IT’S ALL LIES

So.

I haven’t died.

I haven’t joined a secret society of awful funnel-cakin’ poets.

I haven’t assassinated a really important tribal leader who is bent on sacrificing his people to some random volcano.

And I haven’t  * I REPEAT HAVEN’T *

…been up to much, really.

I know. Shocking, isn’t it?

You’d think this professor would be up to all sorts of wickedness and dadblamery. And the truth is, it isn’t true.

When you get old, your limbs don’t work the same as they used to.

And I have a special announcement: I don’t have my lower leg limbs.

At least, they’re not working like they used to. So for the last two years, I’ve been sitting on my couch trying to get to a phone to get help.

Alright, you win.

It’s all lies.

The truth is, I’ve been a bit neglectful.

But has it really been two years?

I’m fairly ancient now.

Dadblameit.

ALRIGHT

Up to this point, I haven’t been honest.

At all.

You may be wondering where is the lie and where is the truth.

Mr. Truth walked out on me a long time ago, and it’s all be lies ever since.

And Mr. Lie (the girl above) has taken Mr. Truth’s place.

For years, I have lied to myself that I’m posting on this blog.

For years, I have lied to myself that I’m young and courageous.

For years, I have lied to myself…just in general.

What is the moral to this tale, you may ask?

It’s simple…when you stop to give it a think or two. 

You mustn’t let Mr. Truth walk out on you.

Thank you.

Late Because Not My Fault

The professor is a patient person.

Usually.

Sometimes, I’m not, and that’s when I riot. #riotingisfun

A picture of me after rioting.

But, anyways and some, I pushed the elevator button, because I had to go up, after all.

Just up a floor, mind.

And I had to get there within three minutes. Not a problem.

Sadly, that’s when it all went south, like a buffalo running down a hill who loses control and starts to tumble.

You see, that’s when the hallway became packed with so many people, I feared–the sudden–for my oxygen supply.

Then there was a ding, and the elevator opened.

It was going down, not up.

“Dadblameit!” I cussed.

“That’s not going to help anything,” a girl next to me, who was also waiting, said.

“What’s not?”

“Cursing. It’s not how you should live your life.”

“But you’re as wrong as wrong can get, because I’m always right. It definitely helps. After all, Mark Twain and John Wayne said it does, and they can’t possibly be wrong.”

This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.

She raised an eyebrow.

The elevator came again.

And success!

It was going up.

But, rats and a heifer, there was no room.

That’s when the professor glanced at his watch.

Just thirty seconds now.

I ran to the stairs.

And wonders of wonders, can you believe when I arrived at the correct floor, the door to access that floor was handle-less?! No handle. No way to get it.

What made it even worse was the fact that I could see the place where I needed to be through the window.

The professor just couldn’t get there.

So…I rioted.

Riot mode.

The professor busted down the door with inhuman strength, charged into the nearest room, grabbed the nearest employee, and dragged him back to the door.

“What is wrong with your building, hmm, dadblameit?! Elevator service is awfully awful and there’s no handles on your doors! What is this? A giggle-joke?!”

“I’ll fix it right away, sir!” the fellow said nervously as he shook brutally.

“You better,” I said, relaxing. “Now you’ve gone and made me late.”

“I’ll make it up to you!” He was on his knees know, begging. “Please don’t hurt me!”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “A free lunch? That’s what I require.”

“Yes!! You got it!”

Double-dadblameit. That sounded so good, too.

That’s how I did it in my mind, see.

In reality, I stood there, staring through the door for a good ten minutes, before I decided to try to find another way in.

The professor was late, and there was nothing a soul, or ghost, could do about it.

Classroom Mayhem

“So…”–gigantic, and I mean huge, pause for emphasis here–“how do we know what we know?”

The question hung in the air, and this professor, for one, would’ve left it hanging there (probably indefinitely) but an elderly chap sitting next to me raised his hand and spoke up.

He said something full of dadblamery, so I had to raise my hand and say:

“We know what we know because we know it.”

A just answer. Maybe a bit oblique, but then again, so was the question. I leaned back like a conqueror, thinking that I had won, and that it was over.

But a war was coming.

The chap teaching the class shook his head.

“No, no, you can’t answer that way,” he said. “They were the words I used in my question.”

“Quite right,” I said, “that’s why I rearranged them for my answer.”

“No.” He was a bit stern here, I must admit. Hands on hips, chin jutting out in my direction like a stag beetle with it’s great big jaws. “You don’t get it.”

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

“Oh I get it.”

Of course, this professor didn’t mean to be spicy at all, but the other students laughed here a bit, bits, and little bits.

“You. Don’t. Get It,” he repeated. “I want you to use your own words to answer the question.”

And then this professor spied something on his shoulder, and I knew I’d won.

“They became my own words once I rearranged them, see. And furthermore, double see, is that a hornet on your shoulder?”

He screamed, everyone laughed, and this professor–shiny, cunning beast that he is–won.

#conqueror 

In a Coffee Shop

So, yes, this professor went in one.

Just because, mind you.

I wanted a tea.

Some sort of green tea, in fact.

Coffee places should have such things, I reasoned. After all, what’s the difference between tea and coffee, I further reasoned. One is a leaf, the other is a bean.

Very close.

They practically look like twins.

Anyways, walked through the front door, I did.

No, I’m not trying to be like Yoda.

Who actually, interestingly enough, now that you brought it up, blamed this Jedi Temple massacre on the dangerous blue lightsaber, instead of the Sith behind it.

Not to say Sith are bad.

Anyways and some more…where wuth I?

Oh yes, so I went in the store.

“Hello there,” I said.

I got in line, see.

And since I made it through the door before the stampede, I was first in line.

#Win

“What’ll you have?”

“Some sort of tea, I think.”

There was a pause times a half a pause.

“Yes…?” she prompted.

“What kind do you have?”

Rude gesture: Her thumb went up to the menu behind her.

“No good,” I said, “too confusing, see. What sorts of green tea do you have?”

“We’re a coffee place.”

“But aren’t coffee and tea related?”

She made a face. “Who told you that?”

“Some close relative, now that I think on it.”

“The point is that’s ridiculous.”

“That you don’t have green tea?”

She sighed. “I never said that. But since we’re a coffee house, we only have one type of green tea. Would you like it?”

“What sort of green tea is it?”

“It’s green tea.”

“Yes, but you said it was a type.”

A few exasperated sighs here. “Yes, that’s right, it’s a certain kind of green tea. There’s different kinds.”

“What kind do you have?”

That got her real cranky.

“Look, do you want it or not?”

“You know what, I think I’ll pass.”

And I left.

I just wasn’t feeling it.

Moral: Know what you want before you ask for it.

Aw. Gee. Thank you. Compliments are always welcome, no matter what the sort!

Oranges are orange; Yellows are…

Okay.

So, there’s this problem, see.

And I can’t understand it for the life of me, double-see.

You must help me out, PF.

Here it is.

I present to you the color orange:

And, here’s an orange:

Further, I present the color yellow:

And that, my fellows, right up there, is a yellow, right? No!

See, it’s a lemon not a yellow.

Where’s the sense in that, I ask?

Where?!

It leaves me bewildered and confused, in truth.

What will aliens think when they get to earth and learn of such things?

Dadblameit.