Revelation 21:8

Now and again I do enjoy a quick conversation with one of the street people, but usually when I'm walking the sidewalk or waiting for a bus, I'd rather be alone with my thoughts.

For repelling people, my technique used to be talking to myself. Out in public, strangers would hear me talking about food or farts or whatever, and they'd assume I was nuts, and keep their distance.

But then some bastard invented bluetooth, or whatever's the technology that has everyone talking to themselves on the sidewalk. Nobody thinks it's nuts any more (except me), so my defense strategy now is to bonk at the bus stop.

It's become a habit, and sometimes I even bonk at home. My flatmate Robert asked about it last night. "Why do you bonk as you walk through the kitchen?" Because Dean might be home, is the answer, but I didn't say that.

Bonking, of course, is humming a song, but with bonks. You sing bonky-bonkity-bonk. Humming by its nature is soft, and la-di-da isn't rude enough, but bonking is loud. It's the sound when someone's hit on the head in a cartoon, set to music. Usually I bonk the theme from Bonanza, but it doesn't matter what tune, long as it's loud.

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One fine afternoon I was bonking Bonanza and leaning on a pole, and a young white man came walking along the sidewalk. He was wearing a baseball cap that had something to say, but my eyes don't work so well and he was still out of focus.

Curious to see what was on his cap, maybe I stared, watching the man's approach too obviously. Or maybe my loud bonking pissed him off, or maybe he was just a dick, but as he approached he locked eyeballs with mine and said quite forcefully, "Fuck you."

This wasn't a general purpose 'fuck you', it was a 'fuck you' specifically for me. Being a coward, I cowered inside, but you can't cower externally or you might get your ass kicked.

So I continued casually leaning and bonking, and looking at his cap until he'd passed. Then I rearranged my leaning position so's I could be sure that he wasn't coming back to clobber me, but he'd walked on without another word. 

"Revelation 21:8," his cap had said, which I wrote in my notebook, to look it up later.

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"But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death."

Well, fuck you too, hat-wearing guy. And fuck your religion, and of course, fuck your god.

It was a great hat, though, and I've ordered one for my own head.


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