Saturday, October 18, 2014

The wrong hands.
(begun Thursday 16th October at 5.45am)

I know exactly what I must sound like to any of the second-generation quantum recruits who've been allowed to sit in on the Graveyard Shifts in ours. A cranky old oxygen thief, guaranteed to entertain with her constant enraged mutterings.
I've kept a log of each and every assault that woke me overnight. You're interested? What intrigues me the most is which of those brainwashed monkeys thought it would be hilarious to touch me up, in between jabbing away at me so painfully?
Who was it that had amused themselves administering pain and then pleasure, quite so blatantly, and had nogal appeared to find the results to be funny? Shall we ask the Poor Sod who it was that was present in my bedroom overnight? Would you anticipate anything remotely resembling the truth, in reply?
The sad fellow's Beemer was back on the driveway next door by the time I'd climbed out of the bath and dressed yesterday afternoon, and it wasn't long after that, it seemed he was hell-bent on making up for lost time.
I'd acquired a donkey-kick to my side (something new?) that had persisted right up until bedtime, at the most unpleasant levels imaginable.
Clearly not content with that, he'd gone on to flood me with the Throat Choker frquency and I'd lain there barking endlessly. It had been after one such coughing session at 2.15am, when I found I could actually FEEL someone enable that feather to the throat sensation, and I'd lost the plot and told them to piss off in no uncertain terms. I hadn't coughed again after that. At 3am a bunch of hadedas had called out in the dark valley, and my hand had immediately flickered into flames.
You've sat willingly and allowed your fellow Recruits to experiment with these levels of pain on your own person? Really? Then HowTF DARE you accuse me of hyperbole? I swear you appear to have taken the easy route and CHOSEN to believe that the agonies we targets endure at the hands of your peers are nowhere near the levels of pain I describe, and that they are harmless to boot.

LATER at 8.10am

It's most frustrating being unable to transfer my latest photos to the computer for fear the nearby Recruits will succumb to the urge to corrupt the memory card, so I'll just have to wait till my kid brings her laptop down on the next visit.
I managed to catch the rather stunning sunrise earlier this morning, and purely by chance I had turned to face Howard College (UKZN) down south, only to find the entire area below that establishment was under a white-out. You will eventually get to see it for yourselves, and could possibly explain why there was not so much as a hint of similar fog/mist in the valley below us at the time. There's a logical explanation for that oddness? Cool, I'll be glad to hear it.
Any metal fillings in your mouth? As you go about your business round the house, have you encountered any sudden eye-watering shrieks from those tiny lumps of metal on your teeth? Any jabs of pain to your jaw, or ache to your gums and ears, and yet your dentist can't find the cause for love nor money? Wireless.
What was the spiel way back in the beginning, Mr. van Zyl? To simply come out with it and lay the Glorious Plan openly at the feet of the nation would've caused panic and outrage for sure. Instead, your Superiors had begun a whispered campaign into the ears of the Seriously Rotten, who'd no problem at all with the concept of thieving the common-man's privacy, and using the sophisticated quantum laser surveillance technology to engineer a tsunami of crime, in order to cow the population into submissive acceptance of this fantabulous new age technology. It followed that it was a simple matter to enchant the academics and intellectuals with a version that painted a picture of a better world for all, and the few if any who might have smelled a rat would have been silenced, one way or another, with ease..

LATER at 1.52pm

I'd been curled up in front of the telly at 1.25pm, thinking I'd sneak in a nap. My Monitors had other ideas, and it wasn't long before the Throat choker was unleashed, and I began that irritating spasmodic dry barking. My cranky remarks in response had earned me a blast of the Carey Colon frequency. Frederick? Who's on this arvo? That gross weapon is one of Agent Balliram's faves, but I don't see the Beemer, so that leaves .....? The progeny? Your devout self? Pass the bucket please.
Thursday 16th October 2014 at 2.02pm.