Six Lumps With Tea

They sat in pairs, their teacups rising and falling from their lips automatically. First Mr. and Mrs. Bear would drink, then the young couple, Barbara and Kenneth Roberts. Ann and Andrew drank next, better behaved than their unkempt garb might suggest. One by one, in turn, the guests dutifully sipped from their porcelain.

They did not want to be there. In fact, they had no choice in the matter. Whensoever their hostess desired it, they would descend upon their seats, brought their by the hostess's will. There they sat until their turn came to take tea and their limbs moved without their consent to deliver the unwanted liquid. The hostess would force a conversation from the silent party. She spoke to them; she spoke for them. It made no difference to her, for there were bodies around a table, and that was what counted.

As the hostess played out her charade, a woman entered the room.

"Oh, sweetheart," the woman chided, "you really shouldn't use Mommy's good china to play tea-party with your dolls."

Thread

tangles

curling from 

fingers

every touch, 

another knot

every grasp, 

tight enough

to cut

frayed ends

unraveling

into stories

best untold

tie them

in a loop

and pull

to make it

stop

Yay for Logic!

Syllogism the First
1. The grass is always greener on the other side.
2. There is no grass on the lawn next to mine.
3. Truly green grass is brown and looks like dirt.

Syllogism the Second
1. A stitch in time saves nine.
2. Sewing machines stitch rhythmically.
3. Sewing machines save lives, but only in groups of nine.

Syllogism the Third.
1. Syllogism the First is less ridiculous than Syllogism the Second.
2. Syllogism the First exceeds acceptable ridiculousness values.
3. Both syllogisms should be disregarded.

Sleep Deprivation

Kruger: Hello, this is Adam Kruger speaking.

Woman: Do you think tomatoes want to swim?

Kruger: Excuse me?

Woman: I mean, they look so bouncy, but most of them sink. I just want to know if it makes them sad.

Kruger: I believe you have the wrong number.

Woman: No, no, you're the world renowned physicist who found the Higgs Boson! What was it like?

Kruger: Er, well, it being the key element to establishing the validity of our model of the universe, it was quite a thrill to -

Woman: No, I don't want to know what finding it was like. I want to know what the Higgs was like. Was he nice? I suppose he could be a girl, or an it, or a goy! girl-boy!

Kruger: Are you high.

Woman: My arms feel detached from my arms. It's like I have ghost arms waving around my head, but my body is just going blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Kruger: You are high, aren't you.

Woman: I don't need drugs to be this way! I just need a , hippopotamus platypus, us. Sorry, I wandered off. Why do people eat peas with a fork? Spoons are so much better. I love spoons, but they don't work for pasta, unless it's ravioli. I say, there shall be no more sporks. Those that are already made, all but one, shall live. The rest shall stay as they are, because they aren't biodegradable and therefore last for quite some time. Am I boring you?

Kruger: ...

Woman: I don't really understand what it takes to how do you like it now that  I am Single celled organisms rarely have a lifespan Beyond the rainbow would be outside of the atmosphere in a Vacuum cleaners are so much noisier than they Should you walk the Plank gives you great ABS has probably save a Lot had a really stupid Wi-Fy connect will be going away in a Few people have listened to me ramble for this long.

Kruger: You need to get off drugs.

Woman: I AM NOT DRUGGED! I AM TIRED!

Kruger: then go to sleep.

Woman:...

Kruger:...

Woman:zzzzzzzzz

Kruger: Are you pretending to be asleep by saying "z" over and over again?

Woman: I didn't fool you.

Kruger: No, but what concerns me more than your clear lack of sanity is that someone actually read through this entire thing. Reader, go do something worthwhile with your time.

Woman: HULK SMASH FOURTH WALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Real Origin of Dogs

You know what? Dogs have got to be aliens. They may not appear aliens on the surface, but after some though, it becomes obvious, After all, they have the superpower to melt people with a look. It's as if they live only to transform every human being in the vicinity into sirens, crying awwwwwwwwwww at the shear adorableness of their gigantic puppy eyes.

People don't appreciate them individually, either. In a moment of pure adorableness, everyone within range will emit the same exact noise, down to pitch, timbre, and length. This level of coordination in a group of random individuals implies, nay, screams psychic manipulation. The only logical explanation is that dogs, through sheer force of cuteness, can mold human minds and vocal chords into a veritable army of sighing dog lovers.

