Twig Zagging

Erin owned a boutique called Twig Zagging. She sold priceless twigs, one of a kind. On weekends she would spend hours in the forest searching for fragile, elegant, complex twigs for her inventory.
It was a mystery to her why she was struggling to make the rent. Why didn't others cherish these wooden jewels?
She considered branching out into branches, but they were mostly boring and clunky. You couldn't wear a branch around your neck or wrist.
Just when it seemed she might have to give up the shop, a tall, well dressed Englishman named Lawrence strutted in. He had heard about the place from her website. He smiled confidently and wandered around the shop, wordlessly pointing his ivory tipped walking stick at various gems encased in glass. He wound up buying $5000 worth of twigs.
Erin was so grateful she offered to cook him dinner. Lawrence winked and brought something out of his pocket. It was a plastic bag containing, he said, his recently removed kidney stones. Erin was charmed and flattered he would share former body elements with her.
The relationship moved quickly and they were married.
They renamed the shop Sticks and Stones and lived happily ever after.

See, not all my posts are negative.

Harry's Third Arm

Harry's third arm was almost completely formed. Only the fingernails were missing. Over sized clothes did not help conceal his issue. He and I participated in the same experiment, testing new drugs to combat sinus congestion back in 2011.
I looked at him and saw my future. Researchers had injected us with compounds, as well as having us inhale other substances. Harry's breathing improved; mine didn't. Initially I was jealous. Why him and not me?
Ten months later his third arm started developing. A dermatologist said it was probably just a cyst and would go away on its own. Yeah, right.
Here we are in the spring of 2014 and he's adapted quite admirably. In fact, he's using it to brush his teeth.He can almost pick his nose with it.
As you might expect I keep checking my body for irregularities and except for a tiny opening under my rib cage, everything seems fine. Well, when I pee, a few drops leak out my side, but taped tissue covers it nicely. For $5 I'll show you.

Baking a Cake

Maddie and Cristo had planned this evening for weeks. Their sex was good, not great. Maddie suggested they bake a cake together with a twinkle in her eye. Cristo sensed the subtext immediately.
The day came and there they stood, side by side, pounding batter. Initially they employed a tandem, metronome effect, slow and steady. Soon they sped up and increased intensity, alternating poundings. Batter splattered over everything, driving them to yelps, groans, gasps, tribal shouts and hip thrusting.
At the height of ecstacy, Maddie screamed 'Oscar! Oscar!'
Cristo also yelled 'Oscar, Oscar!'
They stopped dead and stared at each other. I thought you were just friends, Cristo said.
I thought YOU were just friends, Maddie responded.
They took note of the annihilated batter. Now what, Maddie asked. We have all this icing. Cristo smiled seductively. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? he asked. Maddie nodded slowly.
The icing was, indeed, put to interesting use. They found candles, which they also employed creatively.
Afterward they went to a local cafe and had cheesecake with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

Chance Encounter

She had wide feet with bunions. Let's get that out of the way. She didn't have to sit next to me while waiting for the Path train. There were two other open seats. When we got on the train she stood right next to me holding the same pole. There were plenty of other poles in that car. Plus overhead railing. But there she was with her blue nail polish and thin wrist.
Now let me make this clear. I did not drop my program from a show I had just attended on purpose. I even said I'd pick it up, but she beat me to it. So I thanked her and began scanning through my photos on my camera around my neck. I did this for many stops without looking up. I have great discipline in these circumstances. When I did look up for a micro second I saw she wa quite attractive in that mid twenties Seattle mode. Her eyes flashed at me and I looked away. I was doing nothing wrong, so I should have met her eyes and said something.
Maybe she should have asked me about the show I'd seen. Be that as it may, neither of us verbally engaged the rest of the trip.
Just before my stop, she sneezed. I said God bless you. She didn't even look at me or respond. I got off and never looked back.If you consider yourself a man, that is how you deal with near misses. Hey, she had her shot. The bunions wouldn't have been such a deal breaker.

Replacing a Legend

Just because I'm the great chef Laflosse's brother doesn't mean I can cook. But when he was sent away for tax evasion, I decided to take control of his empire, much to the consternation of chefs working under him.
I immediately created a new menu based on my ideas and experimentation. Here is what I came up with.
muskrat soup, bat juice, pea & carrot sauce, ground hog souffle, barbecued lizard tongue, owl lips on toast, greased llama nipples, low fat mosquito yogurt, flaming celery, pelican dropping topping, boiled baboon phlegm, chopped ferret, sauteed possum, platypus stew, roasted sparrow nuts, wolfhound liver, carp panini, salted roach, tadpole on a roll, double decker wombat deluxe with fries.
It's too early to determine if patrons are willing to break out of their nutritional comfort zone. Barf bags are on order. Who knows? By the time my brother gets out I may have my own franchise.

Composure is Overrated

The hell with unflappable composure. Meet chaos with chaos. Sobbing is an option. I got a flat tire, stood by the side of the road sobbing. A pathetic senior citizen creates a response. Six people fixed my tire. There are people who won't change expression if hot coffee spills on them. These are stupid people. Anything involving pain, you will hear me howling.
As a writer I'm supposed to read my work in front of audiences. What if a hot woman is in the first row? Or my probation officer? Suppose Phillip Roth were to take a seat? Am I supposed to remain nonplussed. Hell, I'll act plussed like nobody's business.
Go with your emotions. If Linda Blair had stayed calm how dull The Exorcist would've been.
Public breakdowns garner attention which you can turn into a brand and bring in profit.
Obama is too calm. We should have elected a howler. Give Putin something to think about.

Never on Sunday

I made a resolution never to expatiate on Sunday.That is the one day I refrain from giving my opinion on anything. The rest of the week I maintain a steady pounding of thoughts, most of which are complex and frankly, intimidating.
I take no joy in dominating my intellectual circle, but what would you have me do? Would you ask Aaron Copeland to compose commercial ditties? Picasso to paint apples? Martha Graham to hopscotch? Spencer Tracy to recite limericks? James Joyce to write haikus?
How can someone of my erudite composition refrain from sharing my wisdom? Six days a week I allow my mind to reign and let the ignorant be damned. But on Sunday I ensconce myself in my favorite cafe, sipping my French vanilla ice coffee, reading the NY Post, resting my brain. I speak no three syllable words, no sentences with dependent clauses, discuss naught but cars, sports and loose women.
No philosophy, no historical perspective, no academia. I will not quote Yeats or John Lennon. I will, instead, descend to the level of discourse of those around me. Sometimes one has to declare an intellectual truce and not think very hard about anything.
Which is how this blog got written.