Araman's Net User Note: Susan and I are having a Tea Party, in exchange for her not telling her Mum I broke into their home, and accessed their Internet Connection. "More Tea, Dolly?"

Today people were celebrating. It marked the 26th Anniversary of the Ingall Battered Ice Cream. A nauseating combination of batter, ice cream, 100’s and 1000’s, chocolate sauce and powdered sugar – I’d prefer a bag of salted clothe-pegs to that, any day.

Being the person that I am – a sharp, insipid weed surrounded by a valley of unyielding timberland, it was only likely to deduce that I would overlook the event. Had I attended, my presence would swiftly be noted and I would be removed by the tail, flung into the garden beyond, leaving myself the chore of picking dirt from my teeth. For my noon walk – pausing my efforts on a bottle of sherry – I walked to the nearby Convenience Store – leaning against the glass with my head pressed upon the window. I stood there, literally wetting myself, transfixed by the overwhelming attraction of partly deformed chickens, slowly rotating on a spindle, and crisp Pies, with their warm and gooey pastry shell.

They were my last thoughts before waking up; my grey-checkered pants now stiff but dry. There I had fallen asleep standing with my head against the window. There was a cramp in my legs, my neck and generally my whole back. Trying to increase blood flow in such areas proved problematic as my lips were glued to the glass – my saliva admix with Sherry surprisingly replicating a mild glue characteristic. After working for several minutes on regaining movement I realised there was this wet creamy substance upon my head – Bird shit, it appears the pigeons had not yet forgotten me.

Upon walking home – assaulting a cyclist at a drinking fountain in order to drink from it first – I noticed the festival had finished. By one side of a truck stood three Fairy Floss machines – each with wheels and unguarded. Taking the opportunity I grabbed one - wheeling it home unheeded, marvelling at my good fortune.

By surprising a middle-aged woman walking by my alleyway – I managed to collect ingredients and method information on fairy floss. The only problem was that the woman was American, and it took us 10 minutes to bridge the link between Fairy Floss and Cotton Candy. Needless to say, once that cultural divide was behind us we were like a couple of old lumberjacks.

I spent hours trying to make it work. Again and again it failed me. I was doing everything right. Pushing all the correct buttons, closing the lid and waiting for the cycle to stop. Almost giving up I decided to place a cup within its bowels – scavenging through a skip bin I managed to find a relatively clean coffee mug (without its handle). Following the exact procedure I let the cycle run and my resulting concoction was anything but fairy floss, or cotton candy – I had a hot glass of cloudy pink water.

Drinking it down, wincing from the heat and chemical-like properties of the liquid – I was forced to sit down, clutching my head in discomfit, the world starting to spin. I awoke the next day vomiting sherry and an assortment of biscuits stolen from a couple picnicking. Finally regaining enough strength to stand – I pushed over the machine – puzzled by its nauseating effects, hoping to find something to clarify my sickness. Quite humorously there was much clarification. On a silver plate written in black blocked lettering, screwed into the bottom there was the words Sanitizer.

I’d stolen a Sanitizer from the Medical Booth – not the junk food booth. The taste of the liquid was horrific – and it made much sense now – why it wasn’t working, and why a form of sugar could make you vomit so terribly, which then brought me to a conclusion. Know what your stealing before you go and steal it.

Composed by Joel  at 1:15 pm