Category: Straitjacket: V-17X

Pill Box of Shame – 15:23GMT

Pill box of shame, submit to taxi dreams of leather quarters, hear?! Accepting the quotation margin of the small-minded mink stole party is only half of the equation. Forfeit a couple sidewinders for a shrimp on the barbie; you’ve lost your butter balloon figure. Exact your vengeance upon a bladder of light gas. What’d it do to you, you ask? Floated around my face and laughed at me, it did, told me I couldn’t fly. I popped that jackal crackler right then and there.

Is that why I wound up in here? Because I popped a damn balloon?! No, that can’t be it. But then again, I wouldn’t put it past you, you arbitrary—glorious, all-knowing—overlords. Good one, guys. So hey, would you mind pumping some music into this cell? Something avant-garde would be downright decent of ya.

I really wish I could use my arms.

Amish – 07:07GMT

Leave it to the Amish to make daily life more of a chore than ever before. I don’t know why I had such an itch to live the way my ancestors used to, but I know for certain that they would have picked an easier way to light the house and prepare food–if presented with a choice. I was so spoiled by the modern conveniences afforded to me by science and a free market economy that I failed to see the value of an Amish-esque leap of faith. I’d taken those marvelous comforts for granted as I skittered along my daily schedule, not a minute wasted, making all I could out of a dubious practice.

Eh. I genuinely am relieved that I don’t have to be a part of that ridiculous rat race these days. It was even more of a chore than the labor-intensive Amish regimen. But if I could just make use of my arms, that would make this feel more like vacation than prison. I’m just saying… And could you please dim the lights if that’s at all possible? I don’t ask for much.

Anyway, to simply engage in that dubious practice of selling time for the shackles of currency is one thing, but to embrace such a hectic outlook is a disgrace all of its own.

And that’s exactly where I found myself on the morning where my car broke down on my way to ten soul-crushing hours in the tiny cubicle I call my second home. Calling the tow truck, a horse and buggy rattled past me and I thought, “now here’s the kind of living I can get behind!” So I flagged them down and hopped right in without asking permission. They didn’t even flinch.

I was quickly initiated into their rustic ways, and the first couple weeks were life-altering. After a couple more weeks, I began to grow tired of such a humdrum and back-breaking existence, but was then informed that the contract I signed–which I thought was fishy, but I signed it in good faith–bound me to the Amish lifestyle for the rest of my life.

But now I’m here in this rubber room talking to myself all day long for lack of anything else to do, likely being studied by a combination of the US government and power-hungry extraterrestrials blackmailing Washington into doing their bidding. Which reality is worse? I’ll have to think about it.

God, I really wish I could use my arms.

Stilt Mentality – 14:55GMT

Let me impart some wisdom here, o merciful captors of the highest order. Considering that you’ve let me flap my gums unabated, I probably don’t need to request your permission, but I do like to exercise my manners from time to time. Anywho, brown nosing won’t get me anywhere anyway.

Instill the stilt mentality, walk higher than most without extensions and greet the lovely beings who used to be just out of reach. Examples include, but are not limited to: squirrels, crows, sparrows, cardinals, pigeons, and the occasional parakeet. On one particular occasion you may think you’ve run across a raccoon, but after fifteen minutes of observing how it hasn’t moved one iota the entire time, you come to the conclusion that this minuscule member of the bear family is just an elaborate trick of light.

Your stilts are strong, able to withstand a wide range of climatic changes until deep Winter sets in. These stilts–and most other stilts out there–do not fare well in the bitter frost snap you might find as a local of Chicago or Fargo or St. Paul in those early months. Do not–let me insist–do not inhabit such weather on stilts–at least this particular model–or your quality of life will rapidly diminish, possibly ending in personal extinction.

There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to embody a certain ideal for height consciousness in the frigid playground, but beware! Each second exposed to the short days’ elements removes three seconds from the potential remainder of your life. Always ensure that you are carrying a stopwatch with you.

Do not trust my words. Do not trust a single thing I’ve said to date.
Is this all for naught?
I really wish I could use my arms.

Dragon – 12:32GMT

You would bet the farm on an unlimited supply of meatloaf and meatloaf substitute, would you not? I can tell whenever protein-rich diner favorites predominate people’s minds; I can just see from the look in their eye, and indeed simply from their thought patterns. I acquired this infallible skill from a dragon I met on my way through Spain. He was a kind old creature, and I’m not sure why people insist on calling dragons brutish fire-breathing destruction machines. Most dragons don’t even have the capability for breathing fire! Only a tenth of all dragon species have evolved that annoying feature, and they are actually some of the kindest, wisest dragons of them all. Sorry to debunk that myth of fire-breathers being unscrupulous killers, but–wait, no I’m not! That’s an unfair stereotype that has stigmatized the entire dragon family tree for far too long.

