Perplex City Wiki - User contributions [en]

Tales From Earth:peta

2005-11-29T16:49:57Z

Coxtin:

Twat. One solitary, gratuitous word. I think I was worth more than that. But, when I woke up this morning, as is usual for most mornings, and made my way down to my unfitted de rigeur butcher-block-work-surfaced butler-sinked Aga-warmed scullery to find that note, that was its sum content. I think she’s left me.

I was explaining this to one of my colleagues in my lab earlier. She was a woman. She’d understand why Sophie would leave me, as for the life of me I can’t think of a logically sound reason myself. My colleague smiled thinly, politely, adopted an expression that spoke of her heartfelt sorrow riven with an undertone of what a sad fuck I was, and shuffled out respectfully.

Then he spoke. “I hope you don’t mind my intruding on this point, Liam, but I couldn’t help overhearing that you are having difficulties with an errant female?”

Now, as an intensely personal person, I was unsurprisingly annoyed and taken aback by this sudden display of rudeness. So I snapped.

“Okay. I see what kind of morning this is going to be. Firstly I get left by my girlfriend, who thinks I am a twat. Then I get abused temporally on the way to work by a phalanx of chuggers, who stole three days from my childhood and have left me with a horrific temporal scar so that my left leg is fifteen minutes ahead of my right, and now it seems that I’m to be offered agony advice by a Chimp.”

He grinned a toothy yellow grin at me through his cage, nonchantly unconcerned at his faux-pas.
“Well, firstly”, he continued undaunted, “I’m not a Chimp. Do I look like a thieving Chimp to you? I tell you what, when I was a kid, my mother made it clear that she’d never even have scum like that in the house. If she heard you talking like that about me, she’d rip your intestines out with her bare feet".

The cunning bastard had put me on the defensive, with unsubtle accusations of racism. Again. He always does this. I offered insincerely, “My apologies to you and your mother.”

“Apology accepted. Now, Liam, if you’re having difficulty with your female, that’s something I can help you with".

I stared at him doubtfully.

“No, really”, he reassured, “what you need some form of proper conclusion to the doomed former relationship. Your woman has made off, and has given you four letters as a the sum or her assessment. You’re obviously a crap boyfriend, but what you need is to know exactly why you’re so wretched.”

I glared at him hurtfully.

“But that’s not going to happen, is it?” I pointed out.

“Well, it could do.”

“How?” I asked.

“We could try a little role-play.” He explained at length his idea, the upshot of which is that he would pretend to be Sophie, and ’she’ would tell me what she thought of me, as if dictating the letter she meant to write, rather than the four-letter postcard that she delivered. At the end, I would thank her for her letter, and we would part ways.

Now, this scheme has a number of flaws, not least that Sophie wasn’t a monkey, and this was basically an opportunity for him to insult me without interruption. But lacking a better idea, or any desire to work, I let him.

“Go ahead.”, I encouraged.

“You must not interrupt!” He looked deadly earnest.

“I promise.”

He smiled, that same, yellowed grin, dripping with simian foetor.

“It comes, as we always suspected it would, to this.”, he began. “I’ve never outwardly shown my ambivalence toward you, but inwardly I have been a delicate vichyssoise of self-doubt and disgust.”

“You are a sweet, and slightly silly man. You were the least convincing, and yet paradoxically the most regarded of all my male boyfriends, and exude a homoerotic malignance and a certain animimalian charm.”

I looked at him and grinned. The monkey was being nice to me.

He resumed, “But enough of this praise. I started writing this letter for a reason. You must make allowances, Liam, reading this; I’m trying to focus my mind through a miasma of economy delicious vodka style drink, but reality has slapped my brain like the scrut against flap in the latter stages of Dutch porn.

He said nothing, and then, “I’m leaving you.” The evil monkey paused for joyous effect for several seconds.

