ADJUNCT CRASH COURSE PODCAST 3!

STREAM THAT SHIT

“Chuck Liddell, The Ostrich, and The Rape Room”

our supervisor
got a bird nose,
long neck and big fat butt
that juts
out
when she walks

we call her “The Ostrich”
but never to her face

The Ostrich carries clipboards
and deducts salaries

we poke our heads up from cubicles
like gophers, whenever she makes the rounds
her appearances always causing instant silence

every day
she seemingly appears from thin air
you never see her coming

but when she does
she'll often pull people into a backroom

usually those who go there never return
but if they do
they look like zombies
pale, with dead eyes

we call it the rape room
no one really knows what happens back there

one day The Ostrich
went up to this new employee
maybe to bring him to the rape room

this guy was scary looking
fucking scary looking
looked kinda like Chuck Liddell
so we called him “Chuck Liddell”
but never to his face

motherfucker had a mohawk,
piercings and tattoos everywhere
always sat alone during breaks
looked like he just got out of prison

The Ostrich said something to him
and he calmly peered around the room
stood up and wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve

the entire office was totally transfixed
fucking transfixed
and the already soft volume on the floor faded
like someone'd turned down a TV

I imagined Chuck Liddell
throwing a right cross
connecting squarely
on The Ostrich's big ass bird nose
and her big ass bird nose flying right off her face
and the bitch crumbling to the floor
and hovering on hands and knees,
searching for it
like Mike Tyson vs Buster Douglas
circa 1990

but Chuck Liddell didn't throw a punch
instead he reached into his pocket
and I thought for a second
he's gonna whip out a gun
and shoot everyone

but actually
he broke out a box of tic tacs
and gave one to The Ostrich
and smiled
flashing his rotted teeth
and sat back down

the entire room stayed quiet
everyone looking around at each other
perplexed

and the janitor
an old skinny black guy
who was emptying out a wastebasket
near Chuck Liddell's desk
stopped for a second
and looked over at me
with bloodshot eyes
and he looked over at Chuck Liddell
and then looked over at The Ostrich
and he just chuckled a bit, shook his head,
and went back to work

Think My Cat Is Gay

“I’m not Jesus” claims my cat

(the very very very very angry cat story)


2.28 am

My cat gets angry with me over a previous dispute about mackerel or something equally as tedious.


2.29 am

I offer him his favourite biscuits.(plop plops)


2.30am

He sighs .Farts.


2.41am

I perform a little Irish jig to cheer him up, get the neighbours involved.


2.55am

He begins giving me the evil eye.


2.56am

I attempt to reason with him.


2.58am

He growls.


2.59am

I growl back.


3.00am

He gives me the finger, twice.


3.08am

I give him the v sign, plus, I give him the finger. (clever huh?)


3.11am

He sharpens his claws on the scratch post.


3.12am

I sharpen mine with a cheese grater I happen to have handy at the time.


3.14am

He spits. Drools.


3.15am

I giggle for a time.


3.16am

He kneels in a prayer position.


3.17am

I copy him, think it looks kinda groovy, relaxing.


3.18am

He breathes slower.


3.19am

So do I.


3.20am

I mention something random about him seeming like Jesus

tonight. Ya know..that well known trouble maker from the Middle East. I think nothing of it.


3.21am

He raises his sweaty paw in a violent manner.



3.22 am

This is what he says to me in street speak-




“ You ain’t nothing but an idiot bro, yo’s a retard, stupid, moron, arsehole, loser, dumbitch, fool, fag, jackass, fucktard, pussy slut, homo, poser, dickhead, dumbfuck…


…yo’s a noob brooo,

a wild wild wild wild fucker I sayz,

jerk, prick, cunt, twat, slut…


..are you blazed dude,..Blazed?

…are you tripping snaaakkke?

Baked?

Blitzed?

Stupid? Gone wrong? Twisted?

Boomed, well out of it?


Are you Ugly bitttchhh?…..


…are you fucked to shit me man? fucked in the mental? fucked stupid? fucked out your tree man?....


….are you fucked 6 ways to Sunday man?...

…..I’ve told you already I AM NOT THE MESSIAH!

please don’t mention it again.”



He pretty much calmed down after that, put on his smoking jacket,

had a quick toke of his favourite spliff and returned to his cat basket

for the duration of the evening.


Advice To (George) My Cat


I advised my cat yesterday to stop napping and go get a life.

This is what happened..


He punched me in the face several times over with a clenched paw, and I fell awkwardly, desperately snatching at the red cotton curtains in my study, ripping them clean off the rails.


Just as I managed to collect myself again, thwack!!

He landed an upper cut square on my jaw.

(by this time he had moseyed over to his basket, sponged down his forehead ‘n’ ears, and laced up his furry white boxing gloves).


Strangely, and at the precise moment the last punch came,

(which happened to be a belter by the way) a peculiar looking bird,

not dissimilar to a pheasant, except that it lacked that pheasanty swagger, popped its head through the serving hatch adjacent to where I was laying. He said he would be more than willing to act as referee, so long as we fought by the Marquis of Queensbury rules.


We both agreed.


At about 7pm(EST) Cyril the squirrel and a whole fat bunch of badgers, possums, and somewhat notorious woodland creatures

entered my garden, now licensed, and fully equipped with cocktail lounge, confederation standard boxing ring, cabaret stage and go go dancers.


We fought a fierce battle


Round 5


George came at me like a cat possessed, frighteningly reminiscent of Mike Tyson (in the match where he chewed part of Holyfield’s ear off) biting down hard on my chin, hissing and clawing me in private areas.


I managed to hold him off for a while and after seeking help from my manager, Frankie the fox (Don King had already snapped up George and molded him into the animal he was), began lunging at him wildly and on occasion practicing my drop kick technique.



27 seconds before the bell goes



George however, never missing an opportunity caught me off guard for a split second with a devastating haymaker sending me cart wheeling out of the ring, past the potting shed and ornamental

water feature, over and under hot dog stands, a man in a lion outfit

and a confused programme seller; through a double set of patio doors, down a spiral staircase, into a dumb waiter, over a bowling alley I’d just set up; down through a laundry shoot, past an elderly couple eating leek and ale sausages, across an underground river, into a lift that shuttled me up to my apartment again, through my Ikea living space (market stall home) and I landed in his litter tray amongst all his poop and stuff.





The Girl who swam with goldfish thinks her cat is gay.