A one-time school project gone terribly, terribly wrong.

11 July 2007

Well I Can't Say I Wasn't Warned

Metro has travelled overseas on several occasions, and underseas more than once too. And in the course of such travel he has sometimes received wise advice regarding personal hygiene and such. "Don't drink the water", "Ask for clean sheets", and suchlike sentiments.

Alas, clearly I have followed these directions insufficiently well. Let me explain:

I went on holiday to a small island in the Pacific. Lest my Avid Fans (all three of them) jump to hasty conclustifications, let me state that there were no coconut trees, but the nice thing about Arbutus trees is that they shed their skin-like bark, rather than 10-lb lumps of fiber and milk.

While it is difficult or near-impossible to drink pina coladas from Arbutus bark, one is also unlikely to be concussed by it.

Present on this Island was a random assortment of the Metrofamilias Metroii including nieces, future niece/nephew, siblings, in-laws, and parents of various types.

Once a year, the parental generation awakens to a strange pull, beckoning them north from the rocky shores of Canada and sending them to the rocky shores of this other part of Canada. This year their descendants, some of whom have recently become the present generation of parents, joined them. For some three days there was fun, frolic, and lumpy sandcastles. On day four I returned to mainland Canada, where I spent the night.

O Avid Fan, I cannot fathom what I did wrong. I showered, I shaved. The sheets upon which I slept seemed reasonably clean. And as a precaution I had myself deloused before returning home.

Yet somehow, despite all my very best precautions, I have managed to return home with a dose of Raincoasters. I am deeply embarrassed. I will help the civil authorities burn down Vancouver on Friday as a precaution against regional infection.

One of the creatures has, in fact, taken up residence Chez Metro and no amount of gin has thus far shifted it. We have successfully managed to confine it in a spare bedroom. And while it slept we evacuated the house. But I fear the damage is done and the cats will have to be shaved and wear those little radar-dish collars for weeks. The exterminator said he was busy, but agreed to forward the case to the Men In Black for immediate attention when he heard what we were dealing with.

Mme Metro has been patient and understanding throughout. But in unguarded moments I can see the naked contempt in her face at my unfortunate condition.

Meantime I have a clever plan to lure the Raincoaster to a local body of water. It may perhaps decide to make this its home. Yes, I know the risk to the environment, but I feel it's all for the best really.

Whistles a few bars of "Born Free"

And in case it doesn't work out in the long term I am planting coconut trees on the shoreline.


At 8:44 p.m., Anonymous raincoaster said...

The problem, Metro, is that you have a full litre of Stoli in your freezer and there is naught chez moi but green salad fixings and psyllium husks, courtesy of the Cybergypsy. I am doing my level best to equalize things, but the fact that you have NO FUCKING ICE IN THE FREEZER is not making this any easier.

At 9:23 p.m., Anonymous PJ said...

If the Raincoaster infestation becomes permanent (nice as that would be), wouldn't there need to be a name change? AridValleyite? LakesStraddler?

At 9:52 p.m., Anonymous raincoaster said...

The Lakes have both turned him down,but I think that's because he was just too cheap to buy them dinner first.

At 12:17 a.m., Anonymous archie said...

The time to begin worrying, Metro, it when the architecture is redesigned with unhuman angles and monolithic masonry. In the meantime you have nothing soulish to fear as you have already sold your soul to "The Man".

In the meantime, I am rather concerned about the welfare of the Mme Metro person who seems to be the innocent party in all of this.

At 6:27 a.m., Blogger Metro said...

I didn't sell my soul. It is available for weddings, bar mitzvahs and children's parties for a small fee.

Raincoaster is clearly too blotto to recognize that any name change would have to be hers. Excellent, my plan is working (Note to self: remember to leave roller skate at top of stairs).

I mean, how hopeless are you when you can't even recall the recipe for ice cubes?

At 10:18 p.m., Anonymous raincoaster said...

Shall I make the ice cubes in the gaping void in your skull once I feed the brain to the cats? You know how they love their little treats.

At 8:08 a.m., Blogger Metro said...

Temper, temper.

Obviously the withdrawl isn't going well. Cybergypsy hide your can of Sterno?

At 9:07 p.m., Anonymous Stiletto said...

No fucking ice in the freezer? What the hell is wrong with you, Metro??

Did you check Metro's chest, raincoaster?

At 5:02 a.m., Blogger Metro said...

Well, Stiletto, out here in Canuckistan, we have this invention called the "refrigerator."

It's sole purpose--and I know you'll find this hard to believe--is to keep things cool.

This generally eliminates the need for ice. Especially for those of us slurping down Stoli so quickly that it never reaches room temperature.

For the whiny and desperate ( Raincoaster being both), the recipe for ice is still available to those who need it.

I also would like to note that this supposed lack was called to my attention through a comment on my blog, rather than correctly and politely addressing said comment more privately to the maitre'd around these parts.

At 5:08 a.m., Anonymous azahar said...

Well, if the Stoli was kept in the freezer then I can't see why ice was needed, but only if you were drinking it straight out of chilled glasses.


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