I think I have figured out when I am the most creative- when I am wearing nothing but a towel. (Ladies, hold onto your butts). I might just start walking around in nothing but a towel and make up some excuse like it’s my country’s custom to walk around half-naked. Also, I wouldn’t get one of those towels with the Velcro on them; it would be a plain-Jane bath towel. That way, it’s more of an adventure when I am running and playing Duck-Duck-Goose.
So last week was my test week. This week is my grade report week. I don’t know what’s worse; taking the tests or having to receive the grades. Well, actually I can think of plenty of things worse than actually having to take tests. Like what, you ask? Well, having to eat nothing but peas for the rest of my life. I think that I would be forced to kill myself like three days into my new all-legume diet. But what if I were immortal, you ask? Well then, I’d guess I would be S.O.L.
So I was sitting outside this morning, enjoying the cool air and warm sun dance on my face and cheeks. I was about to pull out a a little book and read for a wee bit. Then, all of a sudden, a pigeon landed nearby me, and he asked me a light. Of course, I didn’t have a lighter or any matches, so away the pigeon stormed, leaving me to dwell in my newly formed valley of confusion and befuddlement. I sat there, trying to focus on the words in my book, but with a overarching cloud of disarray hovering above me. Moments later, the pigeon came back smoking his cigarette. “Thanks for nothing,” he said, and with that he cooed. Not a friendly “hello” coo, but a “you better get the heck out of here before I go medieval on your ass” coo. I learned this in hindsight, unfortunately. After his “wrath of God” coo, which I mistook for a “can I get a Cheet-o, buddy?” coo, the sky filled with gray. I looked up just in time to see a tempest of pigeons. Suffice to say, pigeons and I aren’t really on the best of terms anymore.
So I have received a few messages on the seamy nature of my past few posts, and I will admit they were in bad taste. I will have you know, however, that yesterday’s lurid tale of a goat, his lover, and his semen came from the mouth of Hollywood heartthrob, and current star of The Wedding Planner, Matthew McConoughey. Not me. But onto today’s brief tale of confusion…
One day, I went to the bathroom. After my business was completed, and my chocolate children were busy swimming with their fellow doodie brethren, I started making breakfast. As I was pouring the milk into my vat of Reese’s Puffs, I saw something come meandering up to me. It seemed almost whispy, a gossamer pair or arms, twirling the air around them. But then, their beauty was replaced with their true self- the smelliest smell ever. Apparently, my chocolate children had a little B.O. problem.
I apologize to all you prudes out there who just can’t see the humor behind “poop” jokes. Well, tomorrow, I will give you something you can enjoy. snoogans.