Well. Here we are in a stew. It is a big pot of stew at that. Oh look is that a piece of meat floating by? A carrot? I don’t know. Maybe the water is hot. I thought I was taking a bath, but maybe the water is hotter now. Yeah, there, it is bubbling. It feels relaxing, but I have a bad feeling about this. If we stay in here much longer our goose is cooked so to speak, or at least that is what my dumpling is telling me.
Oh, hi dumpling. It is sure now. Chicken and dumpling stew. With me surprise. What ever will I do? Well, I guess my pants have too much starch, maybe I can float with them. Maybe I can finally get out of my stupid pants and then stand on them to jump out. Then I’ll help you out.
Monday, April 28, 2003
Sunday, April 27, 2003
Stupid pants
Stupid, stupid pants. That is what I have… Stupid pants . In the midst of a dark night, they came to me. The walked on their own, full of too much starch. They came to my window and knocked it. I opened it and let it in. I don’t know why, and I now wish that I hadn’t because they have made my life a torment.
One day when walking down the street wearing my stupid pants, I kicked a can and it kicked back. I guess the can didn’t like the pants. I had never seen the like, but I would see many more strange things while wearing stupid pants.
I walked by a girl one day. My pants still had too much starch. They were round and full, pipes on my legs. They were solid and my legs were like clappers in large bells. They rang. Rang like bells on my wedding day. But I was only a kid, and the girl I walked by was not impressed.
Stupid pants. If I try to sit down my pants won’t let me. They stand straight out like an old skirt, the kind that has hoops in it. Pretty soon, the legs get so heavy that I just stand back up.
I don’t know why I still wear them, but once I got them on, I can’t get out of them again. I’m not tall enough, and I can’t jump that high. It would be better if they could bend. But they can’t, so I am stuck in stupid pants until I grow tall enough to step out of them.
One day when walking down the street wearing my stupid pants, I kicked a can and it kicked back. I guess the can didn’t like the pants. I had never seen the like, but I would see many more strange things while wearing stupid pants.
I walked by a girl one day. My pants still had too much starch. They were round and full, pipes on my legs. They were solid and my legs were like clappers in large bells. They rang. Rang like bells on my wedding day. But I was only a kid, and the girl I walked by was not impressed.
Stupid pants. If I try to sit down my pants won’t let me. They stand straight out like an old skirt, the kind that has hoops in it. Pretty soon, the legs get so heavy that I just stand back up.
I don’t know why I still wear them, but once I got them on, I can’t get out of them again. I’m not tall enough, and I can’t jump that high. It would be better if they could bend. But they can’t, so I am stuck in stupid pants until I grow tall enough to step out of them.
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
Dark lines of mouse, cheese and sun
The mouse crept ever quietly toward the Roquefort cheese, its pungent smell drawing and luring him, intoxicating him. Drunk the mouse stepped forward with out judgment’s delays. His mouth watered like a mad animal creating flecks of froth at the corner of his mouth where the heavy breath was escaping. Before he could reach the large piece the fumes, those glorious fumes, had overtaken him entirely. Overcome the mouse passed out, and with final movement strained to get nose to cheese. There with out consciousness he drank in the mind destroying seduction.
The sun and death found him there.
The sun and death found him there.
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