A worthy ideal.

"Sport is sport, but sausage is sausage."

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

A worthy ideal.

Half a sandwich and five hours to go. Five long ones with nothing to do but digest. Hans is daydreaming when phone rings. He looks lazily at the noisy apparatus with both hands occupied. What now? He picks up the phone: "Doctor Stuka, I have it!"

Hans is listening carefully to mister Jones introducing his idea: "I need alive unicorn for my daughter. Her birthday is around the corner, so we'll need a pony and narwhal's horn. One more thing, mister Hans, it must feed on candy, if you'd be so kind and chip it, or program it that way... Oh, and how are you these days, Hans? Did you manage to kick the moon-walking routine?"

Done deed.

"Do I have any idea about any idea at all?"

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

Done deed.

"Fuck," jumps O'Hara in the air: "move aside!" he shouts at girl's shocked and bulging eyes. She was with mister Pitt's six pack just a moment back and this old fart ruined her wish of slow and peaceful awakening.

Only after setting a foot on the public bus, he noticed that his Bible was left all by itself in brothel, while his nose receiving cunnilingus smell from his mouth.

No guide for employees in Slovenian catering industry.

"Nemoj da ubijam!"

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

No guide for employees in Slovenian catering industry. 

Hundred and fifty centimeters tall.

Hundred and fifty kilograms wide. 

Can this really be a human being?

Her health must be bellow average, but that doesn't bother her while she handles raw meat and veggies. Her name be Moravka, she came here from Bosnia and she has blood ties with the devil, for she is fear. I was an apprentice back then for a company with big name. We, 'all the workers, should be thankful.' There were only two types of people in the kitchen - the others and the one I personally call 'myself'. This seemed to be a fact to me, but then the fate brought her into my life. She was something else. Hundred and fifty written all over her, across the uneasy soul.

This kitchen is one with no empathy. Person who told me this in advance was none. I will manage. Somehow. - I thought before the truth behind her expressions of maternal sense came out.

On hunger.

"Those who saw it, godded him."

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

On hunger.

To me it seemed, since the beginning of my time on Earth, that there is many magic around me. And for as long as I can go back, I had been an asshole. But this would need a research of its own...

There was once a guy, who looked like he was always on a mission. He moved around quickly and in straight lines. I guess he had an unique organ in his head which made calculations for him. It was calculating shortcuts. The nearest paths to anywhere he focused on going. He was a tall, strong man with the lumberjack shirt, home-shortened Levis shorts on top of his strong long legs, covered with human body hair. The raw face unable to smile and eyebrows which only the most respected and canonized wise-men wore, but beardless. He looked like someone born out of swamp so I named him Tarzan after my first dog, for nobody I know knew his name.

The green symphony.

"Somewhere over the non-sense."

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

Episode:

The green symphony.

I have knowledge on musical theory too narrow to describe this one in detail, but I can assure you this symphony is drowning in awesomeness, golden and such. 

The very end of Louise Sawyer, just after kissing Thelma. When she puts her weight onto the gas pedal, releasing clutch and drive her beautiful '66 Ford Thunderbird (convertible) off the Grand canyon cliff. But this one is as if it happened, as if there was real Louise S. - Susan Sarandon - in the car and she'd run it down to certain death with Thelma - Geena Davis - sitting right beside her, co-driver's seat. It is madness. Pure gold, I tell you! Real drama with catharsis, if you feel it, that is.

On beekeeping.

"Do not open before closing."

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

On beekeeping.

My ex-wife's father started it a few years back. Then he quits all of a sudden and hands me his hives with the bees in them. What is to be done now, I wondered at that moment. He told me that my beekeeping time was on, so I started gathering information about gathering honey. It was kinda fun, so I wanted to pass it to my son as soon as I can. The little bastard is an artist of some sort - he's writing things nobody can appreciate, and with a lot of crap in it too, but he cals it shit - like it's more valuable that way. Kids these days. I don't know.

Bussiness as usual.

»Before I put a stamp on it, I'd like to send it – to see if it can bounce.«

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

Business as usual.

Content of a good short story: 

1. somebody who has

2. a problem and is later

3. provoked to change his/her situation

4. because of that he/she decides to take action

5. and at the end there is resolution

Suck it. I did try these magnificent five points, but they didn't take me anywhere. I was like the Pizzaro guy demanding from the dead Incas to take me to El Dorado. Why the dead ones? Who knows. The catch is that awful things were done by yours truly and there ain't no way back.

backstaged

"This ain't no drama!"

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

Backstaged.

Slovenian anti-hero; unlimited.

On the quality of being vulgar while signaling into outer space.

Well, that's what she said! I didn't saw nothing vulgar about it, so I gave her the possibility to watch the intergalactic simulation of my back performing the motion of leaving. This ain't no picnic, you know; being vulgar with no reason equal to sense. (English language is easy when you give up the means of conquering it.)

The silver chair

"So which one of you's Art? Come out - I'm gonna fist your face to splinters, bitch!" 

[Quick tips in slow motion.]

Episode:

The silver chair.

On violence. And Shit. Well, it went something like this; we were sitting in the kitchen. It's not just a kitchen; we have our TV (short for television, the man-made machine for watching porn in land before the internet) there and no one even knows which movies were produced since the last century. It's like a hybrid, the kitchen-living room. No movie expert here, na-a. Just simple, basic white folks. And thank Jeesuh for that!

Sit up and listen!

It died. The internet died on me and the family, so the post wasn't posted before. I couldn't, it couldn't – who's to blame, really...