More words

ATTN:

I was exiled from my species; now my only friends are the crows.

Suddenly all these cheerleaders come to my restaurant. The dining table is a pottery wheel. I serve wontons. The wheel is powered by a foot pedal.

“Come inside and be our guest,” I say, trying to sound happy. I change my establishment, now it is a honey bar. I come out with a jar and a wand, and ooze some onto your spoon. I also paint body parts. “You can shuffle into the thermal booth during Pickle Time, which you’ll soon realize is as romantic as widespread panic.”

I wish that everyone would vote the same way as me, and like the same things I like. When people say “I enjoyed that movie” or “I love that song” they are incorrect: they like bad things. My taste is better, and it will improve you. You need improvement, you are faulty.

I trade baseball teams for planets. I hate that the word snow is code for cocaine. I bought Hollywood, and I shut down all the movie studios, because I use it only for medical guidance: I ask it questions all the time, and then I half-follow its advice, and I blame it for everything.

My family is Christian, my wife’s family is Christian, and all my friends’ families are Christian. I grew up in a Christian country and attended a Christian college. I now work in a Christian church. With all my heart, I believe that Christ shall return very soon.

I am Poseidon denying entrance to the Pacific Ocean.

Why did you have a baby when I’m still here? You could have just cooed to me, taught me what you know, cuddled me, tickled my tummy, sung to me, nursed me, danced around holding me, let me spit up milk on your shoulder, placed me in a crib, watched me get on the bus for my first day of school, paid for my vocational training, counted on me for end-of-life support, forgotten me in your dotage, left me to mourn your passing and cherish your memory. You really messed up; now some other kid is doing all these things.

Handmaiden, hamburger, marching band, canister, giant wasp, ambassador: the Billy Goat Sample Platter.

A whole land of solicitors. Nothing but uninvited visitors.

The country doctor did not know that anyone was watching him as he sipped his drink, imitating the way that the gorgeous woman did it in the movie. He had walked into town that afternoon and stopped at the Cinema Palace to see the latest picture; now he was back home and continuing to paint the interior of his office. An eerie noise then began to emanate from the monitor, which he had arranged so that he could communicate with his wife who was reading in the gazebo. Carefully wrapping the brush in plastic so that it would not dry out, the doctor then closed the lid to the paint can and stepped outside. He began to walk in the direction of the gazebo, when a voice from behind him called him by name. He turned around and saw the governor, who was accompanied by a senator and a group of creditors. They were all holding their firearms at the ready, as if expecting trouble. “We’re here to inherit the property,” said the governor; “these boys from the agency had a chance to look over your testimony: it turns out that there is no such thing as a ‘married bachelor’ – we believe that you have been leading us on a wild goose chase. So you can either show us where you’re keeping this so-called alien, or we will drape plastic over everything.” The doctor was flabbergasted: “What is this, a setup? Some sort of inquisition? A raid? So now you are attempting to intimidate me? Did you even speak to the chancellor? The golden chalices mean nothing to you? The results of the electrolysis – you’re just throwing them out?”

Then, as the doctor was speaking, over his right shoulder there began to glow a light, and a smooth character manifested who was holding a holy scroll.

“Is that thing wearing a cape, or is that its hair?” cried the senator.

The doctor, at first startled by this outburst, after turning around to see what the commotion was about, rolled his eyes and continued his tirade: “You show up at my house with guns, like a bunch of street thugs. What has this country devolved into? For as long as you have known me, I have not changed, and I have posed no threat: my weapon of choice is a green yard rake. Now, let’s cut the bull.”

Suddenly a digital hardcore extremity in Arabic notation put decibels within a soil rotunda with fire, causing a death glut and a mountain of fake blood.

“Those are two for a dime, if you want more,” said the doctor; “and they will mud-wrestle.”

(It’s more of a palette than a picture.)