By Edwin Murray
God damn it. This morning I woke up at my usual time of 7:15am and as I do every morning, headed downstairs to grab my work clothes from the laundry and get ready to go to work. And I don’t mind my job and actually kind of like going to work, but pretty quickly this morning I just knew that today was going to be one of those days, you know? Because what was the first thing I saw when I went down to the basement to have a shower? My dad, sitting on the couch (in his ‘DAD’ t-shirt I got him for the Royal Wedding last year) with a blood-splattered and seemingly-dead Mountain Gorilla next to him. That was the exact moment I got a strong feeling that today was going to be brutal.
As I stepped down the flight of stairs from the pool room down to the basement, still weary-eyed (I had a late night last night catching up on Season 4 of Vikings) I expected to just go to the laundry, grab my slacks and a shirt from the drier that I washed last night, but instead I got a scene straight out of some grisly, fucked up Quentin Tarantino primate-flavoured debacle. ‘Man…’ I thought to myself, ‘Why, out of all days today, Dad?’ After that, there was no coming back. Today was going to be a bitch, that’s for sure.
You know what I’m talking about, right? Some days you wake up and just know that that day’s gonna be a horror show. And when I saw the man from whose ejaculate I sprung parked on the arm of the sofa vacantly staring into space after what seemed like a very recently completed primal homicide, I just knew that today was going to be exactly that. And when I approached the man who made genital terrorism to my mother 9 months before I exited her gaping human evacuation chute, my bleak outlook for the forthcoming day must have been obvious. But I couldn’t help it. Today, of all days, when I was supposed to present to my ideas for trying to snag the Panasonic account to my team at work, the last thing I needed was to find my mother’s ex-fuck attendant sitting adjacent to a slain 180kg excessively hairy anthropoid.
This day started like a motherfucker. But at least it couldn’t get worse, right?
Because once I got within tongue-kissing distance of the man whose salty procreation juice I spawned from, it quickly became obvious that I was not going to be singing Gwen Stefani’s ‘This Day is Bananas… B-A-N-A-N-A-S’ in any non-ironic way anytime soon. As my father man sat resting beside the fridge-sized black mammal whose heart he had just made go bye-bye via the act of murderous killing, he said to me, ‘Son, I think you should call work and tell them you’re not coming in today. I need your help with something.’ Ugh… Dads… am I right?
Fuck me, don’t you just hate those days when you get out the wrong side of bed or go down to the basement and witness your dad in a terrifyingly and unsettlingly insane but calm murderous state after slaying an overweight jungle man commonly known as a gorilla? At that moment, you just can’t but help think ‘Dear Noisy and Often-Tired Lord God Almighty Above in Heaven land, please just get me through today.’ And fuck man, today that was me, so welcome to my life.
So take it from me, next time the male human person from whose penis stew you rose up from is downstairs in the basement sitting in a troubling and chillingly inanimate way on the edge of your couch beside a gorilla whose brain and heart he just made go bang, go straight back to bed, sleep for 24 hours and try again the next day. Trust me!