The Rare Wild Clarinetist
October 25th, 2004
It is 3:36 pm here in Nova Scotia, meaning I got home from high school, read the newspaper and am now on the computer checking my email/writing my blog. I really don’t do anything else on the internet now that the monster named school swallowed my time whole and did not stop to chew or burp.
On the way home across the Braemore bridge, I stopped for a second and exclaimed “Behold, the wild green plastic gym ball in it’s natural environment!” (I was a bit hyper) “but not quite as rare as the wild picnic table” was then said by one of my friends. We then started treating everything unnatural in our surroundings as being an animal, the rabid Subway Paper cup, the fields of Winnebagos in Whidden’s Camp Ground, and the shopping carts in the swamp nearby.
Someone suggested the houses, and we started discussing the idea of houses being animals who ate humans, trapped inside by too much clutter or too much house work. We suggested that the gastric acid is the chimney smoke, they have bacteria as digestive aids called “Housework” and “video games” and that they are perfect traps for human beings. We were even thinking about writing a story about a city where the buildings rule.
Yes, we are very weird and spastic. But that is the true joy of being the Rare Wild Clarinetist and the Endangered Harpist.