Monday, December 24, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Darf ich vorstellen:
Meine zwei neuen Mitbewohner:
Einmal die Nummer 86: aphatisce fishc sueß sauer ohne Reis in große Schüssel.
Ich wusste nich, dass Fische schlafen können, oder besser ich meinte zu wissen, dass Fische im Allgemeinen nicht schlafen können. Aber Max und Moritz (!) haben mich da eines Besseren belehrt.
Und überhaupt, was geflechtes Abhängen angeht kann man nur den Hut ziehen vor diesen beiden Schergen. Wenn man nich mal mehr sein eigenes Körpergewicht tragen muss, sondern nur in der nicht vorhandenen Strömung rumliegt und wartet, bis das Essen einem in den Mund fällt, ohne dabei unansehnlich fett zu werden, dann hat man doch wohl irgendwas richtig gemacht.
Also: Chapeau!
Einmal die Nummer 86: aphatisce fishc sueß sauer ohne Reis in große Schüssel.
Ich wusste nich, dass Fische schlafen können, oder besser ich meinte zu wissen, dass Fische im Allgemeinen nicht schlafen können. Aber Max und Moritz (!) haben mich da eines Besseren belehrt.
Und überhaupt, was geflechtes Abhängen angeht kann man nur den Hut ziehen vor diesen beiden Schergen. Wenn man nich mal mehr sein eigenes Körpergewicht tragen muss, sondern nur in der nicht vorhandenen Strömung rumliegt und wartet, bis das Essen einem in den Mund fällt, ohne dabei unansehnlich fett zu werden, dann hat man doch wohl irgendwas richtig gemacht.
Also: Chapeau!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Homicidal Psycho Hängeschrank
Welcome to my little action kitchen in my little action world!
Last week, I had one of those wonderful fits, where you kind of lose concience and when you wake up, everything in your flat is neet and tidy. Unfortunately, this fit didn't last until the kitchen. So I took, sobermindedly once again, to redecorating my kitchen, the one place in my flat left messy.
To be precise, I took to FINALLY putting up my vintage wall cabinet with the help of Devon Hunt and my wonderful power-drill (I lovingly call her "die Bohr").
After twenty minutes of Chuck Norris action-drilling, the cabinet was up and I contently stored my cups, tea, noodles, baking utensils and other nicknack in it.
The next day, I was sitting in my kitchen, still relishing the newly won spaciousness of my kitchen and adoring my ugly old Hängeschrank. While lost in thought, I was drinking a cup of tea and absent mindedly staring at a teapot, which my predecessor in this here flat left in the kitchen when he moved out.
It was in the shape of an old stove, with a frying pan and a tin of baked beans on top and everything. Ever since I moved here, this relic has been sitting on my kitchen table. I have never used it and probably never will.
I wondered should I throw it away? No, I thought, cannae do that, poor little thing, it's not its fault it looks weird.
I then proceeded to store all my dutiful housewife appliances on top of the cabinet. I left the room to light some candles in the bedroom.
WHRROOOOOOOSH!!!
I rushed into the kitchen and found myself in a landscape scarred by war.
The cupboard had come down, missing my radio cassette cd player by a mere half inch, spilling its guts onto the kitchen floor and digging its hard sides into the wooden table.
The oven teapot had taken a direct hit. It was a goner! Its remains lay in a milion pieces amidst a pack of rice and what was left of my favourite mug and its companions.
Was it suicide? Or was it rather a vicious plot carried out by suicidal terrorist mugs? Or did the cupboard itself lose its will to live and tried to take its own life (after twenty years of being an ugly cupboard, who could blame it?)? Or was it am attempt to kill ME???? I cannot tell, the truth lies buried with the victims; there were no survivors.
I took a deep breath and told myself that, after being run over by a car the night before, this was nothing more than a nuisance. I could handle it. My cups were broken, but I could handle it. The kitchen was a mess, but I could handle it. The floor was covered in rice and tiny pieces of earthenware, but I could the fuck handle it.
For a minute or so, I was completely calm.
The the Chuck Norris in me took over again.
I ripped everything that remained in it out of the cupboard. I took the still twitching mass of my cupboard down from the table where it had landed, roundhouse kicked out its back and finished the bugger.
I punched and kicked and jumped on it, until it was nothing but a heap of laminated pressboard. This I dumped in the staircase, spat on it and slammed the door.
On monday I went to IKEA, bought a new cabinet, went back on wednedsay because the hinges didn't work and am going back today because the new ones don't either.
While I'm away, enjoy this!
Last week, I had one of those wonderful fits, where you kind of lose concience and when you wake up, everything in your flat is neet and tidy. Unfortunately, this fit didn't last until the kitchen. So I took, sobermindedly once again, to redecorating my kitchen, the one place in my flat left messy.
To be precise, I took to FINALLY putting up my vintage wall cabinet with the help of Devon Hunt and my wonderful power-drill (I lovingly call her "die Bohr").
After twenty minutes of Chuck Norris action-drilling, the cabinet was up and I contently stored my cups, tea, noodles, baking utensils and other nicknack in it.
The next day, I was sitting in my kitchen, still relishing the newly won spaciousness of my kitchen and adoring my ugly old Hängeschrank. While lost in thought, I was drinking a cup of tea and absent mindedly staring at a teapot, which my predecessor in this here flat left in the kitchen when he moved out.
It was in the shape of an old stove, with a frying pan and a tin of baked beans on top and everything. Ever since I moved here, this relic has been sitting on my kitchen table. I have never used it and probably never will.
I wondered should I throw it away? No, I thought, cannae do that, poor little thing, it's not its fault it looks weird.
I then proceeded to store all my dutiful housewife appliances on top of the cabinet. I left the room to light some candles in the bedroom.
WHRROOOOOOOSH!!!
I rushed into the kitchen and found myself in a landscape scarred by war.
The cupboard had come down, missing my radio cassette cd player by a mere half inch, spilling its guts onto the kitchen floor and digging its hard sides into the wooden table.
The oven teapot had taken a direct hit. It was a goner! Its remains lay in a milion pieces amidst a pack of rice and what was left of my favourite mug and its companions.
Was it suicide? Or was it rather a vicious plot carried out by suicidal terrorist mugs? Or did the cupboard itself lose its will to live and tried to take its own life (after twenty years of being an ugly cupboard, who could blame it?)? Or was it am attempt to kill ME???? I cannot tell, the truth lies buried with the victims; there were no survivors.
I took a deep breath and told myself that, after being run over by a car the night before, this was nothing more than a nuisance. I could handle it. My cups were broken, but I could handle it. The kitchen was a mess, but I could handle it. The floor was covered in rice and tiny pieces of earthenware, but I could the fuck handle it.
For a minute or so, I was completely calm.
The the Chuck Norris in me took over again.
I ripped everything that remained in it out of the cupboard. I took the still twitching mass of my cupboard down from the table where it had landed, roundhouse kicked out its back and finished the bugger.
I punched and kicked and jumped on it, until it was nothing but a heap of laminated pressboard. This I dumped in the staircase, spat on it and slammed the door.
On monday I went to IKEA, bought a new cabinet, went back on wednedsay because the hinges didn't work and am going back today because the new ones don't either.
While I'm away, enjoy this!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)