Well, starting Monday at 9:00 a.m., I'll be an official employee of the Lapeer County Press. I don't know how I feel about that, but thankfully I'll be drinking champagne tonight and won't have too.
I just want to apologize for my utter inability to proofread before I post. I was looking at some of my other entries and I felt bad inside. I'm a damn English grad and I have no apparent grasp of redundancy, run-on sentences, or word choice. Sad really. At least I'm not a doctor.
I used to be a good writer, then something happened, and that something was writing class. Ah well.
Here's something I found on my harddrive, from an email subscription people could sign up for. I got up to 100 subscribers before I got to busy and stopped.
A friend and I will be sitting on a couch, watching the weather channel and having a completely logical conversation about quadriplegic whittlers, when my eyes go unfocused and I laugh suddenly.
"What?" they always ask, angered that I might be laughing at them.
"Oh, the pudding, er, um, nothing, never mind. Sorry. What were you saying?"
They try to drag it out of me, and normally I am able to resist until they get bored, or change the topic to something else.
I swear, I am not laughing at you. Below is something that popped into my head while I was zoned out at work (note that the time this actually took to play out was about half a minute):
Two men are sitting next to each other on a pier, their legs dangling over the edge. One, named Zeke, has a platypus head and is wearing denim overalls and a sweat-stained Hooters T-shirt. He is holding a box of chocolates, but instead of chocolates it contains carefully arranged toes of various colors and sizes. For some reason I notice that all of the pinky toes are missing.
The other man is named Krampton and looks for all the world like a 1800’s fisticuff boxer: handlebar mustache, shiny hair parted in the middle, pale skin, thin nose, bad teeth. He is wearing what I can only describe as a furry brown sphere, or perhaps a kiwi (fruit not bird) costume. Only his head and legs stick out, and he is wearing black and white stripped stockings and black pumps.
The pier is made entirely out of recycled boxes, folded up tight, so that
U-" and "China" can be seen in black and red all over, as well as that umbrella design and broken wine glass that denote "Keep Dry" and "Fragile," respectively.
A painted-on dark-blue forest is on the horizon, past a pale white beach (which appears solid, as if one piece and not grains of sand).
The sky is orange, and I am certain that the “water” underneath them is actually an amorphous blob of vinyl lawn chairs.
Zeke turns to Krampton and, licking his bill, says: “My, my, my fair Susan! Are you lactating or are your nipples merely urinating?”
Krampton doesn’t reply, but instead punches himself in the eye with his own tongue. A black eye rapidly forms, but on the other eye.
Zeke laughs triumphantly, and is just about to stick a particularly big toe in his ear when a flying ocelot swoops down and devours him to the waist, box and all. His legs drop onto the sea of amorphous lawn furniture and start tap dancing “We Built this City on Rock and Roll.”
Krampton snorts contemptuously, but then sobs. He dissolves into static as if his particular reception is poor, and gently disappears.
Soooo… you can see why I normally try to dismiss my random giggles as nothing. They really are nothing more than passing thoughts, and would either make interesting music videos or Lewis Carrollian children’s stories. Nothing more, nothing less.
Other than my passing fancies, I am quite sane I assure you.