Birds fall from a window ledge above mine
There was a quote in my Senior high school year book that one of my classmates had put in as his last words to the school. Of course, the yearbook staff, filled with idiots crunched for time, managed to reduce the promulgate wisdom to "Speak softly, and carry a big svick." It's always stuck with me as one of those random moments of unintentional hilarity. Wherever I am, I pause once in a while to think about what a big svick I have, and how it's served me so well. Changing with the situation, mutating itself like a viral coat, prepared to latch onto the next villainous membrane. I suck at being a soft speaker, though. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm loud as fuck, and that takes away some of the svicky surprise, but none of the pleasure. Other people seem to have different interpretations of the quote. Which I guess is cool. I mean, people can play with their svicks however they want to. Doesn't change what I do with mine.
I'm not opposed to being svicked by another, really. I almost kind of enjoy it - it's like being able to commiserate with anyone with the latest cold, flu, stomach issue or loose bowel. A shared memory of feeling like utter ass. A moment where you look around and find everyone around you has the same bruises, blisters, and burns. You end up fitting in with everyone else who's currently getting svicked - many become one. Unintentional assimilation and unification against a common, plundering pirate. The svicked crew will land on the shore, band together, and walk into the sunset towards that really nice coconut tree arching over the undergrowth, where they will love and breed and talk to volleyballs named Bill.
Ahoy, there, sailor! Got your svick ready?
Posted by StuR on August 1, 2007 05:05 PM | Permalink