya.
Once in a while, you have to make a yearly budget. You also have to periodically reflect on your financial priorities because some people can’t be trusted.
“So, bit of a funny story,” England said to the other members of the Security Council sitting in the conference room. “I was looking through the budget proposals when I see something just a little strange.” He slid the thick budget book to the center of the table and with a pen pointed to a particular line on the page. “This says ‘2AM runs to McDonald’s.’ And, it gets better, we’ve got $1000 set aside for that. One-thousand dollars, eight-hundred and ninety-three Euros, six-thousand something yuan–whatever the hell you want.”
He looked around the room. “Now, who wants to take a little guess at which one of us thinks we need one-thousand dollars for McDonald’s?”
I mix vodka with orange juice and call it breakfast. The alcohol will help me forget that I didn’t sleep last night. Or the night before. Is it nighttime right now? I can’t tell because I never open the curtains because if I do they will watch me and I’m afraid.
The Darien expedition to a mosquito-blighted swamp overlooked by forbidding mountains that separated the Pacific and Atlantic coasts was an utter disaster for Scotland.
This a guest post by fellow blogger babbitman, a funny English guy who writes brilliant short stories, among other cool things, on his blog. Check him out, show him some love.
The British Isles, 1690
Wales closed the door quietly behind her and walked across the oak-panelled room to the table where England sat brooding over a map of Europe. He looked up and, although her presence was acknowledged, declined to offer her a seat. It was good for her to know her place as the junior partner in their shared enterprise. He jabbed at the map.
“France has just raided again. Gave our fleet a bloody nose then sacked a port in Devon. And the Gallic swine is now trying to persuade Ireland to join in on his side, all while our Dutch allies are desperate for us to commit against France on the continent. And that’s ignoring the conflicts sparking off in the colonies.”
Wales cocked her head, knowing he hadn’t yet finished. “But there’s something else that’s bothering you?”
Imagine sharing a ride to Disneyland in a granny van with the Koreas, Japan, and China. Now, imagine wanting to shoot yourself. Those are basically the same two experiences.
Japan sat in the back, content with blocking out the world via sound-canceling earbuds and techno-pop. North Korea and South Korea shared the middle row of seats. (“I’m not sitting by him.” “Well, do you want to sit by Japan?” “Ugh.”). China was in the passenger seat because he’d been drinking in preparation for this. Taiwan manned the wheel, because she was the only sane one. According to her.
It wasn’t too long before the Koreas started fighting. North Korea’s cell battery drained faster than he’d expected, leaving him without anything to distract from his general displeasure with the world and everyone in it.