“And, Liam, frankly I wouldn’t blame me. It would be all too easy to lay the blame at my recent incident with the Rugby Team, but as well you know, that was nothing more sinister than good sporting High Jinks. There have also been, as you also don’t need to be reminded, virtually countless numbers of times you have come home to find a local builder buried balls-deep in my rusty ditch while his best mate goes dairy over my pert breasts. But as I explained numerous times, these were nothing more than a sensible way to keep costs down in DIY.”

I scowled at him, and he could see I was becoming agitated. He stared at me to remind me I had promised not to interrupt, and held his hairy finger to his protruding lips.

“No, Liam.”, he continued, “Our relationship has failed due to your inability to measure up, not mine. You are a rubbish boyfriend.”

I squeaked in protest, but I didn’t speak.

He continued his tirade with obvious aplomb, “If I know you, Liam, you’re probably making spastic girly noises of protest at this point, like the tawdry little spork that you are. ‘Well’, you’re probably squawking pathetically, wretchedly, dismally, weakly through your feeble little larynx, ‘that’s not true, surely? I have a PhD in biochemistry, and I earn three times the national average salary squirting oleaginous toxins into the eyes of innocent mammals, and you get as many unsafe-by-EU-law prototype cosmetics as you can lay your eyes on. And in addition to which, I have a demonstrably above average penile profligacy, and have induced statistically more orgasms in you than any of your previous boyfriends. I have even proven this fact to you with a chart. Surely I am an ideal boyfriend?’”

I said nothing as I moved to the other side of my lab, and opened a cupboard. Inside were a number of oily phials, full of thixotropic unguents. I read through the clipboard laid underneath the phials, and selected sample 4.

The monkey continued, raising his voice slightly so I could hear, “But of course, we never had a satisfying sex life. You might think our relationship had a perfectly well-adjusted carnal element, but when the only way you could get it up was when I would dress up as my dad, and you as my mum, and we’d pretend to conceive me, we’ve got a problem. You claimed it was rather therapeutic and bathetic being present at the moment of my own conception. A nihilistic referential integrity. I say it merely proves that you are a twat.”

He stopped, clearly finished and looked at me, with an air of satisfaction, awaiting my response.

“Now you say ‘thank you’,” he reminded.

I moved round to the front of his cage, removed the cap from the phial in my hand, and squirted the contents into his left eye.

Tales From Earth:peta

2005-11-29T16:48:48Z

Coxtin:

Twat. One solitary, gratuitous word. I think I was worth more than that. But, when I woke up this morning, as is usual for most mornings, and made my way down to my unfitted de rigeur butcher-block-work-surfaced butler-sinked Aga-warmed scullery to find that note, that was its sum content. I think she’s left me.

I was explaining this to one of my colleagues in my lab earlier. She was a woman. She’d understand why Sophie would leave me, as for the life of me I can’t think of a logically sound reason myself. My colleague smiled thinly, politely, adopted an expression that spoke of her heartfelt sorrow riven with an undertone of what a sad fuck I was, and shuffled out respectfully.

Then he spoke. “I hope you don’t mind my intruding on this point, Liam, but I couldn’t help overhearing that you are having difficulties with an errant female?”

Now, as an intensely personal person, I was unsurprisingly annoyed and taken aback by this sudden display of rudeness. So I snapped.

“Okay. I see what kind of morning this is going to be. Firstly I get left by my girlfriend, who thinks I am a twat. Then I get abused temporally on the way to work by a phalanx of chuggers, who stole three days from my childhood and have left me with a horrific temporal scar so that my left leg is fifteen minutes ahead of my right, and now it seems that I’m to be offered agony advice by a Chimp.”

He grinned a toothy yellow grin at me through his cage, nonchantly unconcerned at his faux-pas.
“Well, firstly”, he continued undaunted, “I’m not a Chimp. Do I look like a thieving Chimp to you? I tell you what, when I was a kid, my mother made it clear that she’d never even have scum like that in the house. If she heard you talking like that about me, she’d rip your intestines out with her bare feet".

The cunning bastard had put me on the defensive, with unsubtle accusations of racism. Again. He always does this. I offered insincerely, “My apologies to you and your mother.”
“Apology accepted. Now, Liam, if you’re having difficulty with your female, that’s something I can help you with".

