Terminal Station

The piss vapor settles over everything.  The bum's rotting teeth.  The dirty television screen which offers nothing but static, and the occasional twisted form.  Newspapers and coffee cups roaming around on their own.  A bench, carved into artwork.

Ponder the perfection of insects, the cockroach, the earth worm, blood parasites.  They fed on the dinosaurs, and proto-humans.  Now, the television soaked brains of modern youth.  Poisoned with information.  Too much to handle or process.  It enters the body through the syringe, pills, contaminated food, delicacies, and candy.  It burrows into the cavities, is absorbed through the skin, and is transmitted through radio waves.  We broadcast it, and rebroadcast it.  Photocopied conversations coat everything like a film.  Wash it off in the hot shower.  Words, letters and sentences run down the drain like centipedes.

The bum starts to cough so violently I expect to see a gentle sprinkling of blood on the newspaper blanket.  His bloated blue-green hands hold the sides of his head.  He starts to settle down.  The chittering click of the departure sign sings in the vibrating light of the station.  The pizza shop is closing.  The smell of the oven's sealed off behind an airtight gate.  Those few warm molecules were our only nourishment.  Now we gasp, gape our mouths, wirelike teeth straining the air for lingering particles.  When there is nothing left we are forced to venture out...into the city.

Don't Drink Coca-Cola!

Don't drink Coca-Cola, it's bad for your teeth, blood and hair.  It irritates the lining of the stomach.  It loosens bone marrow with it's gentle fizzing effect.  It causes brain bubbles, partial paralysis in seven major muscle groups, and can lead to dependency.  

Don't drink Coca-Cola, it's bad for society.  It liters the Earth with all things Coca-Cola.  A sign on the street.  A house in the mountains.  A can of Coca-Cola nine miles beneath the surface of the sea.  Coca-Cola cans on the moon, and orbiting other planets in distant galaxies.  

Don't drink Coca-Cola, its bad for the mind.  It may distort the truth.  It may plant false information.  It may cause your internal organs to become independent entities.  They will possess all the hopes and dreams, fears and worries that your brain now enjoys exclusively.  

Don't drink Coca-Cola, it's made from Mickey Mouse's tears.  It contains human blood.  It has 5mcg of LSD in every bottle.  It will make you murder your parents and worship satan.  It might help terrorist to construct new cities only to bomb them.  And it may make us vulnerable to attack from space.

For more information please go to www.coca-cola.co.uk/yourhealth/whats_in_our_drinks/

The Invisible Menace!

If you had the power to make yourself invisible, how long do you think it would take for you to turn to serious crime?  I was just watching a show about the Darwinian roots of morality and altruism.  Richard Dawkins was arguing that altruistic behavior is a beneficial trait that is handed down through Darwinian natural selection.  Other scientists and religious leaders were not convinced saying that altruistic behavior must go deeper than just a technique of passing on genes.  

The problem for the other scientists was that, in Dawkins' view, altruism was a veneer, and that underneath that people were bloodthirsty animals.  Things like generosity and sympathy were simply ways of getting mates and keeping the peace.  But once they were unnecessary man would revert to his natural method of getting what he wants.

Well, put it too the test yourself.  If you had the power to render yourself invisible what would you do?  I live in Japan, but many of my friends and family are at home in the United States.  I would be flying first class (invisibly, of course) to see them every other week.  Now that is stealing!

And what if there is a cute stewardess aboard the flight?  Of course, I would fly Singapore Airlines, and the likelihood of a beautiful stewardess would be rather good indeed.  So, would I try to look down her shirt or up her skirt?  Probably.  But on Singapore Airlines they wear very long dresses that show only the ankles, and are totally closed at the neck! I'll have to find out what the stewardesses are wearing on other airlines before I make my final decision. 

There you go, I'm invisible for one day and Im flying first class to New York with my head up some girl's skirt.  I can't afford a trip to New York at the moment so where will my money come from?  I could just stay invisible the whole trip taking what I want, but my friends and family would be terribly disappointed.  This disembodied voice talking to them from out of the blue, eating caviar and champagne cocktails at two in the afternoon.  I couldn't remain visible, and that means I would need money.  But how much, and whence?

I would have to steal money, which would be no problem as I've already been stealing, what with the flight and everything.  So where do I steal the money from?  Where would have the least impact.  A shop? No that's someone's livelihood.  A major corporation like Starbucks? No, I can see it now "Johnson! Your register is under today! Guards, seize him!"  Maybe one dollar from everyone on the street? No, that would take too long.  I can only make myself invisible, not alter time.

Ok that's it, I'm settled on the bank.  But how much do I need.  Ummmm... mayabe $400 would do it.  But there are piles of money just lying around here.  $10,000 is just as easy as $400.  Ummmm...and just think what I could do with that kinda scratch!

OK, so one day in I'm stealing international transportation, molesting young women (I never touched her!) and I'm a bank robber.  Keep in mind this is only day one.  So if you ever find yourself in the position to make yourself invisible tread softly.  These are dangerous waters, my friends.

Mr. R.J. Fibblesworthy

The sun rose quickly, draining the darkness from the sky and channelling the cool rivers of night to some foreign corner of the Earth.  Daybreak washed over the country side, spilling over the hills and flooding the meadows.  One by one the tiny houses were lit up, allowing the town to defrost into the slow sleepy movements of morning.  

One house in particular belonged to Mr. R. J. Fibblesworthy, the town idiot, and well known drunkard.  He had risen well before the sun, and was shouting from his window "AH HAAAA I've beaten you again, my old friend!  Yes! Here I stand in darkness to breathe in the first molecules of the day, untainted by your vile solar radiation!"  He shook his fist at the sun and slapped his large stomach as he laughed, letting it roll around his bones like the waves of a wading pool.  "Now then!  Off to the tavern for a bit of breakfast."

Fibblesworthy pushed the doors of the tavern open with one hand and stood momentarily surveying the empty room.  "Business not what is should be these days Mr. Mote?", he said gesturing to the empty chairs and tables.

"It's seven o'clock in the morning Mr. F."

"So it is my dear boy!"

"What'll it be then sir, your usual?"

"YES! Yes my dear boy, four fried toads and a gallon of your worst whiskey!"

"Mr. Fibblesworthy sir, you are the richest man in town.  You own this tavern and most of the buildings here abouts, why do you always order four fried toads and the worst whiskey when you can have anything you want?"

"Mind your business, boy! Or i'll have you skinned alive!"  Fibblesworthy became dizzy at this outburst and had to steady himself on the door frame. "Now, prepare my breakfast at once!"

...tune in next week for the stunning conclusion!