Amoeba’s Lorica: Meme-ories 12 (Sine Requie)

Just a simple reminder from Your Friendly Neighborhood Amoeba (most particularly, to himself) that, if you think that, for a single second, you’re entitled to take a break from paying attention – if you think, for a single second, that you’re entitled to take the easy road to anywhere, for anything …

You’re fucked.

And you deserve to be.

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Amoeba’s Lorica: Ever Last-ing

REWARD, n. Punishment, seeking opportunity and justification.

Many, many years BI*, a young man from Cleveland set out on a world tour, seeking enlightenment. He had been told, by a scruffy fellow sleeping on the banks of the Cuyahoga River, to find the village of Sto-Makk-Puc and climb the mountain there. “Legend has it”, he had said, “that a mighty reward awaits the one who reaches the top of that mountain”. He had, of course, no idea where Sto-Makk-Puc was, except that it was somewhere “in the East”.

After weeks of trial and deprivation, the man found Sto-Makk-Puc, deep within a steamy Asian jungle, and the villagers set him on the path to the mountain’s top. As he climbed, the air cooled and became sweeter, tinged with the euphoric scent of the mountain’s flowers (a species of Gardenia, now thought to be extinct), and the vistas of the surrounding countryside became more spectacular. As the climb got higher and steeper, the sensations grew, and the man became more and more ecstatic. Finally, he stood on a ledge just below the summit pinnacle, and he said to himself, “If I stand on that pinnacle, the world will be at my feet, and I will be its King!”

At that moment, the ledge crumbled underneath him, and the man fell hundreds of meters straight down to his death. At the sound, the villagers ran to where his broken body lay. They stripped that body of everything of value, burned the rest, and scattered the ashes in the jungle, leaving no trace. They spent the night carousing at the local tavern, chanting their mantra, “A mighty reward awaits the one who reaches the top of Sto-Makk-Puc mountain!”

No trace of Sto-Makk-Puc now remains. It is said that, during World War II, the invading Japanese discovered it, exterminated the villagers, leveled the mountain, and destroyed any records of the site that they could find.

– Carney Nasturtium Traveltown

* BI: Before Internet

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Dude and Dude: No Mo, No Mo

“Dude?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that pic what it looks like?”

“What’s it look like?”

“A drawin’ ‘v a mustache on a boat!

“Yeah. A Washington State Ferries ferryboat. Somethin’ wrong wit’ that?”

“Ya mean, otha than peeps, who oughta be old ’nuff ta know betta, drawin’ mustaches on things like we usedta do on books an’ signs an’, er, stuff when we wuz back in school? Where’s tha rest a it?”

“Tha rest a what?

“Ya know, tha nose an’ tha glasses an’ tha eyebrows. Ya gonna disguise tha boat, ya may’s well go tha full Groucho, ya feel me? ‘Course, tha way they ain’t been able ta keep tha ferries on tha water and outa tha shop lately, they prob’ly oughta be doin’ tha full Groucho, so like nobody’ll recognize ’em ‘r somethin’. Tha boats, an’ tha peeps what allegedly run ’em.”

“An’ tha peeps what don’ vote tha funds ta keep ’em runnin’?”

“Them too.”

“Buy shares in Groucho mask mak …”

“They’re made in China, dude. Like ever’thin’ else. Good luck gettin’ no shares out a ’em. These peeps what’re drawin’ mustaches on public transpertation got somethin’ else in mind than touchy-feelin’ their inner vandals?

“Well, dude, it is Movemba.”

“Right. Dude, whatevah ya got stuck in yer mouth, get rid a it so’s ya c’n say ‘November’ wit’out mushin’ it, yeah?”

“Good thing I ain’t got nothin’ in my mouth, dude, ‘r I’d spit it in yer face! Tha word is Movemba, as in ‘mustache month’. It’s an ad campaign fer men’s health.”

Whose health?!?”

Men’s health, dude. Ya know, tha peeps what can grow mustaches, like tha chicks can’t? Most a ’em, anyways …”

“I don’ see no men no more, dude. Mustaches ‘r no mustaches.”

“What’s that make you, dude?”

“A figment a OC’s ‘magination. Same as you.”

“Well, what ’bout him?

“He ain’t no man either. He might be male, he might have a dick, but he’s too damned busy tryin’ ta make up fer all tha yestadays he’s spent bein’ an ass, an’ payin’ attention so’s he can be no more a an ass taday an’ tamarra than he can help, which ain’t sayin’ much, evah ta make no progress towards bein’ a man worthy a tha name.”

“An’ worthy a seein’ a doctor?

“No more than any otha peep. Less, maybe, ’cause males ‘r expendable, ain’t no point in keepin’ ’em around, especially inna world that’s got way too many peeps in it a’ready, if’n they ain’t gonna be cheapa ta keep than ever’body else. B’sides, they’ve a’ready shot their effin’ wad. These Movemba vandals ya love so much, they ain’t peddlin’ little blue pills, huh?”

“What, ya mean, like, Viagra?”

What tha hell otha kind a health do dudes care about?!? We bloat ourselves on Mickey D’s, we don’ care. We rack ourselves up in cars an’ bikes on tha roads, we don’ care. We scramble our brains on weed an’ booze an’ opioids, we don’ care. Hell, we scramble our brains on football fields, we don’ care. Limp dick? We’ll pay a goddamn drug company a fuckin’ billion dollars a year ta fix it!! An’ we’ll get it covered by insurance while the chicks don’ get insurance cover fer the damage tha dicks do. An’ we’ll even elect a fuckin’ President a tha United States who not only thinks all a this is OK, he puts dicks in office what tell chicks that tha rape an’ tha disease an’ tha unwanted pregnancies from alla them drug-fired, insurance-covered hot dicks are God’s will an’ they should shut tha fuck up ’bout ’em. I’ll tell ya who should be shuttin’ tha fuck up, dude! Those Movemba assholes. They can take their fuckin’ men’s health, shove it where tha sun doesn’t fuckin’ shine, an’ sew it closed!

“Dude?”

What?!?

“That’s hard.”

“Huh?”

“Ya heard me. That’s hard.”

“[…] heh. heheheh. he.he.hehehe[snort]BWAAAAAhahahahahaha …!!!”

“Dude?”

“[wheeze] Whut?”

“Shuddup.”

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