My Life as Surreality

I sit in front of a small screen in a corner of the living room screaming at the injustices of the world caused by a sphinx and the decided lack of dragons. I go back to my cardboard noodles and babydoll mayonnaise. I go back to viewing the greatest comic they’ll never print again.  It features  man who alters reality by flexing his muscles.  It’s like reading LSD on crack.

Dad has just walked outside, slightly drunk to confront the possums that live on our roof.  I hear him quietly threatening them, like a Bond Villain, and just like a Bond villain, A:  He expects them to die and B: He’ll lose.

Mum walks in smiling like she only ever does after watching a decidedly bloody 70s Samurai film.  A mother, wife, teacher, upstanding member of our community and gore flick afficionado. She says something like, “God, those guys with the basket heads, they were great!  And this wasn’t the one where the female ninjas have sex with a tree.”  Thanks Mum,  I needed that clarified.

Dad walks in and drags me out to point at the sky.  A Crescent moon and two planets align to make a smiley face.  Best.  Constellation. Ever.  Bozo the Clown is in the Zodiac, and the Cosmos is smiling at me. Cooooool.

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