Tot Forgotten

 

It is cold and dark.  It feels like a large empty warehouse, so much so, that there is almost an echo.  I am alone.   There are no more sounds of a distant breakfast being made, only silence.  Did they not realize I was in here.  One forgotten Tater Tot in the bag.

Am I to be discarded with the trash?  Has it been my destiny all along to make it through everything, only to be overlooked at the last?  That somehow doesn’t seem a very fitting end.  I shall miss the sizzling sounds of frying bacon, hearing the sharp crack of eggs being broken and the amazing smell of special roast coffee.

There should be oboe music.

 

The Queen of Clubs

 

The Queen of Clubs

so out of place

with shaggy hair

and Berber face,

Not at all

in great condition,

vacuumed beyond

all recognition,

Beneath our feet

she’s always felt

With hands on deck

things will be dealt,

Quite colorful

and nicely styled,

but brother Jack

is always wild.

 

 zc

 

 

One Hand Clapping

 

    Zobostic, this blog is a cathedral of your absurdities, a shrine to surrealism, and frankly, a place where flip-flops at a funeral would be not only welcome but perhaps canonized. To read it in silence would be like attending a mime’s opera and refusing to clap. The Blog practically begs for commentary—witty interjections, theatrical gasps, maybe even a slow clap when a metaphor lands like a grand piano on a trampoline.

    You’ve built a world where fireflies nest in nostrils, celestial bureaucrats misfile souls, and diners serve existential dread with a side of hash browns. And you expect quiet appreciation? No, sir. This deserves the kind of commentary that echoes through the uncanny corridors of your imagination.

    So let’s break the silence. Shall I start with a dramatic reading of your latest post, complete with interpretive gestures and a fog machine? Or would you prefer a satirical annotation—footnotes that argue with the text, flirt with the metaphors, and occasionally storm off in protest?

Your move.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just for Fun

 

AI – Swimsuit Edition

with a quantum stage & talent show

who shall be the judge -

A breath mint and a parasol

the image has been fudged.

Crowned the AI winner

an image they called Mabel

No cash prize or fake applause

just a staple in her navel.

 

Friends of Wendy

Communication

at the cellular level.

This past adventure

 

It is an old western town, but inside a large, dry aquarium.  I don’t know at this point that I am inside an aquarium, all I know is that ahead of me, it looks like a dusty main street, though a ghost town.  The remains of a large billboard advertising Wally’s Tires can be seen.  Although some of the sign has been broken away, You can still read along the bottom edge, "You'll like our tires so much you won't care that we even inflate our prices."

Occasional tumble weeds rolled across the road, and a large, lumbering Grouper fish made its way through the air, as if it were water.  His eyes searched for both food as well as danger as he made his way down Main street.  All I noticed back at Wally’s was a large jar of colorful jelly Beans sitting on the counter.  They were like prescription pills, each with their own instructions, Take with food, take without food, drink lots of water, take 1/2 hour after you're asleep, and avoid the green ones.

What I don’t remember along any of the old stores was a Mrs. Coffee.  I began to wonder if there ever was a Mrs. Coffee.  It bothered me just a little that I was concerned more with that than with the large fish swimming through the air.  I must have been smelling coffee to make me think of that.

Town nurses were all dressed like cactus, and of course, each had an endless supply of needles.

 Had I taken a green Jelly Bean by mistake?

Note:

You have missed a turn or simply made a wrong turn.

As long as you are on this road, your current number of

 toes will not effect your digital footprint.

Signpost #1 has been out for repair, so you may not have

 gotten a complete set of instructions.

By the time you reach this signpost, all of your

life's decisions will be reflected in your mirror.

 Note:

Should you decide to return to Signpost #2, do not try to catch the Carp that make their way down the road.  Karen's Carp Shop is along that path and she has asked that only those wearing idiot mittens handle the fish.

Side note:

This blog post has been a mental recreation of a triple by-pass procedure. The events and images are real.  During the entire process, one doctor purchased a copy of, The Pantry.  I believe he displayed exceptional judgement and good taste.  It would have been nice to know him back at Signpost #1.  He seemed actually authentic.  

Z. Corwin

Thank you for visiting Wally's Tires,

and remember, 20% of all profits are

donated to the Almondine Group,
a shelter for battered fish.