For Fern:
This is the biggest unicycle in the world, seventeen-feet long and manufactured only for display purposes. If your ceilings aren’t high enough to accommodate such a generous gift, I’d be willing to take it off your hands. Don’t try to ride it, I broke three ribs that way.
Love,
Grandpa
Lunging farther than the snow should allow requires skill to the extent of a jaguar mixed with a polar bear during the warmest months in the Arctic Circle, but it’s not really that difficult if you have faith in yourself.
Or is it?
He just hangs over that plate,
about to put the fork in the pantry
when a loathsome crouton grins and bares its fangs.
You wouldn’t think it was much of a man-eater,
blood had never touched its lips. Poor Chip. Poor poor Chip.
If only he hadn’t forgotten where the forks go.
P: Why are you strutting around like that?
F: I just found an egg.
P: What kind?
F: Chicken.
P: Where?
F: The fridge.
P: What’s so special about that?
F: Nothing.
P: Then why are you strutting around like that?
F: I just found an egg.
P: We’ve gone over this. What are you going to do with the egg?
F: Fry it on my forehead.
P: Let me get you a spatula.
F: Thanks buddy.
P: You’re going to have to stop strutting now.
Hello, trusty readers!
I would just like to take a moment to acknowledge your greatness.
I mean it, really!
Don’t be so humble, it takes a lot of patience to put up with my sporadic posting and sometimes avantgarde, unintelligible writing.
I appreciate every single one of you, and it warms my heart to know that you’ve made a connection to my work, regardless of how or when.
If I’m going to be in the business of writing, I need to stay true to myself and trust that intelligent readers will decide for themselves what they like to read.
Thank you again, folks.
If you have friends who would appreciate this site, please don’t be afraid to suggest they check it out.
If you have to describe to them what it’s about, just say it’s a goofy guy putting words together. You’ll know from that moment whether or not they’re interested.
Cheers all, happy 70!
I guess the next landmark would be 100.
-Aidan
When you’re certain that you have the answer, write it down on a half-sheet of paper and give it to me. Ms. Curtis is going to go and imbibe toxic amalgamations in the corner over there. No need to worry about what those big words mean, Ms. Curtis wouldn’t do anything bad, would she kids?
That’s right.
Hand me that spatula. The one over there. On the counter. The other counter.
No, that’s the kitchen shears. Big difference.
Don’t you know what a spatula looks like?
No, that’s an ice cream scoop.
You’re getting closer, at least.
WHARVED 