There can be only one explanation for this power. Dogs are actually aliens from a world where meaning is conveyed through transmitting cuteness to one another. A group of their species crashed on Earth by accident, after voyaging out from their home system, Sirius. Ever since, they have manipulated humans into giving them a comfortable living. The awwwwwwww that they so often evoke from us must be an attempt to transmit a message to their world to send a rescue team of crack Dog space pilots, thereby rescuing them from this undeveloped world and returning them to a place where they need not beg for their Scooby Snacks.

GGRRRRHHH

I suffer from an acute case of writer's block. Ideas float just beneath my conscious mind, bulging against the sides of a thought-tight bag of "have to do," "should do," and "want to do." I can squeeze and stretch the bag, occasionally seeing a glint of phrases that I do not know what to do with. The shadow of a theme plays behind my eyes. A snatch of a sentence whispers through my ears. Attempt to grasp it, and it simply evaporates, or shatters, then reassemble's somewhere else, pulls its drawers' down and moons me out of spite.

I wanted to write a song. It would begin with "The heart hangs from a string," but I have no idea what that means or where it intends to go.

I thought about a satire of some sort, yet suddenly, hyperbole and sarcasm seem utterly incomprehensible.

I had a beautifully strange feeling that I must put down in words before I burst my latex brain, but I know that if the words are not just right, I will rob myself of the mood. I feel like I do when a creature falls asleep in a position too adorable to bear and all I want to do is rush to it, grab it up in my arms and absorb its cuteness, but I know that in doing so, I will wake the poor thing and pop that bubble of cuteness forever.

I even tried to put all these frustration down in a post, but after a few paragraphs, I lost my head of steam and developed writer's block for my writer's block.

Doubtless

I am certain of it and nothing could change my mind that he did it, because I had to be there at that time, or at least I am pretty sure it was that time, but anyway I ended up there, although I may have been a little late, or possibly early depending on what the time was supposed to be, but I have no doubt that I was at least there when he came, that is, someone like him came, because they both had the hair with the thing and the stuff on his back, so it couldn't have been anyone else, even though I never really saw his face, but anyway they guy did it, you know, the thing with that stuff that, at least, I though was with the stuff, although it may have been different stuff, but there was stuff to it, because what's the point if it wasn't the right stuff?

So yes, I am positive he did it.

Rotted

He lived in a boarded up church, subsisting off of fungus, kept company by the walls. Every day, he wandered up and down the steps, listening to the wood and the squirming within. Step by step, his hands stroking the moldering wallpaper, he slid through his domain. Each wing and room had its own rhythm. The beings in the minister's old office had a brisk air to their nibbling, whereas the bell tower seemed more lackadaisical about the whole business. He no longer needed his eyes. Occasionally, a beam of light would cross his path. Blinking, he would open and close his shriveled lips over yellowed teeth, humming and mumbling his distress and confusion, until the automated steps carried him past the glow of day. After his fourth year there, one of the familiar stairs creaked, cracked, and spilled him in a long locked closet below. His neck twisted almost enough for him to taste the floor he lay supine on. His old friends explored him before returning to their wood.

Toy

Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen!

Please, stop by my shop.

Inside, I have every toy you could possibly desire.

I have women, who sing and women who dance.

I have men whose strength will astound you.

I have boys who know a thousand jokes and tales.

I have girls whose looks and manners would charm any man.

Come one, come all, and buy my toys.

Man is the best animal, and I sell only the best.

Spielzeug

Hallo, mein Damen und Herren!

Bitte, besuchen Sie mein Geschäft.

Dahin, habe ich jedes Spielzeug, dass Sie wollen können.

Es gibt Frauen, die singen und Frauen, die tanzen.

Es gibt Männer, deren Kraft Sie beeindrucken werden.

Es gibt Junge, die tausende Scherze und Märchen wissen.

Es gibt Mädchen, deren Aussehen und Manieren jedermann bezaubern.

Kommen Sie, bitte, kaufen Sie meine Spielzeuge.

Menschen sind am besten, und ich verkaufe nur das Beste.

Disaster!

IT'S A DISASTER!!! Close all the doors! Seal all the windows! No one must leave the building!

except of course to eat...

and we wouldn't want to keep you from the test review...

and clubs and sports can meet...

and why not host open swim and open the fitness center while we're at it...

and a movie would be fun...

JUST DON'T WALK 50 FEET TO VISIT FRIENDS!!!!!!!!

Then it would really be a disaster.