This is an age-old recipe popularised in fairy tales.
Serves: 0 to 2
Preparation time: 16 years +
Ingredients
• One human
• Rose-tinted glasses
• Yourself
Method
1. Place human in mixing bowl.
2. Add rose-tinted glasses.
3. Add yourself.
4. Mix well until all ingredients are combined and gooey to the touch. Break down any resistant chunks of human with a good spoon.
5. Transfer mixture to baking tray and place in a moderate oven until risen.
6. Remove from baking tray and serve hot.
Note: this recipe can be the most delicious dish ever tasted, but if incompatible ingredients are used or oven is set at incorrect temperature, pie may crack or lack flavour. This can cause extreme discomfort to one or both humans involved, and may also affect family or friends in the vicinity.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Hunting by Amanda Kramer
It was a drizzly and white late afternoon but the clouds showed signs of retreating and unveiling a calm dusk sky. He stepped up over a jagged rock and scuffed the toe of his boot on some crumbling debris. Placing his right hand down on the shrubby slab of rock, he used the ball of his palm to secure himself so he could dust off his boot quietly and, using his left shoulder, adjusted the strap so the rifle lay across his chest, like a seatbelt. The muzzle pointed up towards his lower ear and when he turned his head to the left he could smell the old residue from last week's hunt. He was never frightened at the closeness of the muzzle to his brain and the fact that only a few millimeters of bone lay between him and his fate. His expertise was paramount. He'd been hunting for a long time now.
The lonely wind blew a vacuum around his head but he could hear himself panting. Like clockwork, he assumed his position. Now crouched low like a python, he wriggled his body beneath some thick bushes, nestled amongst sharp sticks and ragged branches. Already the sky was clearing to a seamless milky grey and the wind retreated slightly. He lifted a finger and felt the direction of the air against his wet print. He took a pretend shot into the distance just slightly cocking the rifle, making a faux-explosion sound with his mouth. The immaturity of the act relaxed him and he smiled to himself and wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. He was pleased now. Perfect view, perfect aim. Now he needed the gold. He waited, picking something from his teeth using a thin piece of dried shrub. All was still. Then he saw it. Not one but two beasts, one behind the other, making their way around the base of the outback hill. They were completely unaware of him. This repulsed him. They were so clumsy and lumbering, their breathing heaving noises and sounds into the quiet. They had a lot of meat between them; he would certainly be proud of himself if he could mark both of them from here. He thought about how to tie the bloodied carcasses to his Hilux and remembered he brought with him some winch straps from the yard.
He waited until the beasts were stationary. They sniffed the air and grunted at each other hungrily. He drew a sharp intake of breath as the leader turned to his stumpy sidekick. Then the beasts were moving again. Slower this time. Perhaps they had sensed a predator. Not likely, he thought. The only thing they could sense was the arse of another of their kind. He felt disgust, the familiar precursor to the blind hate that drove him away from his family and to places like this. Places cold and lonely, where he cramped for hours in disguise, waiting and waiting for a chance to slaughter even one of this obtuse species.
They halted again and he cocked his rifle gently, one finger slowly easing itself onto the trigger. The only sound was the slowing whoosh of the wind and the rustle of the eucalyptus up above. He squinted, they stood still and dumb. Not moving, positioned in their own predatory formation, crude and offensive. Up ahead, a male kangaroo held its paws together and sniffed the wind, while a joey scuffled in the cracks behind him for some greenery amongst the dirt.
He fired two shots, like drum beats. The first hit the hunter in the head, sending him flat down into the crud. The second hit his sidekick, but in the ribs. The two men lay there, one dead, one dying, neither killing.
He got up, right hand on the rocks, left hand steadying the rifle behind him this time. His anger retreated from him like the rain had from the dusk. He smiled and walked away, leaving them bleeding into the dirt with no choice but to stare straight ahead at the roo and the joey retreating, shocked, but alive.
