A few things about me. I like my tea black, I enjoy the smell of lavender and I have a beak for a nose. If you’ve never met me, I’m what some people may call a “giant” or a “freak of nature” or a “dickhead”. Long story short, I’m really tall, and so I have an enormous schnoz. Which looks like a beak.
I have a beak.
Anyway, my beak is all jammed up with dust, and I cannot for the life of me stop sneezing. I’ve decided the only way to remedy this is with a tall glass of baileys and a good read of a new play I got today. And while it subsides the pain for a little while, I just know that when I get off this couch and migrate south for the winter, that I’ll start sneezing again.
That was another joke about being a bird, because of my huge nose.
Sometimes I think life would be easier if I had no nose; if my nose were like the genitals on a Ken doll, smooth and non-existent. Maybe I’m not sneezing? Maybe I’m dying? What if I’m leaking brain fluid and sneezing is only speeding up[ the process of draining my noggin’?
Did I just use the word noggin’ like it was normal in 2017?
Ironically the play I’m reading is called “The Flu Season”. Well, I guess to be truly ironic to this situation the play would need to be called “I’m a big tall sneezy man with a beak for a nose and also I look like a baby giraffe”, but I guess it doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. I managed to score a few new plays today, so the plan was to have a nice relaxing night of reading. But my nose has other plans.
Maybe I have some weird fascination with birds? Last year, I wrote and directed a short film about a man who was a bird who was looking for love. Obscure? Yes. (Here’s a link) But maybe on some level, I was sending myself a message. That it’s ok to have the beak of a bird for a nose, and that I am a normal human being.
Probably not though. I think I just have a big nose.