Thursday, July 03, 2003
The Cauterized Wounds of Predictable Doom
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A thought had struck me previously as I lay on my bed, picking weevils out of biscuits which a "pink sailor" had flung over my threshold in fits of aquatic abandon. I could not suppress it not matter how much pressure I applied to my temples with spoons held between bottled fingerbones. It was only 5 farthings! The audacity of the salesman threatened to chase the last remaining vestige of my tightly-held and lavishly-appointed sanity into the theoretical "second" panel of popular 80's cartoon strip the Far Side. Even now I was feeling warmheaded. Removing a family of Italians from beneath the mattress may have helped; I later regretted scalping them and drying their skins, but it paid for bushels. I stood, whispering obscenities into the night. No reply. Then; a rap on the door, followed by free-associative poetry. Displeased and aroused, I threw a small coin through the mailbox with such force I flew backwards and broke a Siamese joint, as well as the dog. The door opened without incident. A man entered; "Mail for you, sir," he espoused with a tip 'o his hat, which caused the dog to break in two. I chose the head end. Rising to my feet (I was 1'3", after all) I held out my hand. He thrust the mail into it; a coin which had been lodged in his forehead flew loose, killing the head end. My last dog for two months! Infuriated, I pointed this out in the politest way I knew. Mistranslating my semaphore he fainted and died; causing hideous stench and Italian food. With the morning's pleasantries drawing to a close,
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A thought had struck me previously as I lay on my bed, picking weevils out of biscuits which a "pink sailor" had flung over my threshold in fits of aquatic abandon. I could not suppress it not matter how much pressure I applied to my temples with spoons held between bottled fingerbones. It was only 5 farthings! The audacity of the salesman threatened to chase the last remaining vestige of my tightly-held and lavishly-appointed sanity into the theoretical "second" panel of popular 80's cartoon strip the Far Side. Even now I was feeling warmheaded. Removing a family of Italians from beneath the mattress may have helped; I later regretted scalping them and drying their skins, but it paid for bushels. I stood, whispering obscenities into the night. No reply. Then; a rap on the door, followed by free-associative poetry. Displeased and aroused, I threw a small coin through the mailbox with such force I flew backwards and broke a Siamese joint, as well as the dog. The door opened without incident. A man entered; "Mail for you, sir," he espoused with a tip 'o his hat, which caused the dog to break in two. I chose the head end. Rising to my feet (I was 1'3", after all) I held out my hand. He thrust the mail into it; a coin which had been lodged in his forehead flew loose, killing the head end. My last dog for two months! Infuriated, I pointed this out in the politest way I knew. Mistranslating my semaphore he fainted and died; causing hideous stench and Italian food. With the morning's pleasantries drawing to a close,