The lonely wind blew a vacuum around his head but he could hear himself panting. Like clockwork, he assumed his position. Now crouched low like a python, he wriggled his body beneath some thick bushes, nestled amongst sharp sticks and ragged branches. Already the sky was clearing to a seamless milky grey and the wind retreated slightly. He lifted a finger and felt the direction of the air against his wet print. He took a pretend shot into the distance just slightly cocking the rifle, making a faux-explosion sound with his mouth. The immaturity of the act relaxed him and he smiled to himself and wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. He was pleased now. Perfect view, perfect aim. Now he needed the gold. He waited, picking something from his teeth using a thin piece of dried shrub. All was still. Then he saw it. Not one but two beasts, one behind the other, making their way around the base of the outback hill. They were completely unaware of him. This repulsed him. They were so clumsy and lumbering, their breathing heaving noises and sounds into the quiet. They had a lot of meat between them; he would certainly be proud of himself if he could mark both of them from here. He thought about how to tie the bloodied carcasses to his Hilux and remembered he brought with him some winch straps from the yard.
He waited until the beasts were stationary. They sniffed the air and grunted at each other hungrily. He drew a sharp intake of breath as the leader turned to his stumpy sidekick. Then the beasts were moving again. Slower this time. Perhaps they had sensed a predator. Not likely, he thought. The only thing they could sense was the arse of another of their kind. He felt disgust, the familiar precursor to the blind hate that drove him away from his family and to places like this. Places cold and lonely, where he cramped for hours in disguise, waiting and waiting for a chance to slaughter even one of this obtuse species.
They halted again and he cocked his rifle gently, one finger slowly easing itself onto the trigger. The only sound was the slowing whoosh of the wind and the rustle of the eucalyptus up above. He squinted, they stood still and dumb. Not moving, positioned in their own predatory formation, crude and offensive. Up ahead, a male kangaroo held its paws together and sniffed the wind, while a joey scuffled in the cracks behind him for some greenery amongst the dirt.
He fired two shots, like drum beats. The first hit the hunter in the head, sending him flat down into the crud. The second hit his sidekick, but in the ribs. The two men lay there, one dead, one dying, neither killing.
He got up, right hand on the rocks, left hand steadying the rifle behind him this time. His anger retreated from him like the rain had from the dusk. He smiled and walked away, leaving them bleeding into the dirt with no choice but to stare straight ahead at the roo and the joey retreating, shocked, but alive.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Sunny Side Up by Seb de Robillard
“So?”
“I’m happy.”
“Yeah? So what?”
“Well, you asked.”
And it was true. Mike was happy, and had been so for a few years.
“A few years.”
“Bullshit.”
It wasn’t bullshit, it was the truth. Sure, not everyday was a holiday, not every day was Christmas, but fuck Christ all mighty, he was happy.
“How? How did you get happy? Become happy, sorry?”
“ I apologised.”
That was it. He said he was sorry.
“That’s it?”
It sure was.
He decided, that he needed to swallow his pride, his ego and just show some humility. He got rid of his “bullshit” and just apologised.
“Three words? “I’m Sorry”?”
“That’s two words idiot, and it was a little more complicated than that.”
Of course it was a little bit more complicated than that, most things are. What sent it off this time? A book? A song?
“I don’t really know how I ended up in the park, but there I was. I think I passed out, after drinking with some hobos, and then a few hours later, the sun came up.”
“Did they rob you?”
“No.”
“Really?.”
“I was covered in a fine film of dew, this was in early summer. The sun slowly crept up, gently nudging me awake, and I just thought of her.”
“Because of the dew?”
“The sun. It wasn’t a cold morning or anything, but the sun warmed me. Pulsed through my body. I breathed in deeply, and I smelt her.”
“Huh?”
“The warm sun, it smelt like her.”
Mike never worked out how he ever associated her and her smell and summer, never quite worked out what summer even smelt like.
Mike’s friend was a little confused. He had not read Patrick Suskind’s Perfume like your trusty narrator, therefore had no real understanding of the power of the nose and stuff and how it makes you feel or remember things without you even realising.
