Seeing as this one is going in the bin and we're all chomping at the bit to post this week. Welcome to BP's head.....
Losing the Plot for Easts
For Sale: One set of sports ears (used once), a well worn City Ford Jersey, a lesser worn Samsung jersey, 2 x Western Union jerseys, one home, one winning white (varying sizes), various paraphernalia featuring Easts, Sydney City and Sydney logos, players etc, one SKY digital subscription, satellite dish and decoder and one Internet subscription (unlimited hours) paid up until the end of the year. Contact BP
I always thought I had red, white and blue running through my veins but the Doctors told me, no, just red. I asked them to check again. The look was one of here we go, weve got ourselves a nutter but I managed a look that befitted the seriousness of the request. More blood removed, more claret seeping into the syringe. What went wrong? I had time to ponder this question as I was wheeled down the familiar labyrinth of corridors that took one from the A&E department, through the bowels of the hospital from which one emerged on the other side. I couldnt look former work colleagues in the eye as my assessment was done and I was shown to my coop.
Bland, to say the least. Funny how you never notice these things until your on the other side. A quick phone call to the daughter could see a Rooster doona stripped from the childs bed and brought in ASAP. Yeah, that would brighten up the place. And maybe that Sydney City welcome mat, the framed picture of last years Grand Final winning team and my favourite logo coffee mug wouldnt look out of place. Actually, the mug wont be so easy, its sitting in the staff room. Can I feign normalness for long enough to not arouse suspicion as I go and fetch it? Or have the fun police put out an all points bulletin on me? Free range Rooster on the Rampage - Things to ponder as I nervously pace my room the repetition somewhat comforting as I chant, just one more game with Alice in Chains The Rooster playing in my head whilst I admire my newly grown wattles and crown in the mirror each time I pass it. I can see them looking in as they pass, they think Im nuts too, so I let out a crow just to please them.
The Doctors, the Psycho ones, not the normal ones, they want to know how I feel. How do they bloody think I feel? I feel cooped up, thoughts going out to the battery hens at this point but also pretty cocky actually, playing them at their own game. How long have I felt like this? All my life. When did it start? What part of all my life didnt they understand? This should be easy. Has anything recently exacerbated it? Like Im going to tell them that it started to rule my roost around February. Im starting to scratch as they hen peck me about my symptoms and as I glance at the ticking clock, a Rooster mysteriously appears like an epiphany, on it. I smile at the old friend and they glance at each other. I know they cant wait to shuffle to the Nurses station and write in my notes. The truth is, the ticking clock makes me nervous and I say, just one more game.
Roosteritis they say. I nod in agreement. The only cure? Rid the chook pen of everything remotely associated. I nod in agreement. Compliance means getting out. I get cream for the rash that has taken on the appearance of the spiritual SFS and have my claws clipped. What a waste of a year growing them. They were just starting to look like the Holy Grail. The ad is placed
for sale
Im out, clucking to myself. It was like stealing wheat from blind chooks. As I get in the car, the beady eyes on the seat belt holder stare back and I know I have to move quickly. The chicks will be home soon and having recently had their wings clipped, pandemonium will reign. As I sit at the banned computer, I once again cluck. Roosteritis, I had them fooled. Just one more game, I say as I log in, my tail feathers bristling. And there are my fellow disciples. Every one of them ozzie, Penelope, Lord, RoostarGirl, Roosterboy and Morticia. They understand. Just one more game
and we could be Sevens champions
What the hell were you expecting? Im not nuts, you know. :lol:
749 words.
