Off-Topic /
PF - The Omnibus Edition [1502]
Or it may have, but nobody told me about it. That reminds me of the simplified reading story I served my students the other day about the Russian man who spend 47 years hiding in the forest because he criticized Stalin. No contact with the outside world sure has its disadvantages which I am begging to find out. The rusty pipe, the only physical connection to the outside world is picking up some noises. I put my ear to it and this is what I hear:
Woman's Voice:
Why do you think that I am after your money, eh? Just because I am Polish?
Of course you have to buy me dinners, clean the house and go to work. I am busy enough with all that stuff I am busy with. Wait. Where it my "to do" list?
Here it is: nails, hairdresser, clothes shopping, meeting with Kasia in the fitness club, suntanning salon.
I am just too busy to give you a BJ at the moment, but I can schedule you for next month. Deal?
Man's Voice:OK, but you promised. Where do you want to have dinner tonight? Valentinos?
their voices are getting muffled in the distanceI look at the facial features of the naked men on the deck of cards and they appear to be from all over the world. Printed in Canada in 1971. Hmm.....Pierre was in power at that time.
I keep looking around the place and I am sure that Szarly must have felt quite bored in here most of the time and the only relief from boredom was to turn on the computer. I fire up the old machine and it takes about 3 minutes for the screen to light up. It's Pentium I.
I go directly to the history, although there are many word documents on the desktop. I will check them later. I click and it appears that he was looking at................
(no more pericope, but I can handle it)
.....PF of all things.
Had been checking it out, while I heard the rusty pipe going into vibration. It produced a ball of paint, which landed next to my foot. It was red. I heard the running steps over my head and some dust fell off the ceiling. I heard shots and yells. Another ball of paint felt and this time it was blue and white.
What the......is going on out there? My curiosity was growing by the minute and I decided to stop reading. I put my war attire on: a pair of black boots, an old ancient looking Helmet (how the hell did it end up in the bunker). I also found a pair of a military pants, a leather jacket and an air gun. I was ready to come out. All I need is my cell phone in case I want to take pictures or call the police.
By the time I was able to open the somewhat rusty doors, which finally gave the way, everybody was gone. All that was left was a bunch of paint balls, some of them smashed against the trees making little abstract decoration in all colours of the rainbow. I forgot about the potential danger and pulled out my cell phone to take the pic of the vivid splashes of paint against the pine bark. I collect images anywhere I go, so I couldn’t resist this time around.
Suddenly I heard male voices. I hid in the nearby bush and turned on the microphone in my cell phone (I was collecting sounds too). I lowered my head to the ground in order not to be seen and I realized that my face is buried in a mixture of red and white paint, grass and morning dew. I couldn’t remember if there was a sink in the bunker. Damn, Szarly is a man, so probably there isn’t any.
My ears could hear the steps approaching. A tall man was standing a couple of meters away from the bush I was hiding in. I heard another one approaching.
Man’s Voice 1:OMG, I am so tired of those PolAm rednecks. They are such losers. They are even more stupid then the average American folks. Must be due to eating too much kielbasa and reading those silly PolishAm newspapers.
Man’s Voice 2:I hear you. Gotta a fag? I quit 2 years ago, but those PolAms make me really annoyed. Never mind those PolAms. They can be excused. The worst are the transplants, born in Poland, moved to America and after a few years you have an amalgamation of somebody who is even more confused about their identity.
I am pressing my head to the ground even closer, fidgeting a bit since I can feel the paint getting dry on my face. Fvck. Why did I leave the bunker? Two men finish their cigarettes and finally walk away. I can hear their laugh from the distance. I get up slowly and sit down, pull the cell phone, take a picture of myself and look at it. I have some smeared paint on my face with grass and dirt imprints. No time to think about it. I look around and see a couple approaching. I quickly hide behind the bush, this time sitting.
Woman’s voice:I don’t understand why all those foreigners post on PF – they have nothing in common with Poland, they don’t understand Poland they way Poles and me understand Poland. I cannot stand them and I hate them with passion. They occupy the only space I am able to control – the virtual reality and even there I have to deal with those morons.
The Man’s Voice:Don’t worry about them dear, you are a true Polish patriot and a Lady, so you have nothing to worry about.
The Lady throws a cigarette butt, which lands in front of my face. I can see in a small print that she smokes. It says: du Maurier.
The couple walks away laughing.
I get up and walk back into the bunker. I am a bit disappointed, since I was all ready for the war and it seems that I missed the action all together, except for the involuntary face painting and the faint smell of a cigarette butts. I lock the door, turn on the fluorescent light and lie down. I need to eat something. I get up and walk around the place. The walls are covered with old posters with the rock groups from the 80s. I examine them looking for hidden storage of food. How did Szarly get his food down here. He sure must have gotten hungry. Well, for now I will order Pizza online. They must deliver here.
I lie down again. I am awaken by the laud music. It sounds Balkan. I hear a loud know on the door and hear somebody yelling on the outside: Pizzaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
TBC