Vince Bunnyman’s day at work through the ancient art of haiku poems.
8:35am.
Morning brings coffee.
Instant, white with one sugar.
No cream biscuit though.
9:03am.
How was your weekend?
Insert meaningless response.
How was your weekend?
10:27am.
Cake for morning tea.
Double chocolate mud cake.
Fat fat fatty fat.
11:06am.
First meeting of day.
Statistics fly like seagulls.
Noisy and pointless.
12:49pm.
Soup sits on my breath.
In drastic need of some gum.
Don’t reach under desk.
1:19pm.
Email down again.
IT put down the donuts.
People need their porn.
2:10pm.
Where is my red pen?
Stationary cabinet
is empty again.
2:14pm.
Seriously now,
who has taken my red pen?
Now forced to use blue.
3:33pm.
Another meeting.
Dave’s process presentation.
Try to look awake.
4:41pm.
With my new haircut.
I’m told I look a bit like,
one Michael Buble.
5:00pm.
As five o’clock strikes.
Everyone’s thoughts turn to home.
My thoughts turn to beer.
Epilogue:
Spending the whole day.
Thinking of haikus at work.
Yields little output.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
A Lover & A Fighter
Vince Bunnyman is a lover and a fighter.
If push comes to shove though, and it often does, his one and only love is fighting.
It began on his first day of Kindergarten.
Mark Wilkinson took Vince’s Tonka Truck from him without asking and Vince had never felt such anger.
He lashed out in ways he had never experienced.
Sand and open palms flew wildly in every direction.
SLAP!
Tears followed.
Mark Wilkinson swore that he didn’t hit Vince and to this day Vince hasn’t told another soul that he’d accidentally slapped himself.
Mark was unharmed aside from a small amount of sand that found its way into his mouth.
Vince was inconsolable.
As their teacher picked him up from the sandpit his arms and legs still flailed out of control.
Mark spat the small grains of sand back into the sandpit and looked on in bewilderment.
Vince may not have been victorious that day, but no one ever touched his Tonka Truck again.
During his primary school years Vince’s passion for fighting grew steadily.
He would fight anyone that looked at him funny or had more football trading cards than he did.
He would fight older boys, younger boys, girls of any age, and even the school’s gardener.
No one was safe from being challenged to a fight by Vince.
Those who accepted his challenge were instructed to meet him behind the bike shed after school.
Most of the time however, Vince was nowhere to be found.
His excuses ranged from having detention; to attending a better fight at another school; to training for his black belt at a fight academy with a real life Ninja.
Needless to say, no of these were true.
The truth was Vince had to be out the front of the school straight after the final bell to be picked up by his Mum, and his Mum would always yell at him if he was to keep her waiting.
And he didn’t want that.
When he did appear though, Vince was quickly put back in his place by boy, girl and gardener alike.
Still, covered black, blue and embarrassed, Vince fought on.
By the time he reached high school he’d begun wearing a leather jacket and eventually formed a small gang.
There were only two other kids in the school who would join Vince’s gang.
Both were 2 years below him.
Both were near sighted.
Both had chronic asthma.
They trialed many names for their gang.
The InVincibles.
The Ass Punch Crew.
The Three Tough Guys.
The Bette Midler Appreciation Society.
None of them stuck though and the gang remained nameless.
They even tried starting their own fight club.
Deep in the basement of Vince’s family home they would take turns wearing Vince’s leather jacket and fight each other.
Fists were thrown.
Legs were thrust.
Name calling was attempted.
Luckily no one ever got hurt.
Mainly due to none of them ever landing a punch, kick or mean name with any kind of efficiency.
It kept them off the streets though and, more importantly, away from other, more able gangs.
Vince recently started his first job.
Data entry.
There aren’t many opportunities to fight in the white-collar world for Vince, but next Saturday he and his fellow work colleagues will participate in a team-building exercise that Vince is very much looking forward to.
Corporate Boxing.
Vince’s opponent is a middle level manager named Mark Wilkinson.
Vince isn’t sure if it’s the same Mark Wilkinson whom he first fought with in the Kindergarten sandpit.
But it doesn’t matter.
Vince will show everyone why they should never touch his Tonka Trunk.
If push comes to shove though, and it often does, his one and only love is fighting.
It began on his first day of Kindergarten.
Mark Wilkinson took Vince’s Tonka Truck from him without asking and Vince had never felt such anger.
He lashed out in ways he had never experienced.
