Do Not Refreeze

Unless I use my ideas quickly they spoil. My freezer is already full of unproven theories, so I can't store them there. Once you remove intellectual material from your freezer you must thaw it out and immediately do something constructive. Do not refreeze. I tried that once with a frozen rant. Once it thawed out I felt I only had the energy to recite part of it. I stuck it back in the freezer and three days later when I went to remove it, it had shrunk into a smelly haiku.
I've left damp hyperbole out on the window sill to dry, went out jogging and when I returned, discovered only stale crumbs of sentence fragments. I keep all my punctuation in the top cabinet where it is cool and dry. One time I left a sealed box of metaphors under the sink and a leak in the pipe left me with mold and mildew covering my powerful work. Editors far and near were heartbroken went I informed them.
My theater pieces I keep in the stove next to my frying pan. Sometimes they get greasy, but that only adds to their poignancy I think. The one time I put them in the vegetable bin next to a head of broccoli, a week later I found nothing but curled, blank pages. My words, fearing the unknown, which was the broccoli, had scattered all over my place, in the wardrobe, under tables, beneath my quilt, in the dishwasher.
Since I don't own many shoes, I use my shoe rack to stock my short stories. I keep my stream of consciousness ramblings close, even sleeping with them.
My witty asides are in my knife drawer as you might expect. They are quite sharp and often draw emotional blood. Aimless musings are lined up in my storage space above the towels, waiting for the next yard sale.
You know, I seem to remember you purchased a dozen or so for $5. Hey, if you pay for it, it's not plagiarism.