2002-05-23 - 8:18 a.m.

Mercy me, there's nothing I love more than seeing a good ass-kicking.

Wyatt Earp kicking the ass of the entire Cowboy gang? That's a good ass-kicking.

Stone Cold Steve Austin kicking the ass of the entire new World order? That's a good ass-kicking.

Yoda kicking the ass of anything that moves with his crazy CGI-backflipping-lightsaber madness? That's an ass-kicking par excellence.

Me kicking the leafy ass of Miguelito Junglefreak all over the New College pool? Oohh ... you bet that's a good ass-kicking.

As a side note, have you ever actually been kicked in the ass? It really hurts, but it hardly compares with being pummeled in the skull with a steel chair or shot through the mouth with a long-barreled revolver. Sometimes I wonder if our idioms have taken on too much of a burden of meaning.

On the other hand, so nu?

Packing. That's the Frenchman in my Castle Aargh. I HATE packing. Because every time I pack I come across things that I know I resolved to throw away. And then I come across things I KNOW I threw away. And I come across things which I actually CHOPPED INTO PIECES WITH AN AXE and BURNED. My room is the Avalon of junk.

So this time I will REALLY do it. I will REALLY get rid of some of the clutter in my room.

But not my seven bins of books. I need them. All 1,207 of them. Because you never know when I might want to re-read that science fiction novel by Eric Idle. Or the collection of stories about dinosaurs. Or the study on the use of psychics in warfare. Or Victor Marchetti's book about the cult of intelligence. I might need ALL that information someday. All that and more. So I'll need more books.

Besides, what if I come across an empty room? Wasn't it Cicero who said, "A room without books is a body without a soul?" I hate bodies without souls. So, to be on the safe side, I carry between 3-5 books with me everywhere. Call me the Soultaker. Or the SOOOOOOUUULLLLLLL MASS TRANSIT SYSTEM!

But I'll get rid of some of this other clutter. Really. Just ... just not my video collection. All these videos are so precious to me. I've carefully culled them out of the herd of cinematic misfortune and created a movie collection that I can really be proud of, one whose boxes can sit blazing with glory on their shelves and fill the room with hope. From "The Mafia's Greatest Hits: A Documentary of Mob Murder" to "Meet the Applegates" to "Voltron: Defender of the Universe volume VII", I have gathered together the greatest artistry man has to offer in this century. I can't possibly get rid of my videos.

Or my game systems. Or their games and peripherals.

Or my computers. I might need the back-ups some day.

I can't very well get rid of any clothes. Do you know how long it takes to go out into the world and find 42 perfect Hawaiian shirts? A long time. Now I have a Hawaiian shirt for every conceivable occasion, including state funerals and espionage wetwork.

Don't you have 48 Hawaiian shirts plus some others that are ALMOST Hawaiian?

Well, yes.

And?

Those are back-ups. What if one of my 42 stalwarts should become incapacitated, stained, faded, dilapidated, unthreaded? I'll need someone to leap into the marching order, won't I?

And I can't get rid of my cups. My beloved cups.

Or dishes. Or silverware. Or food.

Well, what about the rest of this rubbish?

Ah, yes! Good point! We'll just throw out all this ... well ...

WHAT?

Well, I can't throw out these pictures. Or my old school papers. Or my folder of evaluations. Or my scrapbooks. Or my postcards. Or my ...

Yes, yes, keep your wretched memorabilia of a ludicrously Bohemian life, but what about all THIS? What about THIS thing?

That?

Yes. This.

That's Bruiser.

It's an orange plastic gorilla, which appears to be wearing blue spiked armor. And it has a nose ring. And it's rather scuffed.

Well, yes. That's Bruiser the Berzerker Baboon ... from the "Bucky O'Hare" series? I've had him for a LONG time. He ... keeps things safe.

...

What?

It's a PLASTIC SPACE BABOON! WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY NEED IT FOR?

To keep things safe.

I'm throwing it out.

... I've reconsidered. Fine. What about all these other things?

Ah .. well ... those are ... you know. My things. That's a golden glass Buddha. That's a little rubber Psyduck my friend Erin gave me. That's a fifty-cent Ganesh from Little Tibet in San Francisco. That's a plastic bow and a Nerf-tipped arrow ... I lost the other arrows. That's my jar of paintballs.

You have a paintball gun?

No, I don't own a paintball gun. Why?

No reason. What's this little white thing with the evil slit eyes and the strange nubby limbs?

That's ... um ... I don't know what that is. But don't throw it out. It's evil.

Hmm. It appears to be devouring my soul.

It does that, yeah.

Aiee.

Poor fellow. He needed more books.

.....

So ... packing is dangerous.

More on my dreams, which you've all been eagerly awaiting since they let you out of the electroshock room after reading my last entry, later, including as a special added WheelBonus, the dream I just had last night about the Jedi orgy and the flaming soup.

Non temetis messor,

La Rueda

*****

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