The Vault
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Refuge for the rational.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Who's Afraid of Carl Jung?
Earnest and I were out for drinks on a patio in Vienna when our waiter, a brown hare in a blue jogging suit, asked us if we were going to see the fireworks at the mall that night. We hadn’t heard about it, but we decided it would be a good idea if we did go, but only if we could procure some gin and opium to guard against the mosquitoes and malaria. We had to hurry, even though Big Ben was across the street due to the shifting of the continents, because of all the cows in the street. They were sacred cows and the Dalai Lama and all of his cousins were milking the cows and then drinking the milk whilst scantily clad Las Vegas showgirls rubbed oil on their bald heads. By the time we were halfway there, it was dark out and we had to make the rest of the journey by the light of the lamps sitting on the sidewalk. There was a lady tending to them; she had a duster in her hand, but it was actually a miniature peacock and she was changing the light bulbs that were burning out. The peacock kept talking to her and when Earnest asked her what he was saying she said that he was telling her the future. Suddenly, Earnest wanted to go over to her house because he said that he needed to obtain a copy of one of his books to prove to the horses of apocalypse that he had actually written it. So, we had to get a picture of him so that they could match it to the picture inside the cover of the book. The lady, who had since turned into Winston Churchill dressed like a Matadore, offered to paint his picture while I went and looked for the book, but when I was in her study there was only one book on all of the shelves. They were all white with black lettering and they all said “Fascination” but they didn’t have an author so I didn’t know if it was Earnest’s book or not. I continued to look for the book, but there were too many different rooms in the study—the walls kept swinging open into secret rooms and entranceways—and eventually I gave up, but I couldn’t find my way back to Winston and Earnest. Eventually, I found my way to the back entrance and it led to a patio that was overlooking a vast mountain valley where people were tobogganing over the grass and flowers. There were people painting the flowers to match the sky so that the ants on the ground wouldn’t know they were so small. I went down to the grass and I noticed a tunnel that lead to the valley on the other side of the river where there was a farm raising hamsters for the kids who couldn’t have dogs because their houses were made of foam. If the dogs got into the houses they would eat the foam and get sick and probably turn green and plastic and the kids wouldn’t want them anymore. So the farmers were building doghouses too and the fat lady was using porcupine quills for nails and she asked me to hold them but I didn’t have enough time.
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