I’ve got a stream of random questions bashing through my head on a daily basis. Sometimes my brain activity sums up what people felt after Lady Gaga showed off her meatdress. Desperate for answers, and slighty confused. When is a question too ‘out there’ to verbalize officially, and avoiding the event of people reacting with a face like biting into the worlds last twinkie? What I’m going for is a more curious reaction like when people think they smell a fart. So here’s a question, that I decided, needs to be smothered with attention. When whales are transported in airplanes, do their ears also pop like ours do? Expanding the question in my bubble of a brainset I came to study this in further detail. If a whales ears are built like a humans, would’nt they tense up with throbbing pain like we do when we dive in the deep? It would be quite inconvienient for a whale if this is true. I wonder if anyone ever dived and saw a whale move like a retarded sea giant because their ears are in constant pain, or are they in fact immune? And what about if you put a whale in the air? What happens to their ears? I just don’t get it.
Taking a break from my addiction to watching cat videos on YouTube, I thought I’d give BBC’s Frozen Planet a watch, just to see how those Antarctic creatures were doing (being trapped under ice and such). Because David Attenborough’s voice sounds like fairies toe-tipping on summer clouds I was listening intensely. I suddenly crashed into delusion as he explained that Narwhals – The unicorns of the Sea don’t have any use at all, for their huge horn which is bashed through their upper lip. Now, hold your horses, my mind irrupted. So these whales have a 2.7 meters long sword speared through their mouth flesh for nothing?!
Mind blowing as it was I look down my own body and my eyes drops at my bellybutton leaving me in a surprised state, similar to when Harry Potter figures out that Voldemort is in town. This weird looking spiral of belly flesh leaves us in the exact same situation as the Unicorn Whale! (Leaving out what happens after the string is detached with a sharp edged instrument at birth, of course) I’ve walk on this planet now for 22 years, and not once have I been like “Hold on, I’ll just get my belly button out to for this particular situation”. So I do wonder, if we don’t need our belly button after the birth procedures, why doesn’t it grow back together leaving no trace, just like when your body heals itself from your clumsy/drunk moments?
Instead we have this hole with a dead-end flesh wall, which consumes fluff like the Cookie Monster consumes cookies. Like the Bermuda Triangle, it sucks in storage, and no one knows how it got there. Look down your bellybutton now, there’s probably a fluffy surprise for you there, and it’s not one of the good ones (like when you tidy up your room and find twenty quid). I bet that we could live without our bellybutton. Maybe we need it for magic in the future. Who knows.
Whilst others were digging their toes in golden sand and smothering themselves like beached whales in the southern sun, I had the delightful pleasure of visiting Cambridge. My boyfriend and I were sightseeing around the “do-not-step-on-the-grass” area somewhere at Cambridge University and suddenly we ended up in front of a door the size of King Kong’s six-pack. Giving each other a childish glance we agreed to open the door expecting to enter a wizard’s house. (I assume they always have huge powerful doors) What turned out to be behind the door was as boring as their “do-not-step-on-the-grass” sign, and we found ourselves awkwardly standing in a church with the sound of King Kong’s six-pack smacking shut behind us. Extremely devastating when we have prepared ourselves for a sight of magic dust, spells and goblins.
A few tourists’ were looking at the art in the church, but there was this one man who was appreciating it a bit too much. He was a spitting image of what a typical librarian would look like, the only difference though, was that he had a lust for art (or the act of pressing his camera button) like Russell Brand has for women during a dry season. Every time he took a picture he panted loudly as if he peeked into a sexual release. The acoustics of the church surrounded us as he tried to out-stallion I-don’t- know-who. Flash after flash went off and we heard him breathe rapidly in short gasps, after exertion of taking a picture. I felt like I had opened the door to Narnia, but that goat man was replaced with some other interesting creature that gets off by taking pictures. WHO DOES THAT?
You know how whales drift off and get stuck on land left to flap on the sand until humans push them back into the sea – but until then the whales have a high demand to get splashed upon with water? Last weeks steamy summerweather gave me an urge about the same level as whales, to have a swim in water. My boyfriend and I decided to go to the local swimming pool, which ended up being as repulsive as when I watched Mysterious Skin by myself without knowing what Joseph Gordon Lewitt was gonna get himself in to.
I was childishly excited for our long awaited dip. Images of those commercials where attractive people drink refreshing juice to then fall down with a splash into water scattered in my head as I scanned the big pool like a younger, female version of David Hasselhoff in rescue mode. As we walked around my unlucky ways kicked in and I found myself stepping out of a pile of puke. Usually when I’m in a situation where there is a slight chance for me to step in puke, there would be loads of jägerbombs and music surrounding me, and I would be wearing shoes. In this case the sense of puke control was absent. I simply hadnt seen it coming. To get rid of the sticky gooey sensation under my foot, I turned to the great method of clever slugs. I heavily based my food upon the watery floor and carried on walking leaving a sticky trail, until it was all washed away. Sorted.
We finally get in the water and swam around for about half an hour until my boyfriend suddenly asks “what is that?!” while pointing at the water just in front of my face. With the awareness of him possibly tricking me, I slowly look down to find myself googleling at a little nugget of poop. If you take a second to look down, your bellybutton would be the same distance away from your face as the poop was to mine. I quickly move to one side like a confused salmon loosing its sense of direction to find another two nuggets of poop surrounding us in a viscious floating matter. Trying to escape without accidently swallowing them we swam to a non-poop area, where there’s no chance of being stabbed by shit. Lurking over the swimming pool we gasped at people swimming and diving towards all these nuggets floating around with their own personal “dum dum…. dum dum….” Shark soundtrack. It was horrifying. Based on the days events I felt as unlucky as a seastar. They lie at the bottom of the sea and the only hole they have works as both mouth and anal entrance. What a silly day.