At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, March 09, 2017


It is a very good thing my apartment mate does not always voice what goes through her mind, because innocent bystanders might be shocked. Not only will she voice for the monkeys, but she also talks back at the television. Which surprises the monkeys, who are arguing about bananas.
This was not what they expected.

"There there", I will exclaim, thus continuing my long tradition of ineffective but comforting utterances, "there there".

They were convinced that what they truly needed was banana daiquiris. And bananas flambé. And banana wazzoo. Neither of the two flesh and blood creatures have met their requirements. All of this, more or less, pursuant a coworker of hers who has a mental thing for William Tell.
No, not the overture. William Tell and the apple.
Which oddly relates to European royalty.
I too get to hear strange things.
But I am used to it.


My apartment mate is extremely intelligent, but she's also a typical Asperger type. Which means that multiple strands of conversation will be restarted at odd moments, often when not expected. She is also somewhat anti-social, and rather shy, in consequence of which she expresses herself best when voicing for the stuffed animals, all of whom have distinct personalities, and strange food preferences.

So help me, I have NO idea what a banana wazzoo is.
Something tells me I had better not ask.
I'll be asked to provide it.

This evening my apartment mate was watching an old black and white teevee series while I surfed the internet for further evidence of the sheer ineptitude of our current government. At one point, a blonde was snogging, and my apartment mate hollered "aha, I knew she was a floozy!"
This had been preceded by voices arguing about bananas.
And was followed by the coworker.

She's actually quite sane, but conversationally multi-tasks. I flatter myself that only a genius could follow all of her different trains of thought.
Which would be me, of course, but it actually isn't difficult.
Monkeys: often present in the background.
Coworkers: quite a pain the gand.
Teevee blondes: messy.

I almost never talk about work or my colleagues. Though there are times when I would like to strangle someone. And I avoid both bananas and blondes. Bananas make me itch.

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