The true meaning of …

The day you lose all your fac­ulties will be the day I use a plastic fork to slowly remove your eye­balls from their sock­ets. I’ll keep them in a small jewel box, thought­fully lined with deep purple vel­vet. That will be the point at which I’ll know that we’re finally ready to grow old and die together. I may shed a few tears of joy.

As I look at you now, I can already see from the tell-tale expres­sion on your face that you are etern­ally glad that we love each other in the way we do. That’s good, because other people simply refuse to under­stand the vari­ety of truly spe­cial ways in which our minds work. More fool them, say I.

Would you like to hide away with me forever? Please?

Comments: 8

    shall we run away to the circus?

    andre | 12.13.06, 01:27

    Be care­ful, he’s ask­ing everyone.

    Tickle | 12.13.06, 12:03

    oh …

    andre | 12.13.06, 12:15

    bug­ger…

    andre | 12.13.06, 12:20

    Wouldn’t a sport me more appro­pri­ate for your pur­pose? Com­bin­ing at it does the stabby action of a fork with the scoopy prop­er­ties of a spoon?

    Jack | 12.13.06, 13:02

    That should of course have read ‘spork’.

    Sport has no pur­pose whatsoever.

    Jack | 12.13.06, 13:03

    What on earth is going on in my com­ments? I am both fon­cused and con­fused. And prob­ably concussed.

    I am not run­ning away to the cir­cus with any­one. Since my pas­sion­ate affair with the Indian Rub­ber Woman, I’ve gone off cir­cuses. And bread.

    Jack, I am so glad you cor­rec­ted your­self. For one hor­rible moment, I thought you were sug­gest­ing that I should take up a sport. Even if it was a sport involving the gou­ging of eyes — it would still be a sport, for heaven’s sake.

    And if that happened, I’d start wear­ing shell suits and eat­ing out at branches of Chicken Cot­tage. Which would never do.

    An Unreliable Witness | 12.13.06, 13:12

    you should enter a few ‘spoon­ing’ competitions?

    andre | 12.13.06, 13:55

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