I had a similar revelation and accompanying experience.
You see, it all started when I was down at the trainyard one day. There were hobos there, and I wanted to get some hobo opinions on current events. They're so much more opinionated and drunk than my actual friends, and their appearance makes me feel good about myself in contrast. This is why I make Murray hold a mirror when I am around him. It is also so I can call him Mirror Murray, or GET THE FUCK OVER HERE MURRAY for short.
So there I was, admiring my chestnut-colored-and-shaped locks in Murray's front when Trainyard Eustace comes over and decides he wants to make an example out of me for the 'Kill the Sheltereds' campaign he was running. He attempted to pike me - and pike me good - but I was too quick. I shoved my mirrored friend in the business path of the business end of the business pike (although Eustace often referred to it as the Pleasure Pike, for reasons we could only speculate).
Murray was, of course, killed, and the mirror was shattered, which symbolized several things. Murray's shattered dreams, Murray's shattered consciousness, the shattered mirror itself whose possession was also denoted to Murray; these things all came to mind, and then left, as was the trend for thoughts at the trainyard.
Eustace, who was not named after a character from the Narnia series, withdrew his pet rat, named Reepicheep, who was not named after a character from the Narnia series either, and they wept. They wept like women. The only woman at the trainyard, Firebarrel Wanda, wept too, but it was on the other side of the trainyard, and it was over something trivial, like food, or something; I really don't know, I was not present at the time.
The hobos had a funeral the next day, though I did not attend. I had prior plans, and these entailed taking off all my clothes and walking around. Oh, not to anywhere in particular, no, but I attached a pedometer to, uh, somewhere, and proceeded to walk around as much as possible, within the confines of my apartment. I had a home, you see, unlike these hobos. The afternoon really was quite enjoyable.
The lesson we can learn from all this is that while walking around naked may not be the "best thing you can do", it certainly beats a hobo funeral.
You see, it all started when I was down at the trainyard one day. There were hobos there, and I wanted to get some hobo opinions on current events. They're so much more opinionated and drunk than my actual friends, and their appearance makes me feel good about myself in contrast. This is why I make Murray hold a mirror when I am around him. It is also so I can call him Mirror Murray, or GET THE FUCK OVER HERE MURRAY for short.
So there I was, admiring my chestnut-colored-and-shaped locks in Murray's front when Trainyard Eustace comes over and decides he wants to make an example out of me for the 'Kill the Sheltereds' campaign he was running. He attempted to pike me - and pike me good - but I was too quick. I shoved my mirrored friend in the business path of the business end of the business pike (although Eustace often referred to it as the Pleasure Pike, for reasons we could only speculate).
Murray was, of course, killed, and the mirror was shattered, which symbolized several things. Murray's shattered dreams, Murray's shattered consciousness, the shattered mirror itself whose possession was also denoted to Murray; these things all came to mind, and then left, as was the trend for thoughts at the trainyard.
Eustace, who was not named after a character from the Narnia series, withdrew his pet rat, named Reepicheep, who was not named after a character from the Narnia series either, and they wept. They wept like women. The only woman at the trainyard, Firebarrel Wanda, wept too, but it was on the other side of the trainyard, and it was over something trivial, like food, or something; I really don't know, I was not present at the time.
The hobos had a funeral the next day, though I did not attend. I had prior plans, and these entailed taking off all my clothes and walking around. Oh, not to anywhere in particular, no, but I attached a pedometer to, uh, somewhere, and proceeded to walk around as much as possible, within the confines of my apartment. I had a home, you see, unlike these hobos. The afternoon really was quite enjoyable.
The lesson we can learn from all this is that while walking around naked may not be the "best thing you can do", it certainly beats a hobo funeral.
Firebarrel Wanda really killed the mood, I hear.
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