(no subject)
I have decided that I don't like roller coasters. In fact, I would pay money to experience whatever the opposite of a roller coaster is. I think it would involve a few hours spent in a hammock, a vanilla milkshake, and maybe some narcotics. Where's the line for that?
I also have a new rule: Don't eat anything you can't see. This after wandering into the dark kitchen (Light? I can grasp around blindly just fine.), removing a bagel from its bag and taking a big manly bite. "Hurm, that's tangier than I remember." Only then flipping on the light and noticing that the bagel looked like it was wearing a fuzzy green sweater. I haven't gotten sick yet, so maybe it was one of the "good" molds you never hear about. It's probably nothing to worry over, but then again, my mother was one of those "We'll just cut off the obviously fuzzy part of the cheese and it'll be fine" type of mothers. At least this isn't as bad as when I ate that broccoli that had little tiny ants crawling all over it. On the plus side, I temporarily had ant superpowers.
Flying red gem of
gelatin wobbling through the
air, U.F.O.-like.
Cake piled in both hands.
A moment's indecision
for perfect victim.
Cranberry sauce war
paint; jumbo salmon in two
handed homerun swing.
Arms stuck elbow deep
in mashed potatoes, pummeled
by apple missiles.
Watermelon raised
high like a savage caveman.
Smash! Call 911.
Each guest gone, none left.
Just a desserted banquet,
a delicious mess.
I also have a new rule: Don't eat anything you can't see. This after wandering into the dark kitchen (Light? I can grasp around blindly just fine.), removing a bagel from its bag and taking a big manly bite. "Hurm, that's tangier than I remember." Only then flipping on the light and noticing that the bagel looked like it was wearing a fuzzy green sweater. I haven't gotten sick yet, so maybe it was one of the "good" molds you never hear about. It's probably nothing to worry over, but then again, my mother was one of those "We'll just cut off the obviously fuzzy part of the cheese and it'll be fine" type of mothers. At least this isn't as bad as when I ate that broccoli that had little tiny ants crawling all over it. On the plus side, I temporarily had ant superpowers.
Flying red gem of
gelatin wobbling through the
air, U.F.O.-like.
Cake piled in both hands.
A moment's indecision
for perfect victim.
Cranberry sauce war
paint; jumbo salmon in two
handed homerun swing.
Arms stuck elbow deep
in mashed potatoes, pummeled
by apple missiles.
Watermelon raised
high like a savage caveman.
Smash! Call 911.
Each guest gone, none left.
Just a desserted banquet,
a delicious mess.