Monday, August 18, 2014

Apocalypse Is Now, Through Social Media

It was year 2015. I was already running late to see a friend of mine. We'd always create an event of meeting each other in Goggle Foods restaurant on Thursday afternoon to reminisce about old times. Particularly events that have occurred on Thursdays.

I finally made my way to the restaurant where my friend was waiting for me. He had an impatient look on his face and was ready to use a messenger to message me.

"What is app, dude!" I greeted him.

"Hi. Finally. I was beginning to think you wouldn't even make it in time for the #FFs tomorrow," he joked.

"Sorry, got a bit caught up in an argument. Someone's been tagging me and I didn't like it. No #comment. I've unfriended and blocked them now so I hope it's gonna be alright."

A waitress approached. She was wearing cool glasses even though her sight was perfect.

"#Greetings, can I take your order? Currently trending are #PancakesReportedForSpam, ten times shared #InstaRisotto, and our speciality, #Kim'sLard," she offered.

"No, #ThankYou. I'd like this 140 character #sushi with a brightened up Valencia filter on it, an #AppleJuice, looped ten times, and a glass of loved #redvino," I said.

"And for you, #sir?" she asked my friend.

"Let's see... I'll take a #decent #spaghetti, twice reblogged, an eyeOS salad with the recent 11.1 update and a cheeky DM to drink."

The waitress wrote it all down on her tablet and disappeared behind a corner.

"Man, this is my favourite place. Loved it ever since I've stumbled upon it five years ago. I would give it a thousand likes if I could. But the #prices have gone way up recently. Food's cheaper on #Nile now."

"Tell me about it. It gives me a sad emoji. Economy's gone to shit since @improvidentgareth55 became President. I regret retweeting him during the elections. I've pinned my hopes on him. I would have retweeted @damien_shrewd now if I could."

"Oh well, his #selfies and #programme were convincing, AND he was advertising the newest 5.4 GreenRobot software," I gasped and we both dived into our phones to check BassFeet news. 

Wednesday, August 13, 2014


A scruffy and jaded looking man asked for another shot of whiskey.

"You sure you want more of those, Jim?" asked the barman with an intonation of a man who has grown accustomed to repeating this phrase over and over again.

Jim just motioned with his hand towards the empty glass in front of him with an equally trained gesture. It was more of a reflex, really.

If you woke him up in the middle of the night he could still order a shot of whiskey flawlessly.

"You haven't told me why you came back," said the barman. It was a late Thursday afternoon and the crowd was sparse. Lack of better options convinced the barman to pick up the conversation again.

"What?" asked Jim. He almost looked up from his glass. He was in his fourties and he was tired. His neck was muscular from looking up from his glass and asking for another shot of whiskey.

"You've told me you left this place 20 years ago. You said you traveled a lot. But you came back here. Why?"

"I don't know. Who the fuck cares?" Jim asked as he played with his glass of whiskey. If he was a glass he'd be filled with bitterness.

Jim wasn't a wordsmith. He wasn't even a wordsmith's apprentice. Not anymore, anyway.

He emptied the glass and asked for another. The barman complied.

"Besides," Jim continued, "Like I said, I don't know. I guess maybe I wanted to see what changed here over the years."

"And what do you think? 20 years is a lot of time."

"No shit," Jim replied as he was adjusting himself on the bar stool. "Barely recognize this old shithole. Coffee shops and whatnot everywhere. Who the fuck drinks so much coffee?"

"Young people and hipsters. And young hipsters," said the barman as he was drying up glasses with a towel.

"What the fuck is a hipster? There's more coffee shops than bars or food stores."

Jim had no time for the youth. He knew exactly how much of a twat he was in his day.

"Those young pricks never change. They stay the same, just go different ways about their twatishness," he said, "World around them changes. Circumstances change. But at their core they're always tedious little prats until they grow up and see shit in different light. Get some perspective, you know. That doesn't happen till they walk out of that coffee shops and stop wearing stupid clothes and sitting with their faces stuck in a fucking phone and whatever that fucking silver plank is. It's got an apple logo on it."

Jim now hated coffee, stupid clothes, technology and apples. He had a great capacity for hating things. You couldn't beat him at a game of hate. Disdain and contempt were his forté.

"Pour me another round," he said to the barman. "Probably my last one for tonight. Life's tiring when you have to deal with so much shit around you. I think I came back here 'cause I remembered it to be a quiet place. You could fucking think here. And now? Strange noises and commotion and those," he clenched his fist slightly, "fucking coffee shops on every damn corner. This town has got like everywhere else. Looks like them, is like them. Fuck originality, huh?"

He received his whiskey and downed it instantly. He put down his final empty glass for tonight with an expertise of a seasoned drinker. He threw a bill on the counter and left without saying a word.

He'll probably be back tomorrow. If not in this bar, then another one. If not in this town, then somewhere else. It's all the same now, anyway.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Jack Slink's Untimely Departure From The Land Of The Living

"What happened to the poor bastard?" a woman in a black dress asked a man standing next to her among a crowd of people wearing black clothes.

It was a funeral. A dozen of men and women have gathered around a freshly-dug ditch.  

"They say young Jack 'Slinky' Slink had an accident," he replied, without raising his eyes from the coffin that was being brought inside the cemetery.

"Died of severe head trauma, or something," his friend standing to the right pitched in with further explanation.

"And his intestines got tangled up, or something," a man standing to the left added. 

They haven't said anything else for a few moments. The coffin was being slowly placed inside the ditch by three men – six feet in total. 

"He was reckless, no two ways about it," one of the men said after the pause. "Used to toy with danger. Sooner or later it would catch up with him."

"Nah, I heard he got mixed up in some shady business," another woman approached the conversing group. "You know, drugs and alcohol. I saw him tripping a few times. It finally got to him. He was feeling empty inside, he once told me. He wanted out. Some mobsters chased him down and pushed him down the stairs. He couldn't handle it. They made it look like an accident," she said.

Nobody replied. They didn't know Slinky that well. Most of them only made a passing acquaintance as they saw him rolling up and down the streets, trying to get by. Slinky, a stunt performer, played in many low-key movies where the paycheck wasn't overly fat.

"Pretty ironic he died in spring, huh?" a man offered, to relieve the awkward silence.

"What's ironic about that?" the first woman asked as she adjusted her hat.

"It's Slinky we're talking about here." 

The coffin was finally put inside the ditch. Bruce Springsteen's song stopped playing. The priest said some things nobody listened to and they left, grieving for another half an hour.

Helen's Goulash Sunday In Danger?

"Listen, Helen. I can't let you do that," he said, while removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt's cuffs. He put his suitcase against the wall. He had just returned from work. He was going to sit in front of a dinner that she made for him. It was a huge pile of meat of some description. He was hungry and, after all, he was a dinosaur.

"Why not, Terrence?" she asked, while putting on a pink tracksuit, ready to go out.

"Remember what happened last time you took 'em out for a walk?" he asked his wife, while examining his delicious meal.

"I remember, I do. It doesn't mean it will happen again!" she tried to convince her husband while plugging in the earphones into her iPod.

"What if it meets another one if its kind again? You want a war? You know how they are. Just killin' each other all the time. Gotta keep them in check," he reasoned while munching on a huge piece of thigh with a bone sticking out.

"Okay, Terrence, you're right. I just wanted them to get some workout before we invite Tawney and Richard for Sunday dinner. I want my goulash to be the best ever," she said, and looked at a dozen of humans sleeping in separate cages.