1. A weight watchers magazine.
2. A bunch of celery.
3. A trail of peanuts.
4. A few cigarettes
Lauren's Literary Lunacies |
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A few days ago we made our first contact with the elephants upstairs. It was scary, but nonetheless, we took a very mature approach. I typed up a tasteful letter (pictured below). J, C and I all tip-toed up the stairs deducing a plan at the very last moment. We were going to slip the letter under, but then realized that it may go unnoticed. We decided to go with the "Knock twice and run like a bats out of hell" back down to our apartment. Upon later thought, the running was rather unnecessary as we CEARLY signed the letter with "From #13". Despite that, we received a letter written back from the elephants themselves written in a rather girly script I must say, considering the magnitude of ruckus they make every night. Tonight, we are taking things to a whole new level. As in the letter, it clearly stated that they would "Take to eating celery", "Take up smoking" and "join weight -watchers", we have helped them get a jump start on their plans. This jump start includes: 1. A weight watchers magazine. 2. A bunch of celery. 3. A trail of peanuts. 4. A few cigarettes These tactics are a sure-fire plan to stop the elephants.. or are they? This makes me wonder if a retaliation will be at hand. We've vowed to lock and barricade the door, only travel outside in groups and if worse comes to worse, we may be making a trip up to #33 to instill the same jumping techniques above their heads. As children we were taught two techniques 1: the silent treatment, which has not worked for the past 7 months, or 2: beat the shit out of who ever is bothering you. As we are civil beings, we will use our words and actions to get the job done. If I do say so myself, we have done a rather swell job. I will note on my next post how the elephants respond, and if I don't blog, you know to send help. These elephants have tusks.. large large tusks.
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You've heard of house hippos. You've heard to zebras stampedes. You've heard of marching bands. But I can damn well assure you, that you have not heard the elephants who live upstairs. These elephants are an unworldly breed. Their stompers thump, thump, thump at all hours of the night and day. Our apartment is not a sanctuary, but the underside of a zoo cage. I would compare the amount of disturbance to: standing behind a boeing 747 as it is in full take off mode, sticking your heard inside a fat man's tuba, or having a love affair with a speaker at a rave.
Their elephant feet are large, large enough to squish a large dog, or perhaps a small pony in one go. No, these creatures have no compassion and they play by their own rules. Between the hours of 10pm and 12am, they quiet down for their evening feast of hyena legs and kitten paws. 12pm signals the time that they start to begin the nightly ritual of the "elephant tribal dance" as us basement folk call it. For 3 hours straight, the elephants stomp, they bray, they play expert on rock band drums, they bounce on the bed, they even play dance dance revolution. These versatile creatures are not ones to be messed with. With a swing of their trunk, they have enough force to send you cascading down the stairs to your death. They do not reason, and they will not cease their rock band sessions. My room mates and I have been coming up with plans to drive the heard out of our savana, however all attempts have failed. So far we have tried punching the roof with our hands, slamming a broom handle into the ceiling and yelling profanities in elephantese. Alas, our attempts have gone unnoticed and we are forced to live in turmoil, only studying by the sanity which ear plugs give us. |
& if you're at the root of a tree, you must ensure you're strong enough to hold up all the apples who depend on you.
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