Allrighty everyone, tell me how much of a hack job this is…
auto-bio
In which Vonnegut writes about broccoli from beyond the grave. So it goes.
He was a wholly unremarkable fellow, in a very remarkable way. He had brown hair and blue eyes. his features were neither soft and round nor pointed and chiseled. His clothing looked like a collection of things he got at the second hand store, which they were. Like most other unremarkably remarkable people he cleaned up nice. He liked to scream. He found great amusement in pictures of things that would disturb most people, but this isn’t what made him scream. He would scream at life, or sometimes instead of laughing. More often than not he would sing in a screaming manner like a drunken rodeo clown just to belt it out. He was a musician, and a poet. He was a writer and a comic. None of these things he did well, but he did them anyways. He was best at the musician role: sloppy and loud, most of the time screaming, and always with his heart on his sleeve so you knew he meant what he was screaming about. Most people enjoyed it, if they could understand what he was yelling about.
The apartment he shared had a living room, and a dining room. There were two bathrooms for the two bedrooms. Somehow he had managed to not share one of each of these. The kitchen was small and dirty in a very unused way. He had a television in the living room that was supposed to get about ten network television stations. It mostly got static. He did partially enjoy the one channel he had, as it showed the one animated serial he partially enjoyed. He never saw it though, as one of his roommates was always playing video games on said television. His roommate was a large man like a barrel is a roundish container for storing pickles or whatnot. He was a skinny guy who needed a meal or nine. None of this bothered him much. The dining room held two computers, neither of which worked well.
Sometimes he wrote his poems or his articles on these machines. More often than not he used them to stay awake so he didn’t have to sleep alone.
When he was younger his mother told him to go to college, get a job, get a car, get a wife, get a dog, get a house, get an electric can opener, and so on. She never told him to have a kid. Deep down she knew he would take a roundabout way in all this. She was a smart woman.
Well, he went to college. Then he left college. Then he went to college. Then he left college. This went on for some time.
So he got a job. Then he left the job. Then he got another job. then he left the job. This went on for some time as well. And so on for the cars, and the women.
He never got around to the dog or the can openers. He had a remarkable pet snake for a while. He named it Zippo. He had a goldfish, named fish, in an unremarkable bowl. The fish died suddenly one morning as fish are wont to do. So it goes.
His can opener was one of the smallest, simplest things man had thought of. No electricity required. Some things you should only need get once.
And so when he was a quarter of a centuary old he decided something. What he decided is a different story, but it caused some things to happen in this story as well.
to be continued
Yeah, I was noticing he uses “like” about every three words as well, but I thought I did pretty good with the repitition… Just badly on the redundancy