meeting randomly...

...just how did we meet?

Friend X - (for the sake of anonymity, lets call him Alan): I met Syndrum in Berlin – to be more accurate, in the district called Wedding. He was living in a small shed on an allotment – at the time, he was part of a couple. His partner was a coloured stripper that would entertain American servicemen in a seedy bar called 'Darf ich... ?', that was run by a tobacco baron, Wurst Keyfob. If my memory serves me correctly, the stripper was called 'Colin', and he was a formidable and muscular specimen. At that time, I was an ardent gardener, and liked nothing more than popping a mixture of dried blood and manure on my radishes in order to get an early Winter crop. In any event, I was on the allotment, directing my seed utilising a Balsa riddle, when I heard sobbing from the shed. Being a caring type, after three hours, I went over to investigate - and looking through the broken pane that served as the only window, I saw a soiled, under-nourished specimen wearing nothing but a stained apron. It was Arpad… The rest is history – as Syndrum and Colin eventual 'tied the knot' and built a lovely extension on the shed – and are even hoping to adopt.

Syndrum - If my memory serves me correctly, it was the brutally harsh winter of 1960, as Alan rightly said, in a poor district of Berlin called Wedding. Being an aid worker at the time, I was attending to helping the poor malnourished druggies in the area with my female colleague Karin, when I came upon a destitute and obviously delusional space cadet. This poor soul, with only the vein stained whites of his eyes showing, was attempting to defecate a blade of frozen grass rising out of what looked like the remains of a half buried bean can. With his head turned upwards toward the sky, teeth clenched & reddening face he was screaming "grow horsey, grow!". It was Alan, a typically average fellow who apparently through the loss of his family from a freakish accident involving a horse-drawn wagon and 500 k. of horse manure, the details of which I will spare for sake of brevity, became involved in the Berlin underground Eco Rejuvenation While on Drugs posse. After considerable time spent in rehab, Alan was able to return to normal life as an oyster farmer, albeit with some disturbing levels of recurring LSD remnant induced flashbacks.

Alan - I daren't deny the entirety of poor Syndrum's reminiscences – I do get flashbacks of the horrible incident with the cart full of manure, courtesy of Syndrum's eau de cologne (and generally inadequate sense of personal hygiene). Thankfully, time is, indeed, a healer. And I am sure Syndrum enjoys a tremendous – even overwhelming sense of fulfillment every time he and Colin enjoy intimacy. I understand that they strew an assortment of horticultural equipment (including loose mulch) around the boudoir to recapture their early fumblings.

Syndrum - It breaks my heart to see the bitter and ungracious effects prolonged medication has on the human thinkbox. Alan, my dear friend, one of these days I pray you will also find your "Colin". Maybe then you will finally come to see the benefits metamorphic references of horticultural equipment can have on the human sexual spirit, instead of the solitary practices you have so aptly demonstrated countless times in finer public establishments. God forgive me! If only I knew you would take my suggestions literally, I would have been kinder by referring to human livestock instead.

Alan - Indeed, if only I could find my Colin - but can there be two? Obviously, I am not envious of the man-love you share together – especially the ghastly haemorrhoidal conditions that are testimony to your pumping-actioned, physical love. In your case, the sentiments of Christmas are correct – you would have been so much better off 'giving' over the last twenty years than 'taking'…

Syndrum - My dear downtrodden drifter from the Berlin narcotics wasteland, through your 'avant-garde prescription poison' induced words, I have surprisingly stumbled upon some uncanny wisdom. I have realized I am apparently trapped in a limbo of lost souls - totally beaten and ailing itinerants whose names are something like Buddy, Pal, Sport, Top, Buck, Ace, Bubba, and of course Colin; all looking to give, when all I do is take. From now on, I will be a giver! I'll start with my hoe, plow, shovel (large & small), my wide array of power drills (combi included) and of course my manure bucket, so you can enjoy this Christmas fully engrossed in your shameless and profligate solitary sexual acts with my (used, although in very good shape) horticultural equipment. And please allow delivery by Bubba. He is very much looking forward to meeting you!
Now that we have our Christmas wishes out of the way, what do you say in celebration of our friendship and the upcoming season of giving, we agree on.... well, meeting randomly! :).