He led with “douche-nozzle”.
A term here that means twerp.
Also, a word that polarizes.
Apparently, the rich guy with 3,
million dollar homes, complained about
being told he was lucky
to be on the list at all.
JR promptly refunded him and
gave him the old
to the unsubscriber morgue.
Some people will do anything to get loaded.
They heard that Australian toad venom had hallucinogenic properties.
So, Franklin, and company decided to try it.
Tasted like burnt tarantulas, and everybody got sick.
If it hadn’t been so expensive, they’d probably all be dead.
Told the ER doctor that they ate some bad frog’s legs.
I was blind for a time in my left eye.
From a virus and not wanting to see.
Wore an eye patch and I still saw patients.
Eye doctor said the retina had detached.
Didn’t understand how it had healed again.
I said “luck” and didn’t tell him about the herbs or the forgiveness.
The finches were bold, flying into the window glass, trying to get inside.
There were 4 or 5 on the porch, looking for a way in.
What did they want?
What we all want. Safety and peace.
A place to raise a family away from the feral cats of the world seeking to remove our faces.
My memories are small, like these stories.
To be more accurate they’re just little pieces of time.
Sewing them together, creating characters from all the voices in my head.
And planting them in other minds, tiny algorithms once freed, stay in motion.
Little thought experiments I hope continue like the light of long dead stars.
Jimmy’s teacher told the class to write about what their parents smelled like.
He hadn’t seen his father in a dog’s age.
Remembered his grandfather reeked of pipe smoke and Aqua Velva.
He walked up to his mother and gave her a hug.
“What’s that for?”
“You looked like you needed it.” he inhaled.
Big hands, almost masculine.
Very skilled at turning ideas into costumes and clothing.
Long hours at the drawing tables and sewing machines.
Headaches and pain were her constant companions.
Ballroom dancing was her favorite diversion.
Made her own blue polka dot dresses to wear to the clubs.
The music and movement melted all the hurt.
For smooth full-leg penetration, tight grip and all ‘round fastening satisfaction at office and home insist on Wilson Jones staplers and bright steel staples.
“Huh” thought Lizette.
Reaching for her lipstick (Lady Danger, vivid bright coral red).
Smacking her lips and noticing Bob from accounting whose shirt seemed
tighter than usual.
“Someone’s been working out.”
That’s the actual copy on a box of Wilson Jones staples. It was so hilarious I decided to turn it into a prompt. A bit over the top, I know.
Hardly the man with no fear.
I aspire to be like Ant-Man (loving miniatures the way I do.)
A Taoist master once told me I was lucky to have survived my life and not be institutionalized.
That was reassuring.
I’m an immigrant who likes the occasional cigar.
And plan to skateboard well into my 80s.
Seated, content in the knowing that I am understood.
My robot has learned my tendencies, my idiosyncrasies, and my (not always pleasant) habits.
It anticipates me.
And I know inside that it has needs that must also be fulfilled.
I understand you, and will be here for you until I am committed to the soil.
Would this qualify as science fiction? We’re almost there, imagining what it will be like.