Unctuous

I'm always looking up the definition of words in order to prevent looking like an absolute tool while stupidly misusing words I think I know.  Today I used my free dictionary app and looked up the word "unctuous" thinking it meant creamy or rich.  It did not mean either of those things.  The app stated it meant "having, revealing, or marked by a smug, ingratiating, and false earnestness or spirituality".  I stroked my chin thoughtfully, and then, all of the sudden an ad for Fox News popped up.  Now tell me that my dictionary app doesn't have a sense of comedic timing.

The Oboezoo

I'm on a train, and someone a few seats ahead of me is quietly listening to some music that is driven by an instrument that I can only describe as a mix between a toddler playing the oboe and a drunkard giddily humming into a kazoo. The oboezoo is being played hectically, at a pace that reeks of panic and desperation. It sounds like it could be the music that accompanies a man wildly stomping on an anthill; at first he's just trying to destroy the home of these hardworking creatures, dancing about like a giant in the throes of a petty power game; very quickly his vindictive stomps transform into the panicked kicks of a man whose feet and legs are being swarmed with ants.  

"Get off!" he cries as he propells his legs downward to rid himself of these angry insects, all to the beat of that chaotic, mind-grating, never-ending oboezoo solo.

the pleasure of seeing your name spelled correctly

There is a certain pleasure in seeing my name spelled correctly.  I've spent years of seeing people write my name as Katrina, Katerina, Catalina, Catarina, and now in Germany as Katharina.  Naturally, after getting used to seeing my name treated with such lack of care, now seeing my name actually written correctly is like feasting on a small piece of rich chocolate fudge; that is to say, it fills me with a sense of intense gratification, and I want more, but I'm OK with what I have.  I no longer judge the frequent typo or accidental misspelling, but I do take delight in the gentle care taken to write my name as it is on my birth certificate.  I'll greedily cast my gaze upon an email or comment with my name spelled correctly and eagerly fill my eyes with this mirthful sight.  I smile, and silently praise the fastidiousness of the writer, though they may never know the true value of their attention to detail. 

Am I frightened, am I aroused, or am I just hungry?

I just looked up "banana man" and regret ever having learned how to type.  I don't know if it's the search engine I used (duckduckgo), or just the general creepy content that comes with the territory of personified fruit, but I now have an acute desire to scratch my eyes out.  Usually I can look at pictures of puss-oozing tonsils, or spider-inflicted infections with ease, but now, after looking up "banana man" I shall forever be haunted by his menacing smile.  His back is curved in a reverse arch, thrusting his partially peeled pelvic appendage forward into the faces of all to see.  He lifts the peel at what I assume to be his waist to reveal himself; I close my eyes in disgust, only to impulsively think about how tasty, how appealing a banana would be at this moment.  I open my eyes, and cannot even roll them at this criminal-level pun, for my gaze is transfixed once again by the image of this nightmarish creature.  Am I frightened, am I aroused, or am I just hungry?