every goddamn day my landlord’s kids are roasting coffee.
because it’s the ethiopian version of lent (t’som, which leads up to the ethiopian easter, called fasika), so there seems to be a coffee ceremony a couple of times a week.
but, you know what? scratch that, because they don’t roast coffee in ethiopia. not in the warm aromatic artisinal sense that you might associate with the starbucks idea of steaming ebony pearls glinting in the light as they pour from a tumbling cauldron with a sound like rain on the streets of seattle. in ethiopia they just burn it in a pan over a charcoal fire until the air is filled with acrid smoke that stings the eyes, and sends you into coughing fits.
i’m chugging so much water these days i half expect some grade school bully to slap me in the back of the head and rehash the ol’ classic “save some for the fishes, dweeb!”
and if the caffeinated smoke headache isn’t enough, we bought a sheep.
that is to say, my landlord bought a sheep.
and it’s living here until it gets killed for the fasika celebration.
sheep are so cute?
so fluffy and soft?
S is for “sheep”?
sheep goes baa?
no. not this sheep.
this sheep goes BLEEEEEEEECHHHHHHHHHH!!
in the middle of the night… during a thunderstorm… when it’s right outside my room, and i’m opening the door to go to the shint bet after a long night of writing about the ethiopian zombocalypse.
mint jelly! i just about crapped my pants.
i will suplex a damn sheep. sweet baby jesus, lamb of god, i will figure-four leg lock a sheep and rabbit punch him in the brain.
sneakin’ up on me like that with his crazy hypno-toad eyes (seriously, sheep eyes? kinda freaky. what’s up with that?) swear to shari lewis, i will tear a sheep’s hide off with my teeth and turn him into ugg boots.
forget what you learned about sheep from cartoons and nursery rhymes.
this ain’t shawn the sheep.
this ain’t mary’s little lamb.
not this sheep.
this sheep is cherri, the gravelly old drunk ex-stripper chainsmoking at the slot machines in some windowless reno dive bar.
hair going every which way but loose.
this sheep doesn’t go baa.
this sheep goes, listen sweetie, i been—hic—i been waltzin’ with this one armed bandit since—urp—oh god, got a little… shrimp cocktail in that one—i been sittin’ here since you was in diapers. i—hic—iiiiii know when iss gonna pay out and issaboutta give mama a nizzzzzze big chunka change, so why don’t you lend mama a quar—hic—uarter, then go gemme a bud light and a packa newports? ‘at’s a good boy.
and if the java gas chamber and blood thirsty goats aren’t my undoing, there’s the music.
the music, the chanting, and the…
wait, what is that noise?
just now, i was blasting my headphones to try and drown out the sound of the milk cow which sounds like it’s dying, and if it doesn’t shut up i’m going to kill it myself.
cows are cute?
those big luscious eyelashes?
C is for “cow”?
cow goes moo?
cow goes potty all over the stairs.
forget what you learned about cows from picture books, and happy cheese commercials.
cow does not go moo.
cow goes mmmmMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
over and over and over and over and over until you just—
…i will choke a damn cow. i swear to ganesh. nothing’s sacred. i will axe kick a damn cow in the head.
you don’t know what a cow is like until you live ten feet from one.
vegetarian? no. this has nothing to do with it.
this is vengeance.
i will staple a hamburger bun to a cow’s face and eat it… alive.
i shit you not, this racket was so well sustained that i had to take my headphones off for a second to really appreciate the duration of this cow’s death knell, and as it turns out, the family was just blasting religious music at maximum volume.
the church music sounded like a dying cow… and an impressive death, at that.
swear to meles, even the sickly cow was complaining about the music.
seriously, he looked right at me and said “can you believe this shit? this is bullshit.”
swear to mr. ed…
sorry for the whole, stapling a hamburger bun… thing. it was a misunderstanding.
just… maybe keep it down in the mornings, eh, old gal?
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stay tuned for our next episode:
i’m never getting to senegal at this rate.
watch it, buster: it’s always sunny in philadelphia
you ever wish seinfeld were like 100 times more offensive? well, stop wishing, a-hole! always sunny has answered your prayers. and a few other questions that may have been nagging you, like would that girl from sweet valley high still be hot if she were a tranny? is danny deVito like the raunchiest person in showbusiness? and is it OK to laugh about dumpster babies, crack addiction, and a crippled homeless priest? yes, yes, and yes!