Absurd, Humor
Comments 2

K…

Long ago and far away, when I was but a wee lad, we used to indulge in an educational bit of imaginative revelry, which consisted entirely of the following hypothetical scenario:

“If you could change your name to the name of any place that actually existed in the world, what would you choose?”

Ah, but it was a kinder, gentler age in which I grew up.
An age in which we didn’t have video games or cable TV, which meant no violence and/or sex.
An age in which you went to school to learn things… besides the violence and/or sex you couldn’t find out about in any other way.
An age which taught you rare and confounding subjects of mental stimulation… like geography – for how can you dream of traveling the world and visiting strange new places, if you don’t know those places even exist?

How can you know if the stars were made for you, unless you reach for them…?

But seeing as how this is Georgia we’re talking about here, some of the answers which came back to this question were probably to be expected.

Answers like:
Cairo (GA) – though it’s pronounced KAY-row down there…
Vienna (again, GA) – though back home it’s pronounced vie-EN-na… and…
Hahira (guess where?) – pronounced hay-HIGH-rah, and immortalized as it was in that classic bit of prodigious, Southern and  artsy-fartsy musicianship…

But not me…
No sirree, Bob’s your uncle, uh-uh, no way ¡José!
I chose Kuala Lumpur…

I’ve always been something of a problem child.

Say it with me now.
Kuala Lumpur.

No, no, no; not like that.
Think of the spurious offspring of Cary Grant and Ursula Andres, had it been married to the last-minute progeny of Charles Boyer and Phyllis Diller; and what the third generation child of such unholy unions might have sounded like… had that child been trying to do Pee Wee Herman’s seventh-best imitation of Sophia Loren with a head cold…
Okay, so some of the things I learned at school might need revisiting one of these days – under the supervision of competent and legally licensed therapeutic professionals, of course.
Extra-curricular activities being what they were, back in those pre-computer stone ages, you people are lucky I get anything right at all…

As far as you’re concerned, though, say the name lower in tone, and pitch… and throw in a completely unidentifiable accent of some sort – and then linger over that very last syllable.

Linger, I say…

Kuala Lumpurrrrrrrrrrr…

Purring when you say something always adds a bit of romance and mystery to your otherwise dull and tedious life… unless you’re stuck in a mostly regrettable 60’s TV show, centered around a certain caped crusader, with a nemesis who had a rather unhealthy fixation on all things feline…

If that’s the current state of your life…
You’re on your own, dude. *

Of course, my lingering in such a manner did nothing to entice anyone else into going along for the ride I’d signed up for – for even at that tender age, I inhabited a rather stranger and more wonderful world of whimsy, than did those I grew up with…

That’s right… I put the ‘anger’ in ‘stranger’!
Or is it ‘I put the ‘him’ in ‘whimsy”?

I know I put the something in the somewhere.
I just can’t seem to find it again.
It might help if I could remember what it is I was looking for.

It might…
Then again, it might not!

In the above picture, that is an actual, honest-to-Thor lightening bolt, which I captured with my trusty little camera many years after our bit of geographical deviltry-may-care – when I actually did get to visit my namesake city…

Choke on that, Hahira!

 

For the purposes of accuracy and in the interest of being all PC and stuff, the word “Dude” refers to anyone who owns a surf board, has ridden a surf board even though they may not currently own a surf board, knows what a surf board looks like – or is at least currently breathing.  Which is to say, it’s everyone.
Male, female – it doesn’t matter.
Because, as everyone knows…  the Dude abides!

 

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