I stared at him doubtfully.

“No, really”, he reassured, “what you need some form of proper conclusion to the doomed former relationship. Your woman has made off, and has given you four letters as a the sum or her assessment. You’re obviously a crap boyfriend, but what you need is to know exactly why you’re so wretched.”

I glared at him hurtfully.

“But that’s not going to happen, is it?” I pointed out.

“Well, it could do.”

“How?” I asked.

“We could try a little role-play.” He explained at length his idea, the upshot of which is that he would pretend to be Sophie, and ’she’ would tell me what she thought of me, as if dictating the letter she meant to write, rather than the four-letter postcard that she delivered. At the end, I would thank her for her letter, and we would part ways.

Now, this scheme has a number of flaws, not least that Sophie wasn’t a monkey, and this was basically an opportunity for him to insult me without interruption. But lacking a better idea, or any desire to work, I let him.

“Go ahead.”, I encouraged.

“You must not interrupt!” He looked deadly earnest.

“I promise.”

He smiled, that same, yellowed grin, dripping with simian foetor.

“It comes, as we always suspected it would, to this.”, he began. “I’ve never outwardly shown my ambivalence toward you, but inwardly I have been a delicate vichyssoise of self-doubt and disgust.”

“You are a sweet, and slightly silly man. You were the least convincing, and yet paradoxically the most regarded of all my male boyfriends, and exude a homoerotic malignance and a certain animimalian charm.”

I looked at him and grinned. The monkey was being nice to me.

He resumed, “But enough of this praise. I started writing this letter for a reason. You must make allowances, Liam, reading this; I’m trying to focus my mind through a miasma of economy delicious vodka style drink, but reality has slapped my brain like the scrut against flap in the latter stages of Dutch porn.

He said nothing, and then, “I’m leaving you.” The evil monkey paused for joyous effect for several seconds.

“And, Liam, frankly I wouldn’t blame me. It would be all too easy to lay the blame at my recent incident with the Rugby Team, but as well you know, that was nothing more sinister than good sporting High Jinks. There have also been, as you also don’t need to be reminded, virtually countless numbers of times you have come home to find a local builder buried balls-deep in my rusty ditch while his best mate goes dairy over my pert breasts. But as I explained numerous times, these were nothing more than a sensible way to keep costs down in DIY.”

I scowled at him, and he could see I was becoming agitated. He stared at me to remind me I had promised not to interrupt, and held his hairy finger to his protruding lips.

“No, Liam.”, he continued, “Our relationship has failed due to your inability to measure up, not mine. You are a rubbish boyfriend.”

I squeaked in protest, but I didn’t speak.

He continued his tirade with obvious aplomb, “If I know you, Liam, you’re probably making spastic girly noises of protest at this point, like the tawdry little spork that you are. ‘Well’, you’re probably squawking pathetically, wretchedly, dismally, weakly through your feeble little larynx, ‘that’s not true, surely? I have a PhD in biochemistry, and I earn three times the national average salary squirting oleaginous toxins into the eyes of innocent mammals, and you get as many unsafe-by-EU-law prototype cosmetics as you can lay your eyes on. And in addition to which, I have a demonstrably above average penile profligacy, and have induced statistically more orgasms in you than any of your previous boyfriends. I have even proven this fact to you with a chart. Surely I am an ideal boyfriend?’”

I said nothing as I moved to the other side of my lab, and opened a cupboard. Inside were a number of oily phials, full of thixotropic unguents. I read through the clipboard laid underneath the phials, and selected sample 4.

The monkey continued, raising his voice slightly so I could hear, “But of course, we never had a satisfying sex life. You might think our relationship had a perfectly well-adjusted carnal element, but when the only way you could get it up was when I would dress up as my dad, and you as my mum, and we’d pretend to conceive me, we’ve got a problem. You claimed it was rather therapeutic and bathetic being present at the moment of my own conception. A nihilistic referential integrity. I say it merely proves that you are a twat.”

He stopped, clearly finished and looked at me, with an air of satisfaction, awaiting my response.

