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Quirk 4 of 11...

Well, oh, well, oh, well, oh, well, oh, well, oh, well, oh... Oh, sorry.  You know when you're by yourself, and you're a little bit tired - perhaps hot too, and you just sort of sitting there making stupid noises?  That's what you caught me doing.  It wasn't interesting enough to justify this much writing about, but it's done now, so there.

You've clicked on the 50's woman's speech, haven't you?!  You've found one of the ten hidden quirks scattered across this site.  Well done you - go and buy yourself a sharp drink.  Take the rest of the week off, and go get you some do-nuts from the seaside.

Your prize for uncovering this is some text.  That's it.  Nothing more, nothing less, I'm afraid.  I'm sure that if the band worked on some kind of huge payment system, we could afford to buy you a telly, but no - 'fraid not...


The fantasy is better than the reality. The climbing is better than the standing. The wanting is more attractive than the having. There is a big shop window style bubble that is burst when the crossover from one to the other occurs. You can stare at it, with your nose pressed hard against the glass, and let your imagination run absolute riot. Only one of the senses playing, the unknown taunting you. It looks sooo good. You sail around in the sea of dreams, like a dizzy lovestruck kid.

And everyday you shall return on your way by, eagerly peering through the window to grasp another look. You shall never get used to it, you shall never grow tired of it, since it is not yours to use up. Oh, how you wonder. Oh, how you want. Oh, how you've been sold.

So you save. You get closer. Your mind tries every angle to justify. Whatever means, you inevitably work hard to get close enough to have it.

Or at least you will do.

You are going to have it. It has been sold to you already, and it is now just a case of working your mind, your money or your influences around to being able to "afford" it.

Day after day.

Week after week.

I before E.

Except after C.

Until the day comes. The decision is made. The money is earned. The possession is justified. Whatever the means, the end is here. It shall be yours.

You walk into the shop. Behind the counter may as well be the devil. You sell your soul. You get what you want. It's yours.




And that's it.

You must now either pay for it, for the rest of your life, or wear it out.

No more dreaming. No more sailing. Absolutely no going back. You are no longer a virgin of that dream. It is no longer a fantasy. It is reality, and it will please you to damnation.

What a cruel mystical pane of glass that window is made of.

When you leave the shop, be certain to try and tell the next kid of the day after.

No, on second thoughts, don't bother. He won't listen. You won't listen. You are he again. He is you once more. Onto the next dream. Into the next breach of life once more. After all, those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it. And you shall never remember. You shall never learn

Next level down? Perhaps. Next level up? Maybe. Who knows? Just be careful. Don't dream yourself to death. Try not to swim too deep. Don't get locked into the scarlet light of greed that is the ever decreasing dream. You may wake to find that you've dreamt yourself alone.

Or dead.

Be very careful what you wish for. But keep wishing."


Some time in 1998, I think.

Well.  Hardly worth it after all that now, was it?  I was, expecting something funny and uplifting, I don't know about you.  Oh well, I guess it's what makes the quirks quirky, doesn't it?!