Anyway, I digress. The Spanish dragon who taught me how to instantly judge a person’s desire for meatloaf–and meatloaf substitute–simply imbued me with the gift. He was advanced in years, and had developed the ability of granting individuals one random skill. And in order to prevent these skills from becoming novelties or parlor tricks, this dragon has ensured that the recipient of said random skill becomes, unambiguously, the world’s best practitioner of it–for all time, might I add.

There is a trick to this dragon’s wisdom and generous gift–as always–you must be the one to find out which skill you’ve been given; it will not be told. Needless to say, it took me some time to figure out just what it was. I’m still not 100% sure if I’ve gotten the skill completely correct, but I know for sure that I’m able to accurately gauge someone’s distinct level of desire for meatloaf and meatloaf substitute, and that’s good enough for me, dammit.

But back to the topic at hand here: why are you, my beloved captors, so goddamn obsessed with meatloaf, anyway? Also, are you really just interested in meatloaf substitute? I’m unable to differentiate between the desire for the original dish and the hippie version, much to my displeasure. Stupid dragon.

But since I’m getting such a strong meatloaf reading from you guys, I can only assume that you’re of the human persuasion. Unless you’ve assimilated into the human culture so much that you’ve genuinely developed cravings for our comfort food. This conspiracy must go all the way to the top, sweet Christ.

I really wish I could use my arms.

World Economy – 09:15GMT

Nothing makes a lick of sense these days, with the economy flying about like it owns the world, declaring “I know the solution to all problems on Earth. All everyone needs is a stiff cup of coffee and a slap on the back every once in a while, even once daily if possible.”

Now, the world economy can’t actually speak for itself, but you get the gist of it at least. Coffee plays a role in creating the world’s problems through its cultivation and harvest, and through roasting and brewing it because the world’s savior. The stronger the resulting beverage, the more likely the world will be saved due to its consumption.

A nice dark roast would be really nice, guys. Just keep that in mind the next time you feed me.
My T-zone feels dry. Is there any way I can get someone to moisturize it?
I really wish I could use my arms.

Party Scene – 22:09GMT

Ah, the old party scene–jumbled oxymorons come standard, usually revealed as anecdotes directed at unwilling audience members while a belligerent man of means whips out his… billfold and graces us with his… financial stability–for at least a few minutes. Then he dashes off to some other event, leaving his words to be digested like a goblet of substandard table wine–red, just red–and a can of shitty baked beans.

The kitchen, meanwhile, takes some uncommon patience, the wages not justified for the bodily exertion if you want people to come back to your particular eatery. Business plows forward every day, unaware of the human element, the possibility of crashing and burning starkly inevitable.

Worker ants file into their high rises, readily subjugated for profit.

You guys wouldn’t know anything about the perpetuation of that particular paradigm, now would you? No, of course not.

I really wish I could use my arms.

Band Names – 11:11GMT

I really wish I could use my arms… Oh well. What else, what else…

I remember those times in college where my friends and I would sit around for hours–on one substance or another–laughing our asses off as we came up with names for the indy rock band we were always meaning to start but were too lazy to actually do anything about it. I recall that I was the best one at coming up with them, which didn’t surprise me, since I was the only English major among us. I didn’t have it down to an exact science, but there was an improvisational quality to it, like catching lightning in a bottle.

And now, if you’ll let me (and of course you’ll let me, my infernal conquerors), I will recite a list of indy rock band names for your pleasure–or displeasure. I don’t really care about your opinion on the matter. Go ahead, punish me. Ha!

Tumblestiltskin
Belfast Breaklast
Bragadelphia
Gopher Module
September Badger Fire
Thermometer Blues
Frenzy Salmon
Salmon Frenzy
Take Forever After
Filteropolis
Gravel Health
Gnome Pants: They’re Just Painted On
Fibrous Being
Semper Fly
Gifted Flight Attendant
Tambourine Massacre
The Trouble with Oscar
Piston Piston-Piston
Bother Pillows
Gazette
Distance Spread
Temple Wandering
Foam River
Too Risky Nevertheless
Stealth Canister
Boulder Trappings
Voracious Treader
Stencilwaukee
Pony Express Quarterly
Filth and Vinegar
Absolutely Air Pollution
Bankrupt Bancroft
Ain’t Necessarily Snow
Self-Degradation: WITH REAL CHEESE!
Four-Liter Cola
Tell Me Yesterday (About Tomorrow)
Several Unopened Packages
Criterion Contradiction
It Takes a Pillage
Inept Acquiescence
Unprecedented Wealth of Shit

I know you’re impressed, my bodiless, faceless, nameless authority figures! I’ll bet there’s not a single other person involved in your sick little game who can name that many band names off the top of their head.

How about you put a shot of espresso in my shake the next time I wake up?

Deal?

I’ll take that silence as a yes.