“Now you say ‘thank you’,” he reminded.

I moved round to the front of his cage, removed the cap from the phial in my hand, and squirted the contents into his left eye.

Tales From Earth

2005-11-29T16:45:45Z

Coxtin: /* Index of articles */

Tales From Earth

2005-11-29T16:37:04Z

Coxtin: /* Index of articles */

Tales From Earth

2005-11-29T16:35:53Z

Coxtin: /* Index of articles */

Tales From Earth:Coffee Addiction

2005-11-29T16:34:44Z

Coxtin:

Coffee's got a bad name these days. It used to be simple. It used to be milk and two sugars. It used to be mid-morning with neighbours and biscuits. It used to be after dinner with friends and mints. Now it's the workers who are being exploited in the coffee fields. It's Starbucks with its stranglehold on American society and the global economy. It's drug addiction; caffeine is the most accessible drug out there, and drugs are bad, bad, bad. It’s fast becoming a taboo topic. You only have to suggest getting a cup of coffee with someone you’ve met, and suddenly they get all testy and start shouting and shouting. Someone even slapped me for it once.

I like simple. This is why I shouldn't drink coffee anymore. Going to my local coffee house makes my head hurt. I get confused by words like "Grandé", "Americano" and "percolator". Besides, I'm meant to be cutting down on caffeine. Apparently it doesn't mix well with my tablets.

But I find myself in there. I can't help it. I could be walking through town, window shopping and decide I need to quench my thirst. I could be having a bad day at work and decide I need a little pick-me-up at lunch (before my sabbatical I'd be in at least three times a week to pick up a coffee and a pastry of some sort). I could be lying in bed deciding what to do with my day, and realize I need to see her again.

Rosa. She's the barista at my local. She's my favourite. She knows me. I used to be in there so often she couldn't help it. People tell me I'm not a forgettable person. I think she likes me. By nature, I'm not a confident person, so I'd never say anything about it, but I had my suspicions. They say you can see it in a person's eyes.

And they were gorgeous eyes. Deep brown, coffee coloured, like reflections of the cups she stares into day in, day out as if they absorbed it. White, milky eyes, delicately creamy, with a strong, rich coffee droplet for each iris. The dark eyelashes that flick out around it, like the chocolate shavings on a cappuccino. She's delicious.

I remember the first time I saw them. I was transfixed. She caught me looking at her, and shyly shifted her glance, pretending to be doing something else, like clean a mug or something. At first I thought she was ignoring me, but she'd keep checking back to see if I was still staring. I was. She likes attention, Rosa.

After that, every time I walked in and she saw me, she'd suddenly get very clumsy and flustered. She'd be so overcome it was almost like she couldn't bear to look at me, and would always do something that involved breaking away from my stare. It's cute when girls are coy. Sometimes she’d get so embarrassed she'd have to get someone else to serve me.

That's why I make sure I only go in when she is the only one on shift.

"Hello, Rosa" I said, with a smile I'd rehearsed for best effect. She tipped her head up, and her eyes met mine. Her pupils were huge and dark today. Like espressos. I read somewhere that your pupils dilate when you're in love. Or you're afraid. Or in the dark. God, she's beautiful when she's in love.

"What can I get for you today, sir?" She replied, with a slight shake to her voice. It happens when you get nervous; it used to happen to me. It was a little inappropriate to start flirting verbally just yet, so I gave a hearty little chuckle, just to let her know I thought she was funny.

"Well," I said, leaning onto the counter putting my face a little closer to hers, "what would suggest, Rosa?" I’ll drink what you want me to drink. You’re lovely. You'll take care of me. The look on her face suggested to me she was giving the question some serious thought. This was obviously working.

"The, erm...most popular choice is probably the cappuccino. Or maybe the latté. But, whatever you choose, sir." Her voice sounded a little comfortable, which worried me. Perhaps she thought I wasn't interested enough, thought this was just about the coffee. Oh, poor Rosa. You have the sweetest heart.

