Potato Ban

I am no longer allowed to have potatoes. Let that sink in. Too many carbs, my doctor says.
I am doing nothing but dreaming about potatoes. Not just fries and hash browns and chips. Wendy's baked potato with all the toppings. Eat just one there is no need for sex all week.
God, what am I going to do? Beans? Maybe for awhile that will suffice. Pork rinds are his orders, nothing but pork rinds without carbs.
Maybe I'll order hash browns and sniff them.
I want to bury my face in a sliced yam and suck out all the yamness. Without potatoes is there a reason to go on?
I hesitate to ask him about gelato. What if he shakes his head? How will I fit into society if I can't partake of those two food staples?
You will see me wandering around supermarkets sobbing quietly, forced into the organic foods aisle. Even organic potatoes are off limits. I knew thought adulthood could be like this.

Dream Team

Dwight was having horrible nightmares and a medical dream team was called in. The neurologist suggested faulty brain wiring and not enough serotonin. The psych guy thought he was molested as a child. The ENT lady thought it was a sinus infection. The nutritionist diagnosed too much lettuce and not enough fiber. The urologist just want to poke around up there. The cardiologist sensed an irregular heartbeat, while the endocrinologist surmised it was mini stroke caused by diabetes complications.
On the patient's fifth day in the hospital, the custodian noticed a postcard on the  floor in the closet. He showed it to Dwight, who began screaming.
It said "Species Unknown--Paintings by Joe". An illustration of a monster was included.
The mystery of Dwight's nightmares was solved.

PS- I have such an exhibit at a local library.

Ugly Chair

She told the salesman she needed an ugly chair as a conversation piece because she was so dull guests would doze off. He nodded and said we may have something.
When he returned dragging a chair that looked normal, she had doubts.
This looks like perfectly average chair, she said.
The salesman smiled and said, I'd like you to meet Keith. He comes with the chair. Keith gave her a toothy smile.
I don't understand, she said.
The salesman nodded to Keith, who began speaking.
"The Flying Wallendas are down to third cousins due to so many accidents. The average weight of a certified accountant is 183.5 pounds. People in Arkansas pass more wind per minute than any other state. East Honduras is a fake country created by drunken cartographers."
He went on for another five minutes before she agreed that this would do.
The salesman told her Keith needed to hydrate and get enough fiber and he would be serviceable for a decade.
She kissed the salesman on the cheek and left smiling.

Things We Walk On

sand
gravel
hot coals
timid people
dead insects
loving insects
damp bathroom rugs
crumbling dynaties
quicksand is we're quick
someone's back as a masseuse
cobblestones
stick on tile
toes if a dancer
someone's hopes

The Hole Whisperer

I sit before the mirror waiting for my ear hair to grow back, trimmer in hand. Some would say there is a void in my life. I am a retired shoemaker. I have fixed over 28000 holes in the soles. They did a documentary on me. I am known as the Hole Whisperer.
Let me hold up this mirror. Ah, a tiny hair that wasn't there two hours ago. When you stick that trimmer right up your nostril it can be arousing. Really.
I also enjoy waiting for toast. You know the result, but when will the process take place? I will place my fish tank nearby and watch the fish leap in fear when the toast pops. Or maybe it's excitement.
Would it be inappropriate to use my trimmer on my armpits? Why am I asking you? You're sitting there eating a bowl of kale.

By Candlelight

I count my Pimento olives by candlelight. I rub them across my bare chest.My wife doesn't understand me.
Everyone looks better in candlelight. I once bought a Mother Teresa candle, but feared lighting it. Blasphemy. My favorite is one depicting rhesus monkeys with their arms folded. So romantic.
There should be a meet up group for those who like to caress melted wax.  Large dinners with candles and famous fashion designers is my goal.
Enter a cave with just a candle. Gently engage with the bear living there. Experience spirituality. Then run like hell.
One man with a candle can enlighten more people than a hundred government officials on Twitter,
I just created a bumper sticker.

Park Things

Old men slumping on benches.
Old women yelling at strangers.
Mediocre musicians and mimes.
Kids splashing in germ loaded fountains.
Homeless poets with chapped lips.
Important people making vital calls as they stride past.
The splattered pigeon droppings
So much mud.
Religious ranters.
Sometimes a little bit of quiet.
Compassionate folks who straighten out slumping old men.
Locked bathrooms.