CONFESSIONS OF A MONSTER

When I got home this evening there was a line of stuffed animals on my bed with protest signs. Apparently I stank up the apartment last night with my culinary experimentation after twelve o'clock. And by then smoking a delicious pipeful of Samuel Gawith's Full Virginia Flake in the teevee room, surreptitiously, while my apartment mate slumbered.
Heck, her door was closed. How was I to know?
That she smells through walls and wood.
It's just Virginia!
Mild.


"Save our environment!" "Stop burning leaves, you fossil!" 
"Go outside to stink, white man!" "No more smoldering garbage!" "Throw it out, don't cook it!"
"Down with all Fume Fascists!"
"Save the Spotted Dick."


That last one was the head sheep. He's usually unclear on the concept. Besides having his own agenda. He feels that there should be parades in his honour, and we need to obey him.
Plus he wants suckies and ale.
Regime change!

This, more or less, explains why I'm somewhat hesitant about hunting for a woman to get all affectionate and loving with. She'd bring even more crazy furry critters into my life or my quarters, with their own peculiarities and demands, and without any doubt she'd side with my apartment mate and the furballs in the long-running battle to stop me stinking.

Especially if she was a Vegan; the meat odours would sicken her.
Or a spoiled blonde: all those strong flavours!
Or a fluffy twit: Barbie!

Possibly even a Hello Kitty freak. And there's only room for one Hello Kitty weirdo here, that being me. I've got a Hello Kitty backpack, which I refuse to share. It's the perfect size for half a dozen briar pipes, three or four tobaccos, Czech tools, and a really big thick stiff bundle of pipe cleaners. Not much, but all the fundamental necessities of life.
My Hello Kitty, my smoking requisites, my tobacco.
I'll happily share. But they're mine.
Remember that.

Anyway, when I questioned my apartment mate about the mini riot in my quarters, she was already in her room, reading in bed, with the door shut. She claimed complete ignorance of events.
It was, surely, a valid political movement?
Grass-roots democracy in action.

"I don't know what you mean, I've been reading in bed all evening, they're your roomies, you should listen to them, crazy round-eye. 
I'm just a sweet little Cantonese girl..."

When I voiced doubts about her veracity, she snarled "I'm innocent!"
"That's the problem with you white people; all paranoid!"
"The bear thinks so too. Respect the bear."

Well. Can't argue with that.

[Actually, one CAN argue with that. I seriously doubt that the wily Russian dude with the wheeled contraption whom she's seeing respects the bear, or believes that she just a 'sweet little Cantonese girl'. Not if he hears that both the ursine and the evil green frog are conspiring to push him off a pier.]


Any woman I end up dating will probably have her own bear as well.

Good chance both of them hate smoke and food.

I shall be totally hosed.

Darned bears.



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