“Then what?”
“I called her, woke up her, and told her I was sorry. Sorry for the way I had been, the way I behaved. I said I was sorry for not being honest and not allowing myself to be hurt. For not taking a risk. I apologised for taking her for granted, for just expecting her to be there when I wanted her to be there. I apologised for being a selfish person.”
“Did you tell her you loved her?”
“No. We met up a few hours later for coffee, I still stank of hobo goon and morning grass.”
“So you were wearing cheap as cologne?” Mike’s friend laughed.
“Sure. She looked like she had just woken up; her skin was paler than her usual lovely tint. She looked like morning, you know?. It was like her blood hadn’t really started flowing yet, flowing to give her that glow. Her beautiful glow. “
“And you told her this?”
“No. She looked annoyed, but there was flicker of curiosity, of interest in her eyes. We hugged, I should say, I hugged her. I held her for a long time. At first she was not to keen about it, even did the old pat on the back a few times, you know, “Get-off-me-pats”, but then she relaxed. We embraced, held each other like that for some time.”
“And then…”
“And then I told her I could smell the sunlight on her skin. She looked at me, and smiled.”
“I’m happy.”
“Yeah? So what?”
“Well, you asked.”
And it was true. Mike was happy, and had been so for a few years.
“A few years.”
“Bullshit.”
It wasn’t bullshit, it was the truth. Sure, not everyday was a holiday, not every day was Christmas, but fuck Christ all mighty, he was happy.
“How? How did you get happy? Become happy, sorry?”
“ I apologised.”
That was it. He said he was sorry.
“That’s it?”
It sure was.
He decided, that he needed to swallow his pride, his ego and just show some humility. He got rid of his “bullshit” and just apologised.
“Three words? “I’m Sorry”?”
“That’s two words idiot, and it was a little more complicated than that.”
Of course it was a little bit more complicated than that, most things are. What sent it off this time? A book? A song?
“I don’t really know how I ended up in the park, but there I was. I think I passed out, after drinking with some hobos, and then a few hours later, the sun came up.”
“Did they rob you?”
“No.”
“Really?.”
“I was covered in a fine film of dew, this was in early summer. The sun slowly crept up, gently nudging me awake, and I just thought of her.”
“Because of the dew?”
“The sun. It wasn’t a cold morning or anything, but the sun warmed me. Pulsed through my body. I breathed in deeply, and I smelt her.”
“Huh?”
“The warm sun, it smelt like her.”
Mike never worked out how he ever associated her and her smell and summer, never quite worked out what summer even smelt like.
Mike’s friend was a little confused. He had not read Patrick Suskind’s Perfume like your trusty narrator, therefore had no real understanding of the power of the nose and stuff and how it makes you feel or remember things without you even realising.
“Then what?”
“I called her, woke up her, and told her I was sorry. Sorry for the way I had been, the way I behaved. I said I was sorry for not being honest and not allowing myself to be hurt. For not taking a risk. I apologised for taking her for granted, for just expecting her to be there when I wanted her to be there. I apologised for being a selfish person.”
“Did you tell her you loved her?”
“No. We met up a few hours later for coffee, I still stank of hobo goon and morning grass.”
“So you were wearing cheap as cologne?” Mike’s friend laughed.
“Sure. She looked like she had just woken up; her skin was paler than her usual lovely tint. She looked like morning, you know?. It was like her blood hadn’t really started flowing yet, flowing to give her that glow. Her beautiful glow. “
“And you told her this?”
“No. She looked annoyed, but there was flicker of curiosity, of interest in her eyes. We hugged, I should say, I hugged her. I held her for a long time. At first she was not to keen about it, even did the old pat on the back a few times, you know, “Get-off-me-pats”, but then she relaxed. We embraced, held each other like that for some time.”
“And then…”
“And then I told her I could smell the sunlight on her skin. She looked at me, and smiled.”
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