Tuesday, 7 January 2014

Bromeliads

Bromeliaceae Sale!!

Yes, I know, right? Xmas has come early. Woo hoo!!

Avoid the madness that is your local shopping centre and buy your loved ones a bromeliad or ten at our sale this Saturday. Nothing says “I care so much about you that I didn’t buy you the latest i-thing, because that would be guaranteed to slash points from your IQ and diminish our relationship” like a bromeliad.

So…ahem…I present an opportunity to exchange cash or gold bullion for a veritable truck load of bromeliads. Just how much cash or gold, I can’t really say. You can’t put a price on the priceless. Well, you can, but like a wise man once said; “if the road to prosperity is paved with turnips, so shall yea arrive with a pocket full of promises”.

Deep, and yet totally clear in its message, I think.

Relevant Details:

You can inspect and buy from
 xxxx this Saturday 14th of December from 8am to 4pm. Bring your ute, your wheelbarrow, your truck, your horse and cart. You can contact me at xxxx@gmail.com before hand, if necessary. I’m not sure why it would be necessary, but I’m an accommodating kind of person and don’t mind emails from random strangers. Just avoid mentioning a ‘weird trick’ that will grow a certain appendage by several inches, because they end up in my trash folder.

For starters, look at my pictures. If nothing else, it should at least tell you what some of them look like. 


Prices - my house is obviously not some weird non-virtual form of eBay, but if someone were to come over and offer $10 for a plant and then another person were to offer a quarter ounce of gold, then I’d probably opt for the yellow metal. If you were to then offer me a dozen quail and an esky full of mud crabs, I’d still take the gold but it’d take me 20 more seconds to decide.

Suffice to say you will be getting a bargain -
prices will typically range between $5-$30. Depending on the plant maturity and rarity, we’ll put a price on it and if you are willing to pay that much, then a high five and an exchange of goods will conclude the deal. If a hundred people turn up and a bidding war ensues, so be it. If you’re early and have no opponents, then that may be to your advantage.

The not-so-relevant, but terribly interesting details:

Questions, I’m sure you have plenty. But forget those for now, I shall ask some and answer them immediately after. Because,.. it’s my thing.

Where did we get these magnificent pieces of prehistoric plantry? I could tell fibs and say that I picked some ‘pups’ up on my travels to Peru. Most Broms are originally from South America (yes, free trivia!). I could say that a wizened old lady jumped out from behind a stone wall at Machu Picchu, pushed a plant wrapped in a damp soiled cloth to my chest and whispered “take it, and guard it from all evil”, before fleeing in terror at some unseen pursuer.

But that would obviously be a porky pie. In all honesty, I won them in a poker game in a bar in the back streets of Kiev. Upon handing them to me, the previous owner, a Bratva enforcer, whose poker face was horribly ineffective due to the 3 bottles of vodka he’d drunk and the acid I’d slipped into the 3rd one, said “Я вырос их с помощью почвы, удобренной измельченных черепов моих многочисленных жертв. Семейные реликвии.”. It would have been the start of a rewarding friendship, had he not jumped out of the 3rd story window immediately after, apparently trying to escape the clutches of an invisible axe-wielding leprechaun.

My wife has safeguarded and bred them ever since, and we’re only letting some go so someone else can experience what is an honour and burden in equal measure. If you stare at them long enough, secrets will be revealed – secrets from lost souls who’ve gone to the ‘other side’ only to come back because they didn’t find it all that interesting. Or perhaps because there was no other side and wanted to come back and spend eternity dripping invisible water on to John Edwards’ head for being such a toad-faced-liar. Quite frankly, the ones I spoke to were all whiney and boring and there’s only so many times you can feign interest in stories about how hot a blow torch feels and what burning flesh smells like. Yawn. Going by the sound they make at night, some of them may have come back as frogs, but that’s just too weird to contemplate.

If you bothered to translate the nice Russian man’s ramblings, that last paragraph will make total sense. If you’re lazy or don’t know how to use Google translate, then sorry, I am unwilling to help you.

Besides all that, my lawyer acquaintance (can you really ever be ‘friends’ with a lawyer?) says bromeliads can also be used as a tool to build character in small children. Something that he/she may feed and befriend in the same way Tom Hanks befriended that volleyball, though probably with more believable enthusiasm.

Why? Because lawyers are often weird. And also because stuffed toys are so passé. And I think it says something about humanity when you see a young child looking into the dead eyes of a toy made from polyester and fluff, and promise to be its best friend forever and ever and have twice-daily tea parties where they discuss ponies and rainbows and marrying Prince Charming.

It says even more when you re-visit that child 5 years later and see the toy cast aside and them looking dead-eyed into an i-screen, totally captivated by a world of fantasy in which they pretend to have ‘friends’ and share intimate photos and private information with several hundred people they may not have actually met. Human interaction has been reduced to a lot of giggling and speaking in some idiotic jibberish where every word in the English language has been mutilated or shortened or turned into an anagram of pure nonsense. One can only assume the feeling a parent gets in this situation is something on par with discovering your child has turned raw vegan or joined a cult. If you believe those are two different things. The temptation to grab them by both arms and scream “you’re wasting my genes, I want them back!!!” must be unbearable.

You could rightly wonder whether owning a ‘thing’ that is actually alive and attracts frogs would correct this spiral into an impersonal apocalypse, and if you do, then a trailer load of bromeliads is for you and/or your offspring. I dare you to try and tell me otherwise.

Notes:
No, I am not insane or taking any medications.
No, I do not need to be taking any medication.
Yes, I had to get a pot-shot in at vegans somewhere. Maybe I tried too hard, but I couldn’t resist. I can never resist. No offence intended, I'm sure most vegans are lovely people. Fruitarians on the other hand...




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