The Toast Burning, Knuckle Crunching, Bizarro Fire Creating Lunacy

Post CL

Here’s the story of a hamster, a Turkish man in a sauna, and Superman.

Dun-dun. Like a scene from 24. I’d presume, I’ve never seen it. A blissful summer morning, but that bliss was not to last. I smelled something funny, and no, it wasn’t the next-door neighbour’s wonderfully mysterious garage of mystery. It was something else. MY TOAST! Oh, no, no, no. Like a gazelle on cocaine riding a motorbike powered by the incredible pull of a black hole, somehow, I leapt from my chair in the front room and raced to the kitchen. I kicked open the door, and failed because it was closed and kicking a door open only works if it’s already open, so yeah, that hurt. Eventually, the door flung open and I looked in horror across the room. Smoke billowing like a Chinese hamster being forced to run to power the IT department. All from the toaster! Like Jack Bauer himself diving to protect someone important, I leapt through the air, finger pointing outward. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Said slowly, obviously. My finger hit the emergency stop button, also know at the manual toast release, and there it came, flying high into the air. It was free but it was badly burnt. My toast was dead. There was nothing I could do to save it. Sniff, it never had a chance, man. Goddamnit, I’m a murderer! Ah well, as is life…

That toast tasted awful, I’d like to point out. Tasted like licking the armpit of an overweight Turkish man who had been in a sauna for three and a quarter days. I’d imagine. It wasn’t nice, readers, is my point. I mean, I like my toast severely undercooked and with only a smattering of butter. So, bread then. I couldn’t even get more toast because there was no bread left. It was the last in the batch. One thing it had to do in its whole life. From its birth,  it was designed and designated to be eaten. And I’d robbed it of that. My poor toast cooking abilities had ensured its life was over. And that’s why I ate it! To give it what it always wanted. To help it fulfil its destiny.

I’ve only been alone for three days and I’m already talking to toast.

Mother and father left me this week for Portugal. I sure hope they’re coming back. It was for their 43rd wedding anniversary. I won’t get married. And stay married for 43 years. That’s a long time these days. My accident-prone ways will probably put her in harm’s way, for a start. I’ll probably be sitting on the toilet and the floor will give way, causing me, sitting on the toilet, to land in the front room, perilously close to crushing her. Then the bathtub would fall through the hole and that would crush her. No, I think the women of this world are safer staying away from me. Honestly, I’m like Superman. “I, I can’t tell you who I am, it will put you in danger.” “You, you can’t be with me – I don’t want a bathtub to crush you.” See? Just like Supes, I am. Without the tight underwear. Sadly.

Doesn’t mean I’m destined to a life of loneliness. I mean, I watched a rather interesting episode of ‘Watch the Frozen Food Cook in the Microwave’ this week. Which is, and you’ll never have guessed this, where you watch, right, food from the freezer, okay, cook, in the microwave. Ah, priceless entertainment. I was hungry. It may seem counterintuitive to watch food cooking if you are hungry, but it’s like the countless blood tests I get every year. I really don’t like blood but I really like watching. I’m a sadist, if anything. Although I will tell you this much, you can become too engrossed in goings on in microwave land. When it finished, I pressed the button to open the door. Of course, I forgot to move my head, so yes, I was nearly knocked out by a microwave door. That also hurt.

I’m not ashamed to admit that drew a little bit of blood. But only real men bleed. From, microwave – accidents. At least I haven’t managed to set myself on fire, yet. No, honestly, I’m doing really well this time, three days and no fire. Yea! Yeah, I’ve only set the oven hob on fire, but not me, no I’m fine. Sorry? Ah, yes, the, the oven hob things caught fire. I don’t know how I set metal on fire. I probably shouldn’t have been staring at it thinking, ‘How’s that happened?’ and probably shouldn’t been trying to put it out. You see, this is why I’m not a fireman, among many reasons, I’m sure. It burnt itself out. The kitchen is so cold even fires can’t last.

The heating won’t come on in the kitchen. You see, if this was my house, I’d hit the radiator with a spanner repeatedly until it came on, but it’s not my house, so I’m fairly limited as to what I could do. What I’ve decided to do, is… nothing. Well, it’s easier than doing… something. Honestly, it’s a miracle I’m still here, if anything. Somebody is clearly watching down on me. Or up on me. Probably the latter, knowing my luck.

It certainly sounds like I’ve had a tough start to my first few days of my week alone, judging by what I’ve written so far, readers. But don’t worry, that’s only half of the coin. Things weren’t always that great, they often got a lot worse. Migraines make me angry. Like the Hulk only slightly less green. I can’t think straight and my flaming lid flips. I took so many painkillers, and they didn’t do anything. Three migraines in 24 hours on Friday gone. The newest three additions to my 2014 migraine count, currently up to six. I have to keep track of them. Still haven’t managed to beat my best of 20 in 2013. Now that’s a record that’ll be hard to beat. I should really go to the doctors or a hospital, but you wouldn’t get me in either of those institutions even if I lost a limb painting the shed. Which may sound stupid, but I did once fall through a shed roof doing that.

I really wish I was making up at least some of this post, but sadly, I’m not making up any of it. I’m in absolute agony.

It’s somewhat my fault because I punched my bedroom cupboard in a fit of rage caused by the dizziness, confusion, swirly vision, throbbing, eye-watering head thumping hell, faintness, and retching. The painkillers were handy, ahem, because I didn’t have any idea how much my hand would hurt like hell the next day. I genuinely think I’ve done some really bad damage. My knuckles are bruised, but underneath the skin. I can barely move my hand. Which makes washing my hair a nightmare. I’ll be fine in a few months. I’m sure it’ll heal itself. Shame it’s my left hand. I do all the fun stuff with that one.

Yes, I’ve had an eventful week of toast burning, knuckle crunching, bizarro fire creating lunacy. What’s gonna happen to me next week, I wonder. Hmm, not looking forward to finding out, I must say…

English comedian, actor, writer, presenter and activist, Stephen Fry (b. 1957), once said: “You are who you are when nobody’s watching.”

Peace Out :|:

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the archives page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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