Me, discussing seeing Watchmen this morning while waiting outside class:
JARED: Aw, yeah, it was an awesome film.
SOME GUY: Too much blue penis.
JARED: More like not enough! Queer. But I'm not sure it went down well.
SOME GUY: Why's that?
JARED: Well, there were about ten people in the cinema. On the opening night. And they all left before the lights lifted up for the credits. And most of them were crying. And on the way out we tripped over a guys severed leg with distinctive gnawing marks on it. But it was FUCKING AWESOME.
SOME GUY: Blue penis.
JARED: My point exactly. But I couldn't believe this woman who came in with two kids aged like 7 years old.
YOUNG MOTHER: .. is that bad?
JARED: Well, not necessarily. I mean, if you want him to see dicks, tits, more dicks, more tits, sex, impotency, people being burned alive, people being exploded in gibs, dudes bone's being punched out of their sockets, a chick getting the shit beaten out of her right before she's raped, a guy getting his face burnt off with boiling hot oil, and a guy's arms being cut off with a circular saw then that's cool. And also blue dicks.
YOUNG MOTHER: Aw, shit.
A child was spared mental scarring on my part! Huzzah! I'm sure I'd be saluted by the tireless authors of one of my many boring-day websites, Kids in Mind. Check out what they saw as the 'message' from Watchemn..
Humans are inherently savage. Deep, man...
Also worthy of note is one of the occassions when I reflect on the divergence between country and city life. This morning, walking across the campus I was having a lot of difficulty due to the bones in my back apparently being on fire, as they are wont to do. I thought to myself "What the hell? I haven't even been DOING anything! I've been reading, sitting around, playing computer games, throwing chunks of tree branch down the hillside... oh, wait..."
See, if there's a felled tree on a hill the best way to transport it as firewood is cut it up with a chainsaw (takes about five minutes) to separate the trunk and various branches and then bisect each, before picking up the resultant logs, hurling them into the ground and let them roll off into the collection area. It's quite effective so long as they roll the right way, and throwing around giant pieces of timber has to be my favourite way of feeling manly.
Another time when the oddity of country life struck me was when I had the maggot-ridden carcass of a dead chook out of its house, carry it carefully so that it wouldn't fall apart in my arms, and bury it into a pile of compost where the dogs wouldn't be able to find it.
Probably the best example, again poultry-related, was from just the other day wen I heard a terrible, chickenly scream race out onto the verandah, jumped off, and saw a goanna tearing into one of the chooks on the inside of the house. Raced round, opened the door, and grabbed on to the goanna's tail, pulling it into the air whilst trying not to snap the poor girl's wing off. This was whilst yelling out to my mother whether or not a goanna was actually dangerous. I found out later that their claws most certainly are, and that they typically aren't known for trying to devour live poultry whole. Lucky escape.