Thursday, March 23, 2006

you think i'm weird now? check this out.

an excerpt from the notebooks of andrew and hakeem
somewhere around page 33
paragraph 1
written by andrew
ca. 1995

When he awoke, the chicken was dazed and confused. He lay face-down in a large pile of gravy. Although he (or she) was so disconcerted that he couldn't remember his name, he knew for a fact that he did NOT like gravy. In fact, he could even recall the time when he was a young chick and a farmer had fed him gravy 'cause he needed to be a "nice chunky chicken so we all' can have leftovers after Thanksgiving and for the days ta' come" and when at the first bite he had spewed all over the nearest cow (it actually was a piece of cardboard painted as a cow; the farmer sold tickets to come and see the "talkin', three legged, cow wit' a tattoo of a naked farmer on his purty' little rump," and the cow didn't really talk, the farmer hid his wife behind it, and she answered the curious sight-see-ers questions). He could tell the gravy was old by its milky texture and its aroma of poached trout. After all the miserable years he spent on that farm eating that appalling gravy (what could he do? the farmer had held a knife to his neck. and once the chicken had exceecded the farmer's height, the farmer had pointed a shotgun at his belly. besides, the nastiness was only temporary; he, the chicken, had always regurgitated it soon afterward on some unsuspecting victim, usually the farmer's wife) the chicken had become, unwillingly, a connoisseur of gravy. He could tell with ease that this gravy was past its expiration date, probably homemade, and laced with heroin.

Though he had instantly come to this conclusion, which would have taken experts weeks to discover, his mind was still working slow (some would say his mind was always slow). In fact it took him five minutes to decide to try to get his face out of the disgusting stuff and another five to decide how. When he finally raised his head, now wrinkled due to a long period of exposure to the gravy, he found himself in a dumpster.

The dumpster was basically empty except for the four inch thick layer of gravy he was laying in and a few cabbage heads here and there. In one corner of the cavernous dumpster came a dim light which was partially blocked by the back of what appeared to be an old man. The seven and a half foot chicken tried to right himself but it seemed the gravy had weakened his monumental strength.

At the sudden move, the figure did a 2,700 degree turn (about seven 360s and a 180) in the air and came to face the chicken....

andrew david 'six pictures of a sunset' puerto vallarta, mexico.
these pictures might have had a chance if i had a tripod. in the first picture, i was hoping for a spectactular reflection in the sand. oh, well. otherwise, they're typical sunset photos. i can't even think of a photoshop technique to salvage them.


whitney said...

Andrew is this YOU Andrew, or a different one?

andrew said...

whitney, this was junior high andrew (me)

beth said...

andrew you have a thing for chickens, even harkening back to your jr. high days. here's another thing to look foward to about having kids--not only do you get to read to them, you can write the stories that you read.

andrew said...

i do NOT have a thing for chickens. you, nathan, and everyone else are quite WRONG. 'chicken' is just a word to me. it's an abstract concept. indeed, i might as well say 'emu' or 'tadpole.'

Sean said...

I have a thing for Emus.

andrew said...

yep, i know. it's a little bit scary actually. "emu's junk"? yuk.