The boy put his hand into his sock that he just took off from his feet that he just took out of his shoes which he just got home from school in. Today, his teacher showed his class an educational video featuring sock puppet hosts，and he was really impressed with them and had been eager to go home to try it out.
His version of the sock puppet didn't look as nice as the ones on the video - it didn't have the fake button eyes and funky features made of felt cloth patches - it was plain and a bit greyish with dirt.
Suddenly, his sock spoke - as in, the voice was not in his head, but as in, a voice really came from his undecorated sock puppet (he knew it was real because the voice was louder when the sock was put closer to his ear and softer when pulled further away). The sock said to to the boy in a low voice,
"Kid, listen to me carefully. I have been waiting for this day for a long time. Look, I've transferred some of my taste buds to your hands. These are taste receptors that would send wireless signals back to me so that I know the taste of what you eat.
"I have been wanting very badly to taste food because the oven mittens told me - when we met in the laundry bin - that food here is great. And the oven mittens are so... hot. I mean...
"Ah, what the heck... to be honest, I have a crush on them. And I want to taste some food so that we would have something to talk about next time we meet. Your feet ain't quite the conversation point, you know.
"Anyway, all you've gotta do is to touch the food with your hands later. As in, use your hands to eat. My taste buds/receptors on your hands and fingers would transmit to me the taste signals of whatever you touch.
"The taste buds will probably make your hands smell slightly, and some suspect they're probably going to make you sick if you eat it... but no matter. Don't worry, we can take that risk together. So, regardless of what your mother says, YOU BETTER don't wash your hands before dinner.
"You also BETTER don't remove me - as in, the sock - until just before dinner time. And until then, in fact, until dinner time, you better don't dig your nose or scratch your backside. You can only go do all those funny things AFTER you wash your hands with dish-washing liquid (preferably mama lemon) AFTER dinner. That would deactivate the receptors.
"If you don't do as I say, I'm going to gnaw at your feet and give you one hundred and thirty blisters! I will torture you! GEDDIT, kid?"
The boy was really intimidated, because the sock puppet was talking, and had an low, creepy, authoritative voice, and was threatening him into do something his (hypochondriac and intimidating-in-her-own-right) mother is surely going to give him a good scolding for. And being really intimidated made him really, really regret choosing to play with the sock before going to pee.
Sunday, 25 October 2009
Monday, 19 October 2009
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Monday, 12 October 2009
Milk Thistle for the Liver
Somebody gave somebody a bottle of milk thistle supplements, and that latter somebody, in turn, gave the entire bottle to me and said,
"Apparently, it's good for the liver."
"But my liver is not bad," I said.
"You can't ever have a good enough liver," he said.
"Then why don't you keep it for yourself?" I said, "It's not very nice, you know... it was a gift to you..."
"My liver's too damaged, you know, from all those years of drinking and cigarettes," he said. "This thing won't have any effect on me."
"Well, it could do some damage control," I said.
"It's too late, and I won't eat it, so it's wasted on me," he said.
"Why not? Since 'one can't ever have a good enough liver'."
"Because I think life is boring, and life has no meaning, and I have simply no will to live."
This convinced me to quickly accept his offer and to take the milk thistle supplements dutifully... for fear that my liver gets as damaged as his.
"Apparently, it's good for the liver."
"But my liver is not bad," I said.
"You can't ever have a good enough liver," he said.
"Then why don't you keep it for yourself?" I said, "It's not very nice, you know... it was a gift to you..."
"My liver's too damaged, you know, from all those years of drinking and cigarettes," he said. "This thing won't have any effect on me."
"Well, it could do some damage control," I said.
"It's too late, and I won't eat it, so it's wasted on me," he said.
"Why not? Since 'one can't ever have a good enough liver'."
"Because I think life is boring, and life has no meaning, and I have simply no will to live."
This convinced me to quickly accept his offer and to take the milk thistle supplements dutifully... for fear that my liver gets as damaged as his.
Monday, 5 October 2009
A Story Seldom Told
I wanted to write a story today, but I had no idea.
Suddenly I heard a little voice, that was faint, but pretty clear.
"Then write a story about us, it's a story that's seldom told
About when the humans did not yet have feet included to its mold.
About when I was just a tortoise, minding my own sweet time,"
Said my left foot to me, in the following little rhyme,
"And about when an elephant came along, suddenly on my right.
You know, tortoises don't usually move so fast, so I got quite a fright,
Thinking that it would be the end of me if the elephant were to land
Too much of its weight on me that my shell wouldn't withstand.
But instead, the elephant picked me up, with its strong but gentle trunk,
With which I never really spoke, but for whom somehow I sunk
First into infatuation, and then it grew into love...
A tortoise with an elephant's trunk - it's unspeakably unheard of.
We went here and there and manywhere without the rest of the elephant knowing,
Until we were finally caught one day when we were out making
Excuses for us to go out to make excuses again...
Being caught dating a tortoise by your "parents" - how would you explain?
I suppose we didn't actually put forth a convincing case,
But we simply pledged our love, in front of the elephant's face.
Perhaps it was too surprised by our blatant disrespect
Of the obligatory embarrassment that it could reasonably expect...
Of a tortoise and its own trunk who wanted to be with one another,
Or perhaps it was moved by our sincerity altogether.
