Dystopian Mueurrggh

I couldn’t think of anything to write tonight. This is different from yesterday inasmuch as today is not the same day as yesterday.

Whoop.

And furthermore, whoop.

In an act of desperation I crossed the lego strewn rubicon separating the spare bedroom (where I write) from my bedroom (where my wife is relaxing like normal humans do on a school night at ten thirty instead of staring at a computer screen with the kind of loathing normally reserved for things of a highly loathsome nature. I bet there’s not even a modicum of self-hate or the slightest feeling of inadequacy worming its way into her psyche as we speak. She’s such a loser. Unlike me).

Where was I…ah yes the rubicon which isn’t really a rubicon as to be fair Caesar’s army didn’t have to deal with lego or indeed the strewn sword pieces that belong in the box of a pop-up pirate toy. The combination of that and shallow water would probably have been fine but against a parquet floor it’s a bastard on bare soles.

His die was cast, unlike mine which was embedded in my foot.

Enough of the rubicon. It’s a pointless reference given the fact that it signifies the point of no return and if, indeed, I had reached the point of no return by walking to the other bedroom I wouldn’t exactly be back here writing to you about it would I?

“Give me something to write about,” I demanded in a voice that was a lot more whiny, self-pitying and generally shit than I wanted it to be, before following it up with a more self-assured, “and none of that weather bollocks this time. No more torrential or thunder nonsense or I shall go about you with a stick.”

A single arched eyebrow shattered my stick.

Fnarr. Fnarr.

“River.”

“Mueurrrggh,” I replied sounding horribly like my five year old son.

“Ok, park.”

“Mueurrggh.”

“Ok, what about…”

“No. It’s fine. I just really like the word mueurrggh. So much so that I might use it as the title of the blog post.”

“As you wish,” said my wife in a voice that was too much like Caesar for my liking.

At this point let’s pretend that I didn’t start my stream of consciousness about river and park in the main bedroom. Let’s assume I reversed through the rubicon and ended up back in my vaguely uncomfortable chair, stuck on some Boards Of Canada and started writing it in a weird stream of consciousness style to you, O Lovely and Wondrous Reader.

*

All that remained of the park was a rusted see-saw and the memories of joyful laughter dripping from the branches of an oak tree that stubbornly refused to die despite the acid burrowing into its heart. There was a river here once but now even dosimeters would fear to tread its crusted channels. Yes, a dosimeter with actual legs. That’s how bad the radiation was. It may not have been able to kill a see-saw that is clearly only there to give a sense of loss in this somewhat pointless scene, and it may not have been able to kill an oak tree that now apparently has laughter dripping from its scarred, ancient branches but it was radioactive enough to give a set of legs to a dosimeter.

I shit you not.

Not only legs but a tiny pair of radioactivity detecting Doc Martens that inexplicably leave no footprints in the scorched earth of our disastrous future.

A lone cockroach scuttles diseasedly over the brown, cracked ground. It balks at the shadow cast from an improbable gourd that looks suspiciously like the Loki-cat that wiped out its entire bloodline by depositing them three or five at a time on the same wooden floors that were previously used in a dreadful rubicon based comparison by a man who may or may not be typing this.

The last thing that goes through the mind of the cockroach (ok, second last, its arse was the last thing) is whatever the cockroachian is for “Oooh! Look at that! A boot that looks just like the ones on that peculiar strip of plastic that seems to have no material purpose and yet has found a way to grow legs. Only bigger. Tarquin! Come and have a look at this! It’s just like a…”

A black feather falls to the ground.

*

Yes, that’s officially a pile of crap but it was fun so who cares.

Tune in next week for the first in a series of adventures starring Barry the Dosimeter-Footed Badger.

 

Header image: “Lego Brick”. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons – https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lego_Brick.jpg#/media/File:Lego_Brick.jpg

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6 thoughts on “Dystopian Mueurrggh

  1. Don’t you dare call this crap! I loved it! I know I say that a lot about your stuff BUT IT’S ALWAYS TRUE.

    “a see-saw that is clearly only there to give a sense of loss in this somewhat pointless scene” – I laughed out loud and nearly choked on the bite of banana I was chewing.

    See? Your writing is so good it could kill people.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Whatever I’m paying you it’s a complete bargain 🙂 It’s great to be able to swap comments with someone who has a similar sense of humour to my own – I see elements like the line you pointed out cropping up in both our work so from now on let’s ban bananas and not enter into some kind of blog based death pact. Deal?

      Seriously – thank you for always being so enthusiastic and generous in your comments. It means a lot and gives me a great boost to keep plugging away 🙂

      Like

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