Monday, January 16, 2023


For some reason I thought a lot about people I used to know in Valkenswaard when I was still there. Old classmates. Anita, Annette, Astrid. Barbara ('Baps'), Bertina ('Bertje'). Bob, Freek, Herman, Jos, Sebastiaan, Thomas. Et mult altres. The first girl in that list would kick me fiercely in the shins (grammar school) whenever I voiced my distaste for her nasty younger brother, who was probably a psychopath and may be in jail. High school was a slice of reality also, with various unbalanced teenagers. Many people become more loosely moored during that period of their life -- hormones and sugar -- and several people never grow out of it. In the United States they often become loud football fans and are unbearable till they die.

Yesterday and the day before that was irritatingly evident.

Screaming, shouting, and the wetting of boxers.

Winter would be semi-tolerable if it weren't for sportsfans, floods, hearing about the fabulous skiing at Tahoe, sleet, stormsurges, and influenza. In an ideal universe at least two of those would be taken away. The first one definitely.

Regarding floods, despite text messages last week warning me of imminent danger, I'm okay with that. I live on a hill, so the polar ice caps would have to melt before it impacted me.
Well, other than garbage removal, probably. Without trash pick-up, there would be croaked sportsfans all over the place, faded and defunct. Drained and exhausted from screaming all day, they fell asleep after drinking too much and died in the night, and are now covered with a dense layer of snow and rain and empty beer cans. Early morning commuters stumble over them, spilling half of their Starbucks frappospressies on their way to the watertaxis that will take them downtown to their job at Glibbiter Inc. and Pirate Rape Finance.

Massive floods would probably impact garbage services.

The raccoons and coyotes would feast. Raccoons here in the North East Quadrant, Coyotes out in the Marina. The seagulls are just in Union Square, fortunately.

In fact, raccoons will be happily snuggled up in their coverlets, when they hear yet another football fan fall over with a wet soggy plop, bloated from junkfood and beer, and they'll say to themselves "nah, I'll pass, they smell rotten", then go back to sleep. Because many fans are like ambulatory garbage bags, and their credit cards are all maxxed out anyway from orgies at the sportsbar. And they're not worth harvesting organs from for the black market.
The liver and kidneys are all damaged from over-indulgence.

Raccoons need pizza. The sportsfans ate it all. Bounders!
I think I'll spend all day under the covers today.

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