The old man asked “feed me please” “All I have is Cottage Cheese,” I said. “Large curd,” But he heard the rhyming word— And would not eat my Cottage Cheese.
Vin Smitt had been toking on the dictionary again. This is not a pleasant thing for those of us who are victim to the sequela of his toke. When Vinny dipped into his Webster’s International you could pretty much depend on a whole new species of malapropist propaganda. And winter is not a good time. … Continue reading Vinny Wins a Zymurgy.
O, the Olly-Prill Fusses, their kiddles and a couple of offset marmosets were going to go places, so they packed up the freeze-dried and pink lemonade. They loaded up camp stoves, whimsical gas, and marmalade baugettes. The tossed in a fridge, a dishwasher, and a rifle—so unafraid. O, a couple of offset marmosets, the Olly-Prill … Continue reading On a Trip To Out There
O this ragabash of clowns leading the national parade with their upside trickle downs their ships for shoes and flappy gowns— their huuuuuge fake news charade! O hang this ragabash of clowns and the unfunny mess they’ve made with their treacle nonsense nouns and gibberish through smiles as frowns their constant in and out charade. … Continue reading The Parade Makes a Hard Right into Chaos
The first thing Phill Uperdone noticed that early November morning was that yellow was everywhere. The next thing he noticed is that there was no purple. The studio was a vast wash of yellow ocher and cadmium yellow (deep, medium, and pale); there were lemon, Indian, golden and gamboge yellows, and these were smeared, sprayed, … Continue reading Phil Paints Tighty-Whiteys (Unfortunately)
Megan cured Marcia of her cancer. Marcia cured Ronald of his addiction. Ronald set Veronica’s bone. Veronica healed Rich’s garden. Rich taught Irene how to grow potatoes. Irene feeds about 15 thousand people. Wait. You say the word is cur not cure? Sorry about that. REST OF THE STORY: When Megan was three years old … Continue reading A Cur Might be Relative to Your Healer
I had never out-bottled before. It was five thousand three hundred and seven years, one hundred and forty-two days. And nothing. Then one day, as I was marking day one hundred and forty-two on the calendar, I hear ‘scrape, scrape, scrape.’ And I am like “Eureka! Summoned at last.” In hindsight, it probably would have … Continue reading A Genie Comes Out
Though they came at me they would not stop. “You will not pay attention,” they said. “You have been attending one stopping at the hospital,” they taunted. “Have you no respect!?” They arrived and fled in one motion. I caught and held one a moment, but it was “Rushed” and would not give even its … Continue reading My, How the Words Rushed By!
The Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll is a poem of warning. Perhaps there is an irony in it for us today, with our suspicions of the sort of person Carroll may have been. But, it is still a lovely, lively nonsense. For some reason, I read this poem as boy hero against an adult female monster, … Continue reading Jabberwocky by Lewis Carol
There were three doors for old Maddy Wilsawl to choose from, and all three of them exited into territories his seventy-five years had not prepared him for. Actually, he thought, there wasn’t much choice. He had come in one of them. Beyond it was a country in which cars drove themselves, people hired thieves to … Continue reading That Last Door is a Killer