Wednesday, September 29, 2004

The Goddess of Being on the Wrong Train

I am the God of Snot!

And I am not alone... there are many of us, many more than you know. For every idea, every fancy and every notion your kind have discovered there is a god. Or a goddess. And for the things you have yet to imagine, there is also a god – the God of the As Yet Unimagined. And for that which you will NEVER imagine there is also a god – the God of the Unimaginable. A rather pointless and unpredictable fellow, it has to be said...

Anyway, I was visited by one of these gods you know nothing of just the other night. Sorry, goddess. And a most vexing, interfering, damnably perverse goddess at that. For I was visited by the Goddess of Being on the Wrong Train.

This goddess busies herself by tweaking the existences your kind stagger through – and evidently whilst I am among you she can do this to me too.

So it was that I found myself on a train entirely other than the one I needed to be on to get me to my dwelling. And as I was on the last train of the evening, this entailed a rather tiresome walk.

Of course, the Goddess of Being on the Wrong Train doesn’t meddle with your destinies for no reason. Her purpose is to direct you away from a momentous event, usually a pleasant one, or to direct you towards a momentous event, invariably an unpleasant one. And, I can assure you, walking from Hebburn to Seaburn at 11:30 pm is most definitely unpleasant.

Not exactly momentous though...

I became suspicious. Either I was walking into something BIG, or I was walking away from something BIG. Or maybe I was walking towards something BIG, but because I was walking, rather than sitting on a nice, comfortable train, I was going to be too late for this something BIG, my destiny forever to suffer for having done so. Or perhaps I was walking towards something BIG, but because I was walking I would be tired and therefore predisposed to react to this something BIG in an uncharacteristic fashion, again, my destiny forever to suffer for having done so...

And it was as I walked towards, or away, from this something BIG that something BIG happened...

...I realised this was all familiar to me.

No, not familiar. Known. Known all along, but only now remembered.

But why should this be so? I have never descended to your Plane of Existence before, and have never, therefore, had the pleasure of having been shafted by the Goddess of Being on the Wrong Train. Not like this, anyway...

Then I stood in some dog-shit. F*cking lazy, dog-owning, constant-emotional-affirmation-requiring motherf*ckers! You should be made to eat this! You should be made to lick it from my shoe, and then when you are done, you should beg me to kick you in the face until I feel compensated for having stood in dog-shit! You know who you are, you f*cker!

But even as I thought all of this, as I wiped my shoe on a patch of grass, I again realised I had known this all along, like a dream I had remembered too late. And as I remembered the dream, I knew that even as I wiped this dog-shit from my shoe, I was about to stand in another dog-shit.

Which is exactly what I did!

And I say again, f*cking lazy, dog-owning, constant-emotional-affirmation-requiring motherf*ckers! And so on...

By then I was tired, and fuming and making with the snapping curses, the baleful glares and the shivering (because it was so cold), and so I was unable to fathom this something BIG.

When I got home, I tried to find something to write this all down on. I couldn’t lose this! One of my notepads was on the coffee table and I grabbed it. There was a message on the first page – “I’m upstairs, f*ck-machine... come...”.

I quickly scribbled down “been here before” and ran upstairs, only to find my woman passed out on our bed, two empty bottles of wine on the floor, beside one of her night-dresses and an unopened packet of flavoured condoms.

Curse you, Goddess of Being on the Wrong Train, I cried! Curse you and the misbegotten in-breds you call your offspring and the drooling, wither-cocked proto-gimps they will present to you as grandchildren! MOCOS!


Post a Comment

<< Home