But I don’t wanna marry Kevin!
So I had this dream. I dreamed there was this ratfaced dude with long, limp brown hair and they were like, “right. This is Kevin. You’re going to marry him.”
And I’m like, “wait…what?!”
And they go, “you promised you’d move to England and get married, didn’t you?”
And I’m like, “uhhh…yes. I guess.”
And they go, “well, the regular guy can’t make it, so you’ll have to marry Kevin.”
And I wail, “but I don’t wanna marry Kevin!”
That’s going to be my personal catchphrase for a while. You’d appreciate the power of this dream more fully if you had any idea how many suicidally stupid things I’ve done in my life because I felt like I’d promised somebody something.
And don’t get me going on the irresistible power of the dare!
Okay, so this here is what I laughingly call my studio. Actually, it was a proper artist’s studio for years, but then I raised three baby squirrels to robust adulthood in it. Squirrels are a genetically-engineered cross between rats and psychotic trapeze artists.
It was my task this weekend to pull out everything I want from this great tottery pile of squirrel-tainted weasel poo so the Garbage Fairies can come over the holidays and whisk the rest away to Santa’s Landfill. This was what it looked like on Friday. I took one look and wailed, “but I don’t wanna marry Kevin!”
But I learned something, going through my old drawings and other artwork. I learned that, if I work hard and put my mind to it, I sure can suck. I also learned that ammonia dissolves india ink — good to know when you find a big crusty pool of dried ink with squirrel tracks radiating outwards in all directions on a hardwood floor. This happens to everyone some day, and now you’ll be prepared. You’re welcome. Also, I found many hidden caches of inky peanuts and dessicated broccoli, so you’ll be relieved to know I’ll be okay in the lean times, thanks to my beloved psychotic trapeze rats. Fare thee well, boys — wherever thou mightst be!
Wait! How long do gray squirrels live in the wild? Never mind…
Posted: December 18th, 2007 under animals, art, blogging, britain, dreams, moving, personal, stuff.
Comments: 12
Comments
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 18, 2007, 7:32 pm
Grey squirrels live 4-6 years for the females, 2-3 for the males.
However, ones with india-ink dipped paws usually live about 20% longer since the other squirrels consider these Alphas.
Data is at:
http://www.the-piedpiper.co.uk/th1d.htm
God, I do dearly love the Internet.
That’s a cool studio, Weaz. Is that one of them dormer windows over to the right – to let in the Artists Light?
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 18, 2007, 7:43 pm
I always paint by artificial light, McGoo, because…what are they going to be viewed under? But the light was handy for my microscopes.
That room was obviously a nursery at some point. Someone had painted rather good murals of Disney scenes on the slanty bits. I hated to paint over them. In so many ways — it took three coats of shellac before they stopped bleeding through the paint.
Poor lads. My tree rats are long gone, then. I hope they had happy lives and many progeny, because they sure were a pain in the ass to bring up.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 18, 2007, 7:52 pm
Yeah – they went to that Happy India Ink Well in the sky.
I’ve wondered about that “artists light” stuff – for precisely the reason you state.
Comment from Muslihoon
Time: December 18, 2007, 8:02 pm
Your dream reminds me a bit of what I passed through.
Mom said, “Here’s a nice girl! Want to marry her? We all like her.” I, trusting my ‘rents and not knowing any better said, “Sure!” Never met her before. Seen her only on a recent wedding video (someone else’s) sent to us after my parents expressed interest in her. I should have heard the ominous music that must have began playing.
Lesson I learned: not all arranged marriages work. Times have changed: new times require new ways.
Comment from Pupster
Time: December 18, 2007, 8:21 pm
I remember your post about the baby squirrels, and I wanted to ask what happened to the little tree rats, but thought it might have a sad ending…like, Damien ate their livers with a nice Chianti and some fava beans.
*creepy sound effect*
Good to know the Weasel maternal instinct is not species dependent. Kevin’s gonna be soooo disappointed.
Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: December 18, 2007, 9:52 pm
Ya know, Weaz, when I was making up character names for the Badgerbugger Estate story – I had Covington down as Kevin Covington. “Kev” to his friends.
Comment from Kevin
Time: December 18, 2007, 9:52 pm
I am, like, so out of here!
Comment from porknbean
Time: December 18, 2007, 10:50 pm
I hope Uncle Badger’s given name isn’t Kevin. If it is, we will have to psychoanalyze you. I don’t think you want us, your imaginary friends, to go there.
*crazy auntie in the dormer room laughter*
Comment from Lokki
Time: December 18, 2007, 11:48 pm
A google search of images with the name “Kevin” raises a variety of horrifying possibilities for us, your imaginary friends to visualize. But don’t listen to us. Take your medication instead of the cat’s and we’ll probably vanish, or at least quiet down.
In the meantime: Kevin
Comment from Gibby Haynes
Time: December 19, 2007, 11:32 am
Grey squirrels eh? Maybe they’ve gone off to Britain and out-competed the native Red Squirrels to such an extent that the Red squirrel is on the endangered species list. Nah, that seems a bit farfetched.
So Covington’s name is Kevin? Kev to his friends and ‘Who are you and what are you doing in my pantry with those chickens?’ to everyone else. He may be a semi-neanderthal and a goddamned, shiteating degenerate, but he’s basically good at heart. Sort of.
I’ve known two Kevins in my life. One was crushed to death by a JCB (Britain’s equivalent of Caterpillar) as a child, and the other didn’t. So the universe balanced itself out.
Comment from S. Weasel
Time: December 19, 2007, 11:44 am
No, no…Uncle B’s name is NOT Kevin. Nor is he a ratfaced dude with long, limp brown hair.
Uncle B’s name is as American as apple pie, which is kind of annoying. I mean, it could’ve been something cool and England-y like Cholmondly Smythe or something, but no. So I express my indignation by calling him Uncle Badger.
I’ll always think if JCB as the Japanese Child Beheader, which is what they called a particular serial killer when he was still on the loose. Now they probably call him Kevin. Kevin Cholmondly Smythe.
Okay, it’s official. I’m babbling. I always get anxious just before leaving on a trip…
Comment from Dawn
Time: December 20, 2007, 1:05 pm
From oracleofbacon.org
The Oracle says: Weasel has a Kevin Bacon number of infinity.
Weasel cannot be linked to Kevin Bacon using only feature films. Do you want to include documentaries or TV shows?
Did you mean a different Kevin Bacon?
Did you mean a different Weasel? Weasel has only 1 credit.
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