By the way, conveniently, the elephant was asked to finish the task
Of designing the humble human form that it would then unmask...
So, the elephant decided on the spot, to make me the left foot
And then it modelled a bit of its trunk to become the right foot..."
At this point I awoke to find my hands resting on the keyboard,
And this story that is on the screen as my only record,
Of how my left foot was a tortoise who was in love with an elephant's trunk,
Which is my right foot... I honestly don't at all recall being or getting drunk...
(sneak.)
Suddenly I heard a little voice, that was faint, but pretty clear.
"Then write a story about us, it's a story that's seldom told
About when the humans did not yet have feet included to its mold.
About when I was just a tortoise, minding my own sweet time,"
Said my left foot to me, in the following little rhyme,
"And about when an elephant came along, suddenly on my right.
You know, tortoises don't usually move so fast, so I got quite a fright,
Thinking that it would be the end of me if the elephant were to land
Too much of its weight on me that my shell wouldn't withstand.
But instead, the elephant picked me up, with its strong but gentle trunk,
With which I never really spoke, but for whom somehow I sunk
First into infatuation, and then it grew into love...
A tortoise with an elephant's trunk - it's unspeakably unheard of.
We went here and there and manywhere without the rest of the elephant knowing,
Until we were finally caught one day when we were out making
Excuses for us to go out to make excuses again...
Being caught dating a tortoise by your "parents" - how would you explain?
I suppose we didn't actually put forth a convincing case,
But we simply pledged our love, in front of the elephant's face.
Perhaps it was too surprised by our blatant disrespect
Of the obligatory embarrassment that it could reasonably expect...
Of a tortoise and its own trunk who wanted to be with one another,
Or perhaps it was moved by our sincerity altogether.
By the way, conveniently, the elephant was asked to finish the task
Of designing the humble human form that it would then unmask...
So, the elephant decided on the spot, to make me the left foot
And then it modelled a bit of its trunk to become the right foot..."
At this point I awoke to find my hands resting on the keyboard,
And this story that is on the screen as my only record,
Of how my left foot was a tortoise who was in love with an elephant's trunk,
Which is my right foot... I honestly don't at all recall being or getting drunk...
(sneak.)
Friday, 2 October 2009
Talcum moonwalk
When my brother and I were children, one of our games involved pouring lots of talcum powder on the floor until it's slippery enough for us to skate around the room.
Our grandmother who took care of us, and who was entrusted with the general responsibility of inculcating common sense in us, would pretend to be upset if she were to catch us wasting talcum powder and another person's efforts to have to clean it up afterwards. So, if we were to have a "skating-fest", we would have to sneak a chance - for example, when she was just starting to prepare a meal in the kitchen, or when she was going out to the market. To create a reason to account for traces of powder on the floor, since we weren't prepared to clean up after ourselves in any circumstances, we might have dashed some powders at our neck, to pretend that we had indeed intended to apply the powder properly, but "oops. How clumsy of us to spill so much powder."
I suppose it was a lame excuse, but at that time, it seemed like she bought it, as long as our excuses were elaborated enough. On hindsight, she might have thought that an elaborate excuse was indicative enough of a common-sensical understanding that pouring powder on the floor was unacceptable.
At times, we might have improvised, for example, to play a challenging game of pepsi-cola on the slippery floor, or compete on who could slide the furthest with one stride. Sometimes, we would have practised the moonwalk.
It was a time when Michael Jackson was cool and we would try to stand on our toes and tip the hats around and look for one glove to wear. We would also try to lean forward as far as possible while standing on a spot and pour talcum powder on the floor to do the moonwalk...
Well, now, Michael Jackson is dead.
I read an article about how he underwent some radical medical treatment to extend his life expectancy to 500 years...
If even Michael Jackson is dead, then I suppose it must be time for us to grow up.
Our grandmother who took care of us, and who was entrusted with the general responsibility of inculcating common sense in us, would pretend to be upset if she were to catch us wasting talcum powder and another person's efforts to have to clean it up afterwards. So, if we were to have a "skating-fest", we would have to sneak a chance - for example, when she was just starting to prepare a meal in the kitchen, or when she was going out to the market. To create a reason to account for traces of powder on the floor, since we weren't prepared to clean up after ourselves in any circumstances, we might have dashed some powders at our neck, to pretend that we had indeed intended to apply the powder properly, but "oops. How clumsy of us to spill so much powder."
I suppose it was a lame excuse, but at that time, it seemed like she bought it, as long as our excuses were elaborated enough. On hindsight, she might have thought that an elaborate excuse was indicative enough of a common-sensical understanding that pouring powder on the floor was unacceptable.
At times, we might have improvised, for example, to play a challenging game of pepsi-cola on the slippery floor, or compete on who could slide the furthest with one stride. Sometimes, we would have practised the moonwalk.
It was a time when Michael Jackson was cool and we would try to stand on our toes and tip the hats around and look for one glove to wear. We would also try to lean forward as far as possible while standing on a spot and pour talcum powder on the floor to do the moonwalk...
Well, now, Michael Jackson is dead.
I read an article about how he underwent some radical medical treatment to extend his life expectancy to 500 years...
If even Michael Jackson is dead, then I suppose it must be time for us to grow up.
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