A Fine Whine
Predator Press
[LOBO]
Poink!
“Ouch!”
Scowling, I turn to LadyTerri.
“What the heck was that?”
Smiling coyly, she dangles a tiny stiff fiber in my face.
A gray hair.
“LIAR!” I scream, seizing at the damning evidence.
But she’s the picture of health and prepared for my reaction; scampering deftly out of reach, she’s fully exited the room before I can even rise to my feet.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” she singsongs from the kitchen.
Exhausted from rising suddenly, I slump back into my computer chair and try to catch my breath.
“That’s not funny,” I call. “There’s no proof that that came out of my head. You coulda pulled out any hair and swapped it with that monstrosity!”
But I know the truth.
And now she knows it too.
***
An impulsive murder-suicide plan is quickly ruled out: with both of us dead, who will raise the kids? And for that matter, what if the kids spot another gray on my corpse? Then I won’t be around to kill them too; my secret will get out, and I’ll be the laughing stock of the blogosphere anyways.
No, that plan has just too many flaws to be taken seriously.
The obvious alternative was readily available online. This little beauty [pictured left] retails at $18.99, and provides the perfect solution to hide my hideous deformity ... but it looks a bit like steel wool, and I'm staunchly against the abuse of robot sheep.
***
Why, O cruel God, hast Thou afflicted me thusly? Do I not go to church in disguises so Father Fritz won't kick me out anymore?
Why not pick on Diesel instead? We're exactly the same age, and -aside from you Divining me with a serious infusion of talent- Mattress Police will always have a lot more readers: he would totally blog about hoary flaming death toads raining down on him amidst Your mighty wrath! And as a self-taught linguistic expert, I'm almost certain he lives in New Jersey based on his dialect.
O Vengeful One, is smiting New Jersey with a few flaming toads too much to ask from your most faithful of followers?
I'll be in Slacker Heaven before you know it.
[LOBO]
Poink!“Ouch!”
Scowling, I turn to LadyTerri.
“What the heck was that?”
Smiling coyly, she dangles a tiny stiff fiber in my face.
A gray hair.
“LIAR!” I scream, seizing at the damning evidence.
But she’s the picture of health and prepared for my reaction; scampering deftly out of reach, she’s fully exited the room before I can even rise to my feet.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” she singsongs from the kitchen.
Exhausted from rising suddenly, I slump back into my computer chair and try