my ten legs have been eating too much dough

I told him I thought he had a fiduciary responsibility to oversee the feeding of those turquoise bunnies to which he staunchly replied, “Don’t let me catch you bathing with spools of copper wire again!  Back in my day there was no way to tell the difference between the dentist’s chair and a new pair loafers crafted from rich Corinthian leather so just keep that in mind the next time you decide to sing out of tune on a busy street corner while bars of platinum are being locked up in a Styrofoam vault!” 

                                          

It was true.  I’d traveled the world in search of the perfect lace and visited countless lace factories, even going so far as to planting high octane explosive devices in many of them.  Though to be fair, many kings find themselves in similar positions of being trapped in midlevel floors with no other options but to chuck a few grenades and see what sticks.

Carl began discussing at some medium length the difficulties inherent to today’s geopolitical climate, particularly as it relates to errant meteor showers in feudal Japan and Sara was so convinced by the hazy cadence of his speech that she immediately began to dance a flamenco there on the spot as though she no longer had the sense she was born with.  I promptly asked a few of my old chums if they wanted to engage in an accompanying circle jerk to which Jeb replied, “If freshly mowed grass were the only way to ensure nuclear fission as a viable source of renewable energy some 20 years from now, don’t you think we would all stop setting our alarm clocks to ring at the exact moment foreign plastics are being used in the preparation of four course meals down at the local animal shelters?  I can’t remember the last time computers actually helped me to change my socks but you can be damn fucking sure I’m not going to let the bitter ex screw me out of the chance to have freshly baked bread every night after I practice arithmetic!”

Later on, while shitbirds soared through the inky night, I began to wonder if I could possibly consume enough cardboard boxes to properly set up all my illegitimate children in community colleges just south of the equator as it passes majestically over Panama. 

Soft-serve connoisseurs at that very moment were diving like rolls of money through some bizarre proximity which was encroaching on my newfound sense of meatiness.  One of them was so boisterous about his lightly painted baseball cap he began to discuss at great length the anomalous quotient of reptiles to land cruisers in the event of radical hydrogenous cement oriented stimulation.  It was all I could do not to smear greasepaint on my face and then take a swift nap, head resting on a stack of tattered old books whose pages did not contain words, but rather sheer numeric polydactyl principles.  But I was too busy ejaculating rainbow scented seminal fluid into a massive mountain of talking granola to realize that if one could somehow cross the hyper intelligence of the Italian swordfish with the perennially optimistic insistence of the steel plated pronoun sympathizer then the resultant combination would be unbeatable in any forty-seven legged race except for ones in which paper cups were not permitted.  This made me laugh so loud that undercarriages erupted from some ancient fissure and the color blue ceased to have any meaning beyond some vague notions of pseudoscience which still believed in the practical applications of plaque as it related to silt depositories. 

Of course I knew there was nothing to be done at this point and Lori would have no choice but to turn her hands into cybernetic entities and then buy a new hula hoop to go along with that recent political discourse we found lurking at the bottom of a cup of Korean tea.  However immediately preceding this most precarious of revelations we were unexpectedly whisked away to a time when there was no longer a need for such pesky practices as counting and eating soup and thusly I was able to suspend disbelief for roughly five hours longer than the average time it takes my overgrown testicles to renew themselves after a long hard day of slam poetry down at the local Greek chapter of my favorite barbershop quartet.  I was so elated by this news that I swiftly pulled out a stack of blank three-by-five cards and then pretended I was the imaginary friend of a goldfish while the radio burped and belched and Lucas was too busy planting seeds of doubt in the garden out back to pay much notice or reap the benefits of a new set of tires gregariously installed onto the back of a long gestating plan of attack. 

Naturally this recent development forced me to confront my own cerebral shittiness which was further exacerbated by a bucket of white paint calling my name and demanding a new cornucopia for the upcoming grand re-opening of a village constructed entirely of squids.  It was only in that precise moment of reflection where I was quite surreptitiously able to overcome the callow resources of the damned and finally secure a spot in the loquacious bidding war which was currently taking place between two superpowers quite literally hell bent on stock-piling fossil fuels to use and abuse during the upcoming gubernatorial conversations which would undoubtedly infect the cultural zeitgeist to such a great extent that I would have no choice but to grab a handful of neon colored pipe cleaners and water the neighbor’s plants while wearing a pair of lightly used sneakers that had been purchased entirely through the new and trendy universal currency of pork n’ beans. 

“Well,” Steve said sulkily while sipping rich black coffee from a catcher’s mitt, “I guess that answers our earlier questions about whether or not dinosaurs will one day walk the earth again.  Hard to imagine the next time I’ll need to purchase a leather belt or make my own magma underneath trenchant conditions of brail trying to speak only in verbs while old Marcie waits on us to let her know when she can finally return that novelty tennis racket.” 

“I concur,” I told him, bringing the fleshy handlebars up to sternum level that I may better appreciate the subtle nuances of a carefully crafted medieval implantation; such sapience is increasingly hard to bind in this moist and tender day and age.