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mys-adventures. |
03.05.2004 |
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through the scummed-up window of an old, independent children’s bookstore the hardy boys stared back at me from behind a large cardboard rock. with bated breath, i snapped an empty altoids tin closed, shoved it back into my pocket, and waited behind a real-life large rock. waiting... for their signal. after several four-minute-increments passed without even the slightest wink. . . it had become apparent that at least one of the following was attributing to our ill communication:
*the hunch-ful ‘brothers’ are still hunched over, patting each others’ asses over their previous mysterious-adventure... the “miraculous” unveiling of “the mystery of the cloaked middle-eastern woman” (volume 217).
*or, our walkie-talkies had been reduced to a static fuzz. since we couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet apart, this was either due to: the piss of a snuggles bear on my earpiece. the thought of which, to be honest, made me feel a little woozy. or... it may have had something to do with that large, three-story tall magnet that half the town was carrying past my rock, down the street.
*or, maybe, the hardy boys, as earlier suspected, are indeed cardboard. like the rock they’re standing behind. and, thus, cannot make any movements.
well, that’s it. i’ve had it with the hardy boys. look at them. just standing there. in that bookstore. behind that cardboard rock. in that stupid looking-over-your-head pose that simon and garfunkel made famous on their ‘bridge over troubled water’ album. look, the hardy boys aren’t even moving. no signals. just beady eyes staring back at me. just like raccoon eyes when they’re scrounging about behind cardboard rocks... ready to do something dramatic...
...perhaps, to chase after you until you tire... then either do whatever they do to transfer the malarian genes or... the malaysian jeans. but you never know which. those rodents! picking your poisons. rushin’ your roulette. why couldn’t they just give you a good turkey sandwich... spray you with some hideous fuchsia ink. that turns invisible (phew), but makes you sticky like honey—all over—for several four-hour-increments?
how was i supposed to know when to move into position? clearly, working with the hardy boys was one make-a-wish that i would’ve been better off not making. and, if not for already having been stricken with cervical cancer... my neck-canting around this real-life rock would have stricken me with it, anyway. damn you cancer. and your many ways...
my eyes stayed, stuck like honey, on the teenage sleuths. praying for some sort of sign. and, just then. the middle-aged bookseller, the sexy-dressed, sexually-repressed mrs. robinson... breezed past the cardboard rock. frank hardy, peeking over beady-eyed joe’s head, quivered slightly.
was this it? was this the sign? god... i think this is it. this is my time of action! i jumped out from behind the rock. wait. what was i supposed to do. hardy boys: you never told me what i was supposed to do! i look like an idiot in front of this whole magnet-toting town. goddamnit, i hate the hardy boys. |
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| 6:01 am |
sui generis said this. |
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| more frequent updates? |
yes, yes, children. we are back! be sure to sign up at the mailing list below to receive notices on phrensick updates.
we will be updating our list shortly to those of you IDIOTS that checked up on the site while we were on an eight-month hiatus! |
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sick of visiting phrensick and seein' the same old un-updated site? well, join the mailing list and be alerted to new posts.
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god, phrensick's always on the cusp of technology. |
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| POLL |
last night, phrensick polled the current 40-man roster of the MILWAUKEE BREWERS to find out their favorite and least favorite posts.
2003 Milwaukee Brewers favorite post:
XANDER'S "Owimoweh, Owimoweh."
2003 Milwaukee Brewers least favorite post:
SUI GENERIS'S "Popcorn Carts."
(poll was taken of the seven players that returned their questionnaires) |
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| response to POLL |
all i have to say to the milwaukee brewers: sarcasm and base hits... who would've guessed the brew crew couldn't get either?
~sui generis |
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