"Come on, Rosa" I purred. "Don't you think I deserve something a little more...exotic?" I'd rehearsed the voice as well. I couldn't afford to take any chances with her.

"Erm, well... I..." She began to stutter. Bless. Getting all worked with emotion.

"Sssh!" I reassured her. I wanted her to feel comfortable with me. "I want you to feel comfortable with me" I said. Her lips were poised as if she were about to say "oh" but instead she gave a small, breathy cough. "Look, don't worry your pretty little head about it." They love compliments. Girls. "I'll take a latté"

Ever the professional, Rosa got straight to work on making me my coffee, dedicated to the all the complicated machinery against the back wall. She moves with such grace, such finesse, tugging on those levers; just look at those arms. Smooth, smooth arms. It took all my restrain not to jump over the counter and kiss her right there and then. Beautiful Rosa. Sweet, precious Rosa.

"Rosa". She didn't turn around. Maybe she couldn’t hear with this hissing and whirring of the machines. Or maybe she knew there was more to come. "Rosa, I love you."

It’s always difficult to gauge someone’s reaction to this situation, but I can safely say I was well off the mark. I didn’t for a second realise she'd be so overcome by it. In some sort of involuntary romantic spasm, she twisted on her heels and threw the hot, hot coffee she'd been preparing in to the air. By gross misfortune the bulk of it landed on my chest and face, and temporarily caused me to go quite blind. Oh Rosa, you bashful little creature. Look what you've done.

When I could open my eyes, I did. Rosa was obviously hideously embarrassed and had hidden herself from me. Nowhere to be seen. She should know I wouldn't be mad by this. It was just an accident.

I took a biscotti and put it in my outside coat pocket. I left the money on the till and walked out, smiling.

Tales From Earth

2005-11-29T16:32:00Z

Coxtin: /* Index of articles */

==Instructions==

Use this page as an index of other pages.

Please format your page titles thusly:

'''Tales From Earth:Title'''

Add a link on this page your own work, like this:

'''[[Tales From Earth:Title]] - [[User:YourName]] date, length'''
Add a short description of the work here.

So for example, if Sente were to write a piece on his family, he might format it like so:

'''[[Tales From Earth:Kiteway Crazies]] - [[User:Sente]] 28-NOV-05, 5000 words'''
A short treatise on my lunatic daughters, both of whom cavort with strangers.

Also note, people may choose to post articles on some other site (such as a blog) and link to it from here.

--------------------------

==Index of articles==

'''[[Tales From Earth:Ramblerhymes I and II]] - [[User:GasparLewis]] 29-NOV-05, 1000+ words'''
A free-form, semi-poignant tirade about nothing... in a good way.

'''[[Tales From Earth: The night]] - [[User:Specterz]] 29-NOV-05, 500 words'''
A little rant about nights on Earth.

'''[[Tales From Earth: Coffee Addiction (fiction)]] - [[User:Coxtin]] 29-NOV-05, 1081 words'''
Coffee's got a bad name these days. It used to be simple. It used to be milk and two sugars. It used to be mid-morning with neighbours and biscuits. It used to be after dinner with friends and mints. Now it's the workers who are being exploited in the coffee fields. It's Starbucks with its stranglehold on American society and the global economy. It's drug addiction; caffeine is the most accessible drug out there, and drugs are bad, bad, bad. It’s fast becoming a taboo topic. You only have to suggest getting a cup of coffee with someone you’ve met, and suddenly they get all testy and start shouting and shouting. Someone even slapped me for it once.

I like simple. This is why I shouldn't drink coffee anymore. Going to my local coffee house makes my head hurt. I get confused by words like "Grandé", "Americano" and "percolator". Besides, I'm meant to be cutting down on caffeine. Apparently it doesn't mix well with my tablets.

But I find myself in there. I can't help it. I could be walking through town, window shopping and decide I need to quench my thirst. I could be having a bad day at work and decide I need a little pick-me-up at lunch (before my sabbatical I'd be in at least three times a week to pick up a coffee and a pastry of some sort). I could be lying in bed deciding what to do with my day, and realize I need to see her again.

