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Murder Most Queer

Well hold on to your butts people. I have two utterly unrelated topics and they are both rather queer. Old definition. To be perfectly honest I’m not really sure what it’s supposed to mean anymore, ironic considering it’s likely I am a (lazily) active member. I’ll Google search it later.

Anyway, I wanted to tell my stories of being a part-time murderer. With only two under my belt at least I’m not considered serial yet… It’s interesting how I don’t believe I’ve ever killed anything outside of the two following examples but in each scenario it was a protective instinct that took over. Enough buildup! Two days ago there was this honking big wasp in the apartment. I AM allergic but I was considerably more concerned with the fact that the dog wanted to play with it. It crawled in between the two doors where I couldn’t reach it or shoo it out so naturally the next step was to fire bleach spray at it. Let’s just say the noises it made will dissuade me from such an approach in the future but it took a further 3 minutes before it fell into the sliding mechanism and I could mercifully shatter every piece of its corpse within the gears. Pretty metal, I know.

I also once beat a bat to death with a tennis racquet in the middle of night because I had just read “Cujo” and was afraid it would give the cat rabies. The bat not the book…

Moving on, today’s planned topic is, as promised, wildly unrelated. Specifically, I was waiting for Canada Post to deliver a package recently and pondered upon a certain hole in my psychic abilities. Please note, I have intentionally misspelled a word in the third line, even I kept mispronouncing it in my head rereading and I wrote the damned thing. Stupid homonyms or homographs or both. Damn son, we homos are taking a beating in this article. Still better off than that bat… Poem also has an addendum. Because why not.

Hunting and Gathering, June 6

Patience is a virtue I often lack

Try to wait calmly but haven’t the knack

Every “my-newt” sounds signals arrival

Infrequent temper starts a revival

Internal pacing, I swear it’s a thing

Back and forth at the same time whistling

Perhaps I’ll go mad before this gets done

Hop in a spacecraft launched straight at the Sun

Someone put a call in to Elon Musk

Can pay him in black market elephant tusk

Those are in fact quite serious issues

Poor murdered beasts make me reach for tissues

Suddenly a jarring knock at the door

Thank God it’s here, end this lunatic tour.

[Seriously though poaching isn’t cool

No issues enforcing punishments cruel]

Now that I’m thinking about it and it was planned the entire time, obviously. If it is a poor individual poaching to support a starving family let’s try something other than cruel punishments. Protective instinct makes us do things perhaps we normally wouldn’t. If it’s a collection of profiteering assholes by all means jail them for the lifespan of a sea turtle.

Be honest, if I had written minute you would have read minute? Wouldn’t you! That’s a pretty hilarious sentence in print.

I’ll stop now before sloughing too many down with me into the Pits of Insanity. Interesting factoid, they are located directly beneath the Cliffs of Insanity. It’s a somewhat crazy part of town.


-Alex Blaikie

Categories: poetry writing

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A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.

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