Sometimes when I'm dealing with reality, the true monstrosity of human faces appears with such clarity that I have a hard time dealing with the fact that when I go home to brush my teeth, I'm going to confront another terrifying face and that that face is going to be attached to my own head.
A pretty significant portion of the time, I feel like I'm in some kind of dangerous, terror-sodden Habitrail for persons. The problem is that the expanse is so vast that I can't begin to examine the system as a whole to look for possible escapes, and worse, I can't see the joints of each pipe secton to gnaw through them. It's also possible that the Habitrail in question is of the normal hamster variety, and that I'm just a very small individual with a distorted view of reality. Or, for that matter, an actual hamster. In fact, the frequency with which I perceive myself to be the subject of cruel vivisections suggests that the latter is likely the case. This would also go a long way toward explaining why my clothes fit so poorly.
The Habitrail syndrome is most evident while driving, since then, any illusion of mobility freedom one may experience on foot is completely obliterated in favor of a forced linearity and exciting 'Frogger' type mortality potential. The reasons for driving are practically never autonomous (unless you have the luxury and inclination to replicate certian Beatnik fantasies), and the general reality is that one is swept into a river comprised of self-loathing animals piloting 75 mph skins of doom.
Mon Jun 23, 2008 10:35 am When I was little I harbored the dream of one day owning my own house. The dream was larger than just that however, for in this house of mine would be a Habitrail hotel for a ferret or two. Spanning multiple rooms and possibly even floors, it was a thing of grandeur and exquisite beauty. Then my friends let me borrow their ferret and I quickly discovered that owning pets is a worthless unrewarding hassle. My new dream is to live on the back of a giant turtle, sea variety or land tortoise is fine, just as long as it isn't the turtle pokemon with rocket blasters on its back... I would set up shop and use some kind of shell stimulating substance to grow my own home. The turtle would have to be a good sport and enjoy listening to The Cars at 120 plus decibels in the wee hours of the morn'.
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