Tag: Imagination

Toadstool Billy – 05:04GMT

I really wish I could use my arms. Oh well…

Toss that fence somewhere else, Toadstool Billy–we don’t mean to harm you at all, honest! We love watching your antics and learning from your sporadic lectures, even if they come bursting into our living rooms in the middle of the night. We understand that your schedule is more nocturnal than ours, so Shelly and I are more than happy to leave a voice recorder in said living room for any extended lecturing you’d like to conduct during our sleep cycles. We really do love learning about your outlook on life, cheery or blustery. Your perspective never ceases to dazzle us with unexplored insight and colorful anecdotes, and we’re grateful to have met you.

Before we forget to ask–have you made any appearances in the neighbors’ houses? If so, have they responded kindly, or have they regarded you as more of a nuisance? We think that most other people on this block really have no appreciation for the supernatural, but we can’t be sure when the only times we interact with our neighbors are during social functions (barbecues, keggers, raves, seances, etc.) where saving face is preferable [and indeed necessary] if we’re to continue living such extraordinarily social lives.

To be honest with you, Shelly and I are very paranoid people in general. We just can’t leave well enough alone.

Sometimes I do miss people.
My foot itches.

Trousers

I didn’t put on a belt today, even though my trusted toad in residence screamed at me, “please do wear something that will hold up your trousers, you know how much you need that kind of support.” That kind of support. That kind of support. The statement cut to my core. How could a simple amphibian surmise how using such obviously leading language would end up with such a visceral reaction? I must concede that he has been with me for most of my adult life, a fact that I tend to overlook in my times of angst. He just has this way of seeing how my psyche copes with everyday life and the human-to-human disappointments that never fail to pile up when I venture outside of my hovel. Yeah, I’ll chalk it up to that.

Not one to quickly withdraw into self-pity (it usually takes a few minutes), I shot back. “Bah, you old-fashioned reptile! I rather enjoy a somewhat droopy trouser. It’s not my intention to be lumped in with the old fogies of the world, thank you very much. You know as well as I that I tend to shuffle my feet and speak in an exasperated tone about how things aren’t the way they used to be. Don’t rob me of my freedom of expression!” I called him a reptile, knowing full well that his species spawns in water. I’d recently taken to jabbing him with barbs designed to rock his steady demeanor. He has never once taken the bait. The cold-blooded bastard.

“Well sir, have you ever considered being the individual who brings belts back in style? Perhaps even suspenders? Your species really relishes bringing fashion back after an arbitrary period of time has passed, and maybe this time you can be the one to inspire the young men and women of the world that trousers sitting comfortably upon the waist are truly the change that they’d wish they started clamoring for, had they known someone of your immense tastemaking abilities.”

Speechless. Just speechless. That blasted earth-toned hopper had me stymied once again as I hiked up my pants for what must have been the twentieth time since making an excuse to “get fresh air” around the neighborhood (mainly for the purposes of people watching and escaping my inner turmoil as much as possible). I’m still confounded to this day as to how a little guy like him–with such a tiny little brain–could be my intellectual better. Oh well, no use in beating myself up… I think.

LXXXV

Heavenly bodies tend to move past one another on the road to stardom, or so they tell me. When I was a little boy, I saw a couple of heavenly bodies floating across the sky at a measured pace, nothing like the rudimentary flying machines our kind concocted as a way to skip over oceans and meet deadlines. These fiery points in the sky were playing with each other, bouncing around, up and down. Then they vanished, as though they knew I was enjoying their little game too much. Ever since then, I’ve been looking up to the skies for answers to the usual questions. “Why did the mayonnaise go bad before the expiration date?” “How are we going to figure out cold fusion, and does such a technology even make sense?” “Where did my dog go after he died?” Every time I look up there, I wonder if what I saw was just a figment of my imagination. I mean, I used to think there were miniature deer running around in my room at night during the Winter, scraping at the carpet and foraging for precious roots.