. . . And Still The Moon
Part 15: Depressing

Andrew Cannon

I'm depressed.

You would be too, if you had a disease of the mind whose name is not so much words, as abstract drawings of stick men in impossible situations.

It all started this morning when I went to the toilet before I'd got out of bed. That sort of thing can really put a downer on the rest of the day. By the time I'd cleared up it was dinner time (also known as lunch time by the uncultured....ie anyone outside the County of Yorkshire) so I made something to eat.

My milk evolved into something with a lot of teeth a couple of weeks ago, so I don't go too close to the fridge (I can hear it moving around in there, grazing on the strange piece of meat that could have been a chicken at some time in the past) I grab a tin of spam and settle down to eat. Eating spam makes me even more depressed. (Whatever you do with spam, it still taste's exactly the same. I once added enough chilli sauce to descale a forty year old kettle and boiled it for three days, it still tasted of spam (although it did give some very pleasant side effects))

I try to cheer myself up by watching the paint peel off the wall. It does'nt work. I pass a couple of hours trying to balance a lettuce leaf on top of a fork using my feet, but the game ends when I accidentally slip and wedge the fork into the soul of my foot. Now I'm depressed and crippled.

Nothing else for it. When I'm this depressed there's only one thing to do. Go out and make everyone else in the world unhappy too.

I walk down the street. A small child walks past with a yellow balloon. I stick a pin in it and the kids face drops. Serves her right for been happy. I get to the bottom of the road (strange really, I was walking up hill) and turn left, then right alternately for a couple of miles.

Now I'm depressed and lost.

I stop a passing police man and ask him for directions. He does'nt like my expression and tells me to bugger off before he arrests me for been a miserable bastard. I did'nt know it was illegal to be depressed and miserable. Maybe its a new law to stop evangelists preaching on the streets. (Not such a bad idea really. When the whole country is in the middle of a recession and you've had your house/car/wife/kids/dog repossessed, the last thing you need is someone telling you that the world is going to end and you'll spend eternity in damnation.)

I move quickly away from the police man and wander into a nearby pub.

Its still early, so the place is full of business men on their way home and sad gits who don't have anywhere else to go. I buy a bottle of Brown Ale and stand at the bar next to a TMCB (Typical Middle Class Businessman)

"I'm wearing womens underwear" I whisper to him.

He looks at me as if I just suggested he give me a blow job.

"Would you give me a blow job" I ask with a sweet smile.

He breaks the 100 metre sprint record running to his car.

I help myself to the cheese sandwich and beer he left behind in his rush for the door, then scan the bar for my next victim.

15 beers/record sprints later and the depression hits me again. Thats not so bad now because I'm a bit drunk (which is the same as saying that the Eiffel Tower is a bit of metal) I hang onto the bar and sway in a breeze that only I can feel. "What should I do now?" I ask myself. (Aloud, in Hebrew, facing Mecca)

I summon the bar keeper and say:-

"A large tankard of your best ale, my man, and make it snappy"

He makes an obscure gesture over my head and I'm suddenly propelled backwards through the door and out into the street. I lie in the gutter, amazed at the barmans powers. Who would have thought that someone of such great arcane power would choose to run a trendy pub in the heart of England.

Then the bouncer kicks me in the head.

I come to a couple of hours later in the middle of the local parks duck-pond. I'm naked, covered in feathers and surrounded by inquisitive, but happy, ducks. I really hate it when that happens.

I swim to the shore and steal some clothes from a handy washing line (I think I look nice in the red off the shoulder ball gown, but people avoid my eyes as I pass through the streets to my flat)

My depression has gone now.

And the Moon is Full.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring ?

Check out the rest of ". . . And Still The Moon"

Submitted By: Anonymous

This joke is rated: PG