Zed in Paradise 2

“This is a song” Kafka took off his shirt and plucked a few strings on his looted instrument “inspired by one too many awkward moments”
“Don't do this, bud” Zed placed his hand over his own face in order to hide himself to some degree, even if only a little “Not this song, you could play anything, but not this song” he went ahead anyway, a solemn tone echoing from the banjo.
“As I stand here with my dong hangin' out-” he was interrupted by the insisting hands of a nearby restaurant bouncer and was thrown into the unforgiving wind of the building's exterior.
“Alas, your tunes are worth to the none” said Zed, joining his friend upon the pavement.
“One day I'm going to have to stop getting undressed in public and singing about my member” the other pulled his shirt back over his head onto his no longer clammy and naked chest.
“Yeah, maybe you should get therapy or something, I don't know”
“Therapy, pff, who needs it” he flapped his hand dismissively “I knew this guy once, Shaky Sam, wherever he went he'd vibrate. It was great, there was never any ice to break in conversations anywhere he went because all awkwardness would be ignored in favour of his shaking. Everybody loved him. Then one day he went to therapy and came back. We didn't recognise him at first because we were only used to seeing his shaking face. Then we had to get to know him as a person, turned out he was an Enya fan. It's not all hypnotising and loving your mother, you know, psychology's evil” he picked up the banjo that had been thrown at him.
“Let's kick out the jams sometime” shouted the bouncer from the door they had just walked away from. The instrument was strapped around Kafka's back.
It seemed that the rest of the day would be grand. They'd retire to the house of Kafka and play some video games or throw stones at old people. Or try crack. But none of this was to be, for it was then that Kafka's trousers would be stolen by the relentless trouser stealing monkey gang and he was left with his man parts flapping in the previously mentioned wind. Then, of course he got covered in cola and sand and threw up in reaction to the feeling it produced.
So yeah, Zed would always wear underpants. Returning to the time a while ago where we weren't flashing back to the history of the pants, today was a special day for Zed. It was the anniversary of the time he'd stumbled over the coffee table, rolled and stood up without a scratch. It wasn't often such events occurred so it was worth celebrating. And what a day he'd arranged. Breakfast on a patio, a quick nap before lunch on a boat overlooking a ravine. Then it would be off to France and back again. Some would say these were rituals of mundanity and unoriginality. Whereas others would be confused as to how the events were significant to anything in particular. To the latter he would say this: 'If a man with a croissant in his pocket is considered a loon, then dub me Sir. Loony Loon of Loonsville'. This could potentially answer many questions related to the general topic at hand.
Zed was about to leave his house when suddenly the telephone began ringing. Then it continued to ring. It was given a chance to make one last complete ring before Zed picked up the receiver and inquired who was on the line.
“Good afternoon” greeted a mildly friendly but mostly petrifying voice “my name is Howard Frazzle, I have just been legally declared leader of the Welsh republic of window boxes”
“Well that is certainly a joyous occasion for you. But I find myself torn between insight into things such as that and the amount of time I am currently late by for my appointment” Zed replied in his best telephone-exclusive voice.
“Do not fear, I shall not keep you long, all I wanted was-”
“I'm afraid I'll have to interrupt you there in order to compliment your use of the word 'shall', if that's quite satisfactory by you”
“Indeed, thankyou, but you flatter me. The reason for my call is that as of today I am your father-in-law”
“I see” Zed conveyed shock as much as he could, which wasn't a lot due to his emotions inhabiting the impatient side of his brain “But if that's all you have to say I'll have to bid you good day”
“Pray don't, good sir, I-”
“I'm sorry, I'll have to interrupt you again. You see there is a line between sophisticated vocabulary and extinct language such as the word 'pray' when not used as a verb. I hope to speak to you soon, goodbye” and thus the receiver was put back onto its hook or whatever you'd prefer it to be called.
And so it was that Zed left his home and stepped out onto the street whereupon he was greeted by sunlight and indifferent looks from the surrounding people. And by people I mean the beings who lived near Zed's home, who were less like people and more like lumps filled with hate and toe deformities. 'Ouch' they'd curse under their breath, their feet squishing unappetisingly as they descended onto the ground 'If only I were not so full of contempt and toe conditions'.
Outside the world was continuing as normal, people were dying, birds sat in trees waiting for their demise, trees sat in deep contemplation concerning the birds' structural integrity. There was absolutely nothing extraordinary happening anywhere. It was because of this that Zed took it upon himself to become a god.