I am willing to buy or trade, up to $50 hands down, or I have some time shares that might interest you.
I don't take single toes, and no heels, please.
The Weather Is Eating Us
The Fall showed up this weekend with fork in hand and said to me, "You know the drill. Lie Down so I can eat you, crap you out again, and mold you into a new person."
Being chewed by Fall's breezy teeth and then sliding down his sweatery throat is one of my favorite ways of being consumed. (I also don't mind becoming pure liquid in Summer's Cuisinart and then being tossed down like an energy drink before being shot out of his squishy pits and lower back.) And once you're in Falls' stomach, there's cocoa and some good books to read, maybe even spiced wine if you're lucky, and --not to mention -- Indigestion, a shriveled crone from Staten Island who can prattle on about nearly any old thing so long as he's got enough Tums Chewables.
Now, being crapped out by the Fall isn't always the best, but it brings back memories of what it was like to be formless at least! His hands are cold, crunchy, and made entirely of leaves, so when the Fall molds us back into a person -- straight out of the crap that we are -- it feels pretty great like exfoliating a bit with a brick to the face.
So, get back to me if you want to surprise the Fall sometime with something exciting, like a sprinkling of salt or going out for a beer, or jumping it from behind with chloroform.
Can you love a loser?
I want you to love losers. But first, let me explain why. My need for you to love losers arose one day after my final success...
I stood facing my opponent, sword by my side, his idiot sidekick by his. When my victory was sure, a silence ensued – a silence so vast and heavy it filled every pothole on the street.
Bob the Mailman, who was passing by, bent to inspect the holes, shaking his head and rubbing his fingers over the spots where the absence of sound seamlessly met the gravel.
The silence continued in this way, long and stubborn, through the seasons. The leaves fell and were beautiful, scattered randomly across the stillness. A light snow left a cold blanket over the street. In the summertime, the muteness in the holes bubbled and stuck to the soles of our shoes. Those who tried to pass became cemented to the ground, forced to observe the final moments of our struggle.
But then the fickle memory of human truth reenlisted noise. A tire blew out. A man swore in the distance.
My opponent’s lackey, a shaky little man whose eyes turned to liquid under the heat of his insecurities, looked tearfully to his idol.
He said, “You ain’t going to lose, huh boss? You still strong. You strong and winning, ain’t you, boss? You the best swordsman in this part which is every part, ain’t it boss?”
My opponent’s head lowered and sadness filled my heart. I told him not think about it too much, that this happens to the best of us. But it was a lie. I was the best and it never happened to me.
My opponent threw his sword into the deepest, noisiest pothole. He walked off despondently, leaving his stupid sidekick to wither in the loud static of his worst fear -- that of being alone.
About a month later, I received a delicious fruitcake in the mail. I thanked Bob the Mailman for the delivery and shut the door. I couldn’t prove it, but something inside me said it was from the sidekick, the fool lackey with slow waterfalls for eyes. Something in the taste of that cake told me that he was going to be all right.
But then the dove of revelation flew into my window. I suddenly felt I had arrived in a new kingdom of the mind, and things were going to be different. After so many years of success in business and war, it finally caught up to me. I couldn't do it anymore.
I ate only half the cake and threw the rest in the garbage. I climbed the stairs and kissed all of my daughters and sons goodnight. After a short prayer, I flushed my sword and my MBA down the toilet.
Watching them swirl and disappear forever into the underworld of anonymous excrement, I thought to myself: we all lose in the end – some of us just by winning way too much.
Send a pic if you want to win my affection.
I stood facing my opponent, sword by my side, his idiot sidekick by his. When my victory was sure, a silence ensued – a silence so vast and heavy it filled every pothole on the street.
Bob the Mailman, who was passing by, bent to inspect the holes, shaking his head and rubbing his fingers over the spots where the absence of sound seamlessly met the gravel.
The silence continued in this way, long and stubborn, through the seasons. The leaves fell and were beautiful, scattered randomly across the stillness. A light snow left a cold blanket over the street. In the summertime, the muteness in the holes bubbled and stuck to the soles of our shoes. Those who tried to pass became cemented to the ground, forced to observe the final moments of our struggle.
But then the fickle memory of human truth reenlisted noise. A tire blew out. A man swore in the distance.
My opponent’s lackey, a shaky little man whose eyes turned to liquid under the heat of his insecurities, looked tearfully to his idol.
He said, “You ain’t going to lose, huh boss? You still strong. You strong and winning, ain’t you, boss? You the best swordsman in this part which is every part, ain’t it boss?”
My opponent’s head lowered and sadness filled my heart. I told him not think about it too much, that this happens to the best of us. But it was a lie. I was the best and it never happened to me.
My opponent threw his sword into the deepest, noisiest pothole. He walked off despondently, leaving his stupid sidekick to wither in the loud static of his worst fear -- that of being alone.
About a month later, I received a delicious fruitcake in the mail. I thanked Bob the Mailman for the delivery and shut the door. I couldn’t prove it, but something inside me said it was from the sidekick, the fool lackey with slow waterfalls for eyes. Something in the taste of that cake told me that he was going to be all right.
But then the dove of revelation flew into my window. I suddenly felt I had arrived in a new kingdom of the mind, and things were going to be different. After so many years of success in business and war, it finally caught up to me. I couldn't do it anymore.
I ate only half the cake and threw the rest in the garbage. I climbed the stairs and kissed all of my daughters and sons goodnight. After a short prayer, I flushed my sword and my MBA down the toilet.
Watching them swirl and disappear forever into the underworld of anonymous excrement, I thought to myself: we all lose in the end – some of us just by winning way too much.
Send a pic if you want to win my affection.
Stackable washer and dryer
Despite sex-crazed tendencies,
a true heart: honest, clean and tumbling,
and there is a guy who exists inside me,
sometimes outside, always on high heat.
a true heart: honest, clean and tumbling,
and there is a guy who exists inside me,
sometimes outside, always on high heat.
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