“He’s waking up, roll him over so we can shoot him in the hip,” I heard the voice say through the befuddled fog. I tried to pull the tube out of my mouth so I could tell them to stop, but the anesthetic prevented my arms from moving. It could not, however, prevent me from screaming as the bullet ripped through my flesh before exiting.
*****
Where did we put yesterday? I could swear I had it right over here… I recall it vividly, and at the time I thought I would have no problem remembering where I put it. Honestly, I thought you’d help me recall, but I see you’re already busying yourself with today, so what am I to do?
*****
One of my potions died last night in the pot. It looked a little like shards of mizzenmast scraped into a clabbered pool of something I can only describe as ectoblastic reticule. Had it not been for the odor, I’m not certain that I’d ever have noticed.
*****
I’d laid the seeds on my counter, although the stupid thing never counted them. So, in total frustration, I decided to plant them as I’d seen gardeners plant seeds in the past—in the shallow part of the stream where the water more sat than flowed. Thinking back on it, it may not have been a stream at all… it actually may have been the shallow end of my neighbor’s swimming pool. Sure, I had to remove a couple of tiles, but I figure that there, at least, the tigers wouldn’t get at them and the chloroplasts could enjoy their endosymbiotic processes in peace.
*****
Even though I lift the toilet seat as though it were a nest of baby birds, I cannot guarantee that one of them might not encounter the slightest touch of icteric rain that might, perchance, leap from the pool.
*****
Where did we put yesterday? I could swear I had it right over here… I recall it vividly, and at the time I thought I would have no problem remembering where I put it. Honestly, I thought you’d help me recall, but I see you’re already busying yourself with today, so what am I to do?
*****
One of my potions died last night in the pot. It looked a little like shards of mizzenmast scraped into a clabbered pool of something I can only describe as ectoblastic reticule. Had it not been for the odor, I’m not certain that I’d ever have noticed.
*****
I’d laid the seeds on my counter, although the stupid thing never counted them. So, in total frustration, I decided to plant them as I’d seen gardeners plant seeds in the past—in the shallow part of the stream where the water more sat than flowed. Thinking back on it, it may not have been a stream at all… it actually may have been the shallow end of my neighbor’s swimming pool. Sure, I had to remove a couple of tiles, but I figure that there, at least, the tigers wouldn’t get at them and the chloroplasts could enjoy their endosymbiotic processes in peace.
*****
Even though I lift the toilet seat as though it were a nest of baby birds, I cannot guarantee that one of them might not encounter the slightest touch of icteric rain that might, perchance, leap from the pool.
*****
14 comments:
Uummmm, Bob? I take it there aren't any good football games on today, hence the esoteric rhetoric?
hehehehee
Yeah, woo boy! When men miss football, strange things happen. I'm still getting over Harry's dream over at the other blog. You guys should get some hobbies or something...
A picture is truly worth a million words; however, you have used just enough to capture something... And about the hobby thing - mayhaps, folks should be glad we write and don't have hammers or explosives...
Who says I don't have hammers or explosives? Those are my other hobbies...
Oh, and... I'd like for you to know that I watched both football games yesterday, thank you very much.
See, it is the football that does it to them! I knew it!
Hailing from New England, I'll admit that the game was on all TV's at my house. However, I played Scrabble instead of watching the game, just so I can keep up with Bob's eloquent verbiage....
Dearest Karen, my sister in crime, any attempts toward 'eloquent verbiage' should be entered into advisedly and cautiously, with a firm regard for (and understanding of) kismet. Would you want your Muse to abandon you for the crime of facile phraseology intent upon couching your sincerity, suspended and dangling, somewhere between farce and hyperbole?
I think not...
Besides, I'd kick your butt in Scrabble... ask an entire bevy of young barristers in Tempe, who made light of my skills under the Saturday Arizona sun three decades past. *sigh*
There is no doubt you would 'kick my butt' in a game of Scrabble seeing I would never get a turn as I would be challenging you the whole game...plus, I imagine you have every 'Q' word that doesn't require a 'U' memorized. It just wouldn't be fair, Bob.
Yahtzee, anyone?
flash fiction?
That picture should be a classic.
...flush fiction?
Ah, amuirin, you do reduce it to the lowest common denominator, don't you? Ha!
And, that's probably where it belongs. This whole venture was the result of an exercise I use from time to time... I take one sentence from an author I like, and expand upon it. The author (read victim here) was Richard Brautigan, one of my favorites.
Thanks for stopping by! I hope you'll come back on a regular basis...
Note to Karen: Yahtzee? Gezundheit!
Bob - never with the face, I mean pitching face forward into the drink that's ok...but not the toilet...as for bullets Bob, ya gotta dodge them...it's kind of an art...It helps if you take dance lessons in leotards and wear those little slippers...Thats how I do it...maybe I will post a picture of me in leotards one of these days...or not.
Poetman, I tried the leotard/pointy slippers route one time... as I recall, that's how I ended up face-first in the pisser. Some bikers just don't have a sense of humor.
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