Thus, Does The Jackalope Breed The Purpley Dragon

It’s been an interesting weekend, at least partly because of the fact that it basically started with being confronted with a massive dragon, and culminated into me reading Hamlet at a furious pace, desperately attempting to finish by midnight, with a British accent. Perhaps I should explain.

You see, there are few weekends where my cousin comes over, and we decided we would make this time special. Now, Josh doesn’t like to go to the mountains, or eat, or go on long pointless drives or do much other than play video games, so we decided to go to a store on the outskirts of my town called the Jackalope, which sells hundreds of pots you could buy at Target for $15.00 plus tax. It also sells many jackalope- and New Mexican-themed items, such as rabbits with antlers and stuffed roadrunners that can’t run.

It also sells dragons.

Well, technically not dragons. It sells dragon kites. But these are not the dragon kites you see at Toys ‘R Us. Nay, these are hand-crafted, thirty-foot long dragon kites from Indonesia, with scary three-dimensional faces, razor-sharp teeth made from this delicate resin-type material, and long red tongues. They would scare the shit out of a full-grown man is what I’m saying here. This is the kind of kite that you could attach a flamethrower to, and when it shot fire out of its mouth, some people would think it was real.

I of course wanted one of the smaller of these kites, which cost around $5o, and of course my grandmother objected because it would be a worthless kite gathering dust and lying there in our house whenever we could be spending it on the poor or on getting Stephen Colbert another award. So I didn’t get one. My mother was very nice, and said that I could maybe get one for a graduation present, but I knew better. That money was Wii money. That money was money that I could use to learn new things like how to play tennis on a virtual screen using a stick with buttons on it attached to a pincushion with a joystick on it. But my dream of scaring the shit out of little children lives on; oftentimes, the same basic effect can be achieved by simply scowling the right way at them. Especially for me.

And so we did not go up to the mountains. We did, however, watch a Japanese cartoon where giant roly-polys from a poisonous forest try to kill the human race (they were called Ohms, I believe) and another one that doesn’t really deserve mention here (no, it was NOT hentai) because it was stupid.

The next day, we went to the mountains, where I realized that it was time to go fishing for my graduation party. I saw a car show which basically described my feelings on fishing. I saw a $180,000 Bentley at my school, a car that could beat many Ferraris in a race, and I thought, “yes, but for that money, you could buy a pickup truck, a trailer, AND a pontoon boat, and still have the money for gas to fill both up and go fishing.” Everybody thought that was a nice car. I would prefer a Mustang, but you know. I don’t have taste, in women or in cars.

And so I was left a wreck by the end of all this fun. There’s only too much fun a human being can take before he reaches Extreme Fun Overload and must do something boring. I had not reached this level; I was still at the opposite of this, at Extreme Boredom Overload. And I had Shakespeare to read. So I read it as it was. The king was a fruity French person, Hamlet a crazy-ass, and of course, all the other characters were British and had bad teeth. I finished at twelve, officially having finished all the work I had to have done by now.

I am still a nervous wreck. Kaycee will still not speak to me. None of her friends will, either, and yet I have teased her and irritated her to the point that she should like me by now, inasmuch as anger is circular and if you start at one side, you can begin where you started, as shown by the graph below:

And so, I shall continue to irritate girls until they like me, following the inexplicable yet alluringly simplistic and irrefutable logic of the “Kaycee Irritation Cycle.”

Until next time.