Rosa. She's the barista at my local. She's my favourite. She knows me. I used to be in there so often she couldn't help it. People tell me I'm not a forgettable person. I think she likes me. By nature, I'm not a confident person, so I'd never say anything about it, but I had my suspicions. They say you can see it in a person's eyes.

And they were gorgeous eyes. Deep brown, coffee coloured, like reflections of the cups she stares into day in, day out as if they absorbed it. White, milky eyes, delicately creamy, with a strong, rich coffee droplet for each iris. The dark eyelashes that flick out around it, like the chocolate shavings on a cappuccino. She's delicious.

I remember the first time I saw them. I was transfixed. She caught me looking at her, and shyly shifted her glance, pretending to be doing something else, like clean a mug or something. At first I thought she was ignoring me, but she'd keep checking back to see if I was still staring. I was. She likes attention, Rosa.

After that, every time I walked in and she saw me, she'd suddenly get very clumsy and flustered. She'd be so overcome it was almost like she couldn't bear to look at me, and would always do something that involved breaking away from my stare. It's cute when girls are coy. Sometimes she’d get so embarrassed she'd have to get someone else to serve me.

That's why I make sure I only go in when she is the only one on shift.

"Hello, Rosa" I said, with a smile I'd rehearsed for best effect. She tipped her head up, and her eyes met mine. Her pupils were huge and dark today. Like espressos. I read somewhere that your pupils dilate when you're in love. Or you're afraid. Or in the dark. God, she's beautiful when she's in love.

"What can I get for you today, sir?" She replied, with a slight shake to her voice. It happens when you get nervous; it used to happen to me. It was a little inappropriate to start flirting verbally just yet, so I gave a hearty little chuckle, just to let her know I thought she was funny.

"Well," I said, leaning onto the counter putting my face a little closer to hers, "what would suggest, Rosa?" I’ll drink what you want me to drink. You’re lovely. You'll take care of me. The look on her face suggested to me she was giving the question some serious thought. This was obviously working.

"The, erm...most popular choice is probably the cappuccino. Or maybe the latté. But, whatever you choose, sir." Her voice sounded a little comfortable, which worried me. Perhaps she thought I wasn't interested enough, thought this was just about the coffee. Oh, poor Rosa. You have the sweetest heart.

"Come on, Rosa" I purred. "Don't you think I deserve something a little more...exotic?" I'd rehearsed the voice as well. I couldn't afford to take any chances with her.

"Erm, well... I..." She began to stutter. Bless. Getting all worked with emotion.

"Sssh!" I reassured her. I wanted her to feel comfortable with me. "I want you to feel comfortable with me" I said. Her lips were poised as if she were about to say "oh" but instead she gave a small, breathy cough. "Look, don't worry your pretty little head about it." They love compliments. Girls. "I'll take a latté"

Ever the professional, Rosa got straight to work on making me my coffee, dedicated to the all the complicated machinery against the back wall. She moves with such grace, such finesse, tugging on those levers; just look at those arms. Smooth, smooth arms. It took all my restrain not to jump over the counter and kiss her right there and then. Beautiful Rosa. Sweet, precious Rosa.

"Rosa". She didn't turn around. Maybe she couldn’t hear with this hissing and whirring of the machines. Or maybe she knew there was more to come. "Rosa, I love you."

It’s always difficult to gauge someone’s reaction to this situation, but I can safely say I was well off the mark. I didn’t for a second realise she'd be so overcome by it. In some sort of involuntary romantic spasm, she twisted on her heels and threw the hot, hot coffee she'd been preparing in to the air. By gross misfortune the bulk of it landed on my chest and face, and temporarily caused me to go quite blind. Oh Rosa, you bashful little creature. Look what you've done.

When I could open my eyes, I did. Rosa was obviously hideously embarrassed and had hidden herself from me. Nowhere to be seen. She should know I wouldn't be mad by this. It was just an accident.

I took a biscotti and put it in my outside coat pocket. I left the money on the till and walked out, smiling.