Author: Aidan Badinger

If I have no option other than to sweat here like a pig in heat (the humid Texas Gulf Coast, no less), shouldn’t I at least have a say in what kind of clothes I wear? I’m really disappointed in you for signing that uniform contract without at least reading it first. Isn’t that the first rule to contract negotiation? I’m not angry that I have to wear a uniform, I’m just pissed that you initialed the box right next to the statement that reads, and I quote: “All employees are now required to wear spandex undergarments to work, for sanitary purposes.”

Forever mine, forever yours, we always have a state of transit between us and our breakthroughs, outbreaks, whatever you want to call them, those typical bursts of exquisite time unfolding through the mantelpiece and unimaginable pincushion sadness, tied together with grief and an inordinate number of pineapple chicken beak massacres.

It’s not as though we lose our typical digestion when something of this magnitude pops up, but there’s no telling the typical dragon-like experience necessary to be taken seriously around here for a change. If there were any kind of scrutiny to be had, scruples to withhold for times when tile melds with rock melds with bedrock melds with molten core, then we’d be in a different boat entirely.

But as it stands, there’s not even a raft in play here. Forget about paddles, there’s no way we can even keep above water long enough to contemplate navigating a body of water. We might be naturally buoyant, but there’s no reason to believe that floating like a cork for six hours is a given, even in the fairly gentle salty brine.

It’s like I’m trying to crack
some Russian terrorist organization’s database

before the rubber ducky
explodes all over the train tracks
during the afternoon commute
away from the lovely metropolis
that affords so many people
the luxury of living 30 miles away
and commuting every day

to earn their big fat paychecks
while leaving bigfoot carbon prints

if they choose not to commute by rail.
But they can do anything they want,
because having substantial sums of money
makes a person immune from criticism
and the need to change lifestyle.

Pile the sandbags and twirl the belts,
we’re not gonna lose our dishes to the wind
if I have anything to say about it!

Pile it all up, all that crap you never expected
you’d need to keep the mental tempest at bay.

No use questioning it at this point,
your brain sent out the SOS two days ago,
and I sincerely apologize for arriving so late.
You’d never believe the cross-country traffic.

With fists would be too bloody,
so we picked the feet instead.

Stomping full speed ahead
with soles at our disposal,
we fully intended to swing
by the 24-hour bakery for
some half-price doughnuts
and a snifter of cider
on the house (if Freddy
decided to be kind to us).

Our plans changed, and
we began flipping pancakes
until we could find
a tangible solution.

It struck me like butter
and I scraped my elbow
on the doorway as I
hurried outside to yell

“America knows the truth
about agribusiness
and systemic starvation
of impoverished nations,
just ask the government!”

A sniper’s round whizzed
past my ear and I took
no time getting out of there,

though I lost my clothes
while going so fast,
an issue that pops up
more often than you think it should.

The rats will have to scatter again,
just like after the old factory collapsed.

Or was the factory just fine before
a mysterious cracking screech filled the air?

Only the rats can tell you for sure,
and they’re long gone. Where?
Boca Raton, of course.

Those poor creatures deserve better
than having to scurry out of rubble
for the rest of their lives.

That old, musty library smell permeates
every air molecule in the place, and
there’s nothing worse in the whole world
than old musty library smell. There’s no way
you can get it out of a building for good.

No matter how many windows you open,
no matter how many walls you pressure wash,
no matter how much carpeting you steam clean,
there’s no end to the tedious aroma
unless you just tear the whole building down.