Sand and open palms flew wildly in every direction.
SLAP!
Tears followed.
Mark Wilkinson swore that he didn’t hit Vince and to this day Vince hasn’t told another soul that he’d accidentally slapped himself.
Mark was unharmed aside from a small amount of sand that found its way into his mouth.
Vince was inconsolable.
As their teacher picked him up from the sandpit his arms and legs still flailed out of control.
Mark spat the small grains of sand back into the sandpit and looked on in bewilderment.
Vince may not have been victorious that day, but no one ever touched his Tonka Truck again.
During his primary school years Vince’s passion for fighting grew steadily.
He would fight anyone that looked at him funny or had more football trading cards than he did.
He would fight older boys, younger boys, girls of any age, and even the school’s gardener.
No one was safe from being challenged to a fight by Vince.
Those who accepted his challenge were instructed to meet him behind the bike shed after school.
Most of the time however, Vince was nowhere to be found.
His excuses ranged from having detention; to attending a better fight at another school; to training for his black belt at a fight academy with a real life Ninja.
Needless to say, no of these were true.
The truth was Vince had to be out the front of the school straight after the final bell to be picked up by his Mum, and his Mum would always yell at him if he was to keep her waiting.
And he didn’t want that.
When he did appear though, Vince was quickly put back in his place by boy, girl and gardener alike.
Still, covered black, blue and embarrassed, Vince fought on.
By the time he reached high school he’d begun wearing a leather jacket and eventually formed a small gang.
There were only two other kids in the school who would join Vince’s gang.
Both were 2 years below him.
Both were near sighted.
Both had chronic asthma.
They trialed many names for their gang.
The InVincibles.
The Ass Punch Crew.
The Three Tough Guys.
The Bette Midler Appreciation Society.
None of them stuck though and the gang remained nameless.
They even tried starting their own fight club.
Deep in the basement of Vince’s family home they would take turns wearing Vince’s leather jacket and fight each other.
Fists were thrown.
Legs were thrust.
Name calling was attempted.
Luckily no one ever got hurt.
Mainly due to none of them ever landing a punch, kick or mean name with any kind of efficiency.
It kept them off the streets though and, more importantly, away from other, more able gangs.
Vince recently started his first job.
Data entry.
There aren’t many opportunities to fight in the white-collar world for Vince, but next Saturday he and his fellow work colleagues will participate in a team-building exercise that Vince is very much looking forward to.
Corporate Boxing.
Vince’s opponent is a middle level manager named Mark Wilkinson.
Vince isn’t sure if it’s the same Mark Wilkinson whom he first fought with in the Kindergarten sandpit.
But it doesn’t matter.
Vince will show everyone why they should never touch his Tonka Trunk.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Top Ten Reasons For Not Writing
Vince Bunnyman’s Top Ten Reasons For Not Writing…
No. Ten: My spelling is atrowsish.
No. Nine: Training for the 2011 Competitive Eating Circuit is very time consuming.
No. Eight: My keyboard has a restraining order against me.
No. Seven: That picture on the wall above my computer of the dogs playing pool constantly mocks my ability as a snooker player, dog owner and fashion expert.
No. Kaw: I’ve become obsessed with making up new numbers.
No. Six: I’ve actually been writing a lot but I’ve accidentally logged all my posts under Quincy Moneycans.
No. Five: De Bortoli’s 2007 Shiraz.
No. Four: I swore I wouldn’t write again until I avenged my Master’s death.
No. Three: Trampolining is heaps more fun.
No. Two: The Velociraptor I got off eBay is proving to be more of a handful than I’d originally thought.
No. One: Zumba is a lifestyle, not just a workout.
No. Ten: My spelling is atrowsish.
No. Nine: Training for the 2011 Competitive Eating Circuit is very time consuming.
No. Eight: My keyboard has a restraining order against me.
No. Seven: That picture on the wall above my computer of the dogs playing pool constantly mocks my ability as a snooker player, dog owner and fashion expert.
No. Kaw: I’ve become obsessed with making up new numbers.
No. Six: I’ve actually been writing a lot but I’ve accidentally logged all my posts under Quincy Moneycans.
No. Five: De Bortoli’s 2007 Shiraz.
No. Four: I swore I wouldn’t write again until I avenged my Master’s death.
No. Three: Trampolining is heaps more fun.
No. Two: The Velociraptor I got off eBay is proving to be more of a handful than I’d originally thought.
No. One: Zumba is a lifestyle, not just a workout.
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