For a fun little project I am going to write for ten minutes straight, and publish what I write. None of this is meant to be taken seriously, I'm just very bored:
The dog was very hungry. He could not remember the last time he had eaten, and even if he tried to he would only be more hungry. Best not to think of unpleasent things like that. Then again, everything has been unpleasent since he lost his job at the shoe factory. Although he could not remember when he was told, the owner insisted there was a rule that stated eating the shoes was not allowed... apparantly the dog was the asshole.
The sun was beating down on his ungroomed yellow coat, and the heat was almost as bad as the pangs of hunger. Now that he thought about, maybe the dog was not hungry. And now that I think of it, maybe the dog is not a dog, but a goldfish...
The goldfish was sick of swimming in his tiny bowl of tepid, misty water. Oh how he longed for the days of his youth when he would swim carefree in the giant tank at the tiny pet store. Sure there were immense moments of annoyance when small children would bang on the side of the tank, but once he went deaf there were no worries in the world. No worries that is until the giant kangaroo bought him and placed him in this bowl nearly three years ago to the day.
The kangaroo wasn't such a bad guy, at least not to the fish. He may have a habit of never cleaning the fishbowl water, and sure the bong water was occasionally spilled into the already murky depths of the depthless bowl, but overall it wasn't too bad having a kangaroo for an owner. As the goldfish's daddy had always said, "gargle dee gurgle dee gooper". Truer words had never been said by anyone. The goldfish had a very wise dad.
A talking mailbox was the death of the dad of the goldfish. Goldfish Sr. had been out mowing the lawn when the mailbox slinked up beside him and told him his pants were on fire. When Goldfish Sr. jumped into the small swimming pool to douse the flames it was in such a panic that he had forgotten that he could not swim. His pants were not on fire, in fact he was not even wearing pants... in fact, fish can swim, so maybe his father was still alive. In fact, maybe his father was not a dead fish, but a live blade of grass...
The beautiful blade of grass was blowing in the cool afternoon breeze, feeling the wind through out it's decadent body. The blade of grass flashed a smile at a pretty female lobster that had just passed by him in the lot, but of course the lobster took no notice. In fact no pretty girls had paid the blade of grass any heed since it's horribly debilitating accident.
It was just three months ago when the blade of grass had been out for an evening stroll when he fell into a sewer drain. Trapped inside with a broken leg for nearly a week, the blade of grass spent it's days cursing Lassie. Sure the dog could help Timmy for the umpteenth millionth trip down the well, but there would be no help for the blade of grass. Also during that time the blade of grass would ponder, "What if I am not a blade of grass," it asked itself time and time again. "What if I am nothing more than a sneeze..."
The sneeze was having a bad day. Just moments ago it had been living the high life inside the mouth of the bowling bowl, but in one single life changing moment the sneeze was living on the wind. Not that the wind was so bad to the sneeze, hell the wind told the greatest stories of popcorn and spray cans, but the sneeze was just not happy with the way it's life had been going the last fifty or so seconds.
The sneeze tried to enter the mouth of a passing were-pig in a heroic act of a nice sneeze, but when the street sweeper drove by the life of the sneeze was seriously questioned by the street sweeper...
"I wonder why that sneeze even bothers to live," the street sweeper says out loud. The street sweeper was talking to itself a lot more often these days. Not questions really, but whole conversations in which he would converse with himself about himself. The thought of a slipping sense of sanity had occured to the street sweeper, but then do inanimate objects really have thoughts? Especially an inanimate object such as a large sweet streeping vehicle?!?! No, the answer of course is "no", because that would just be silly.
I'm still working on getting the entire FZ collection, and this past weekend I picked up 'Hot Rat's. Thanks to 'Strictly Commercial' and 'Tinseltown Rebellion' I had already heard the incredible "Peaches en Regalia" but the rest of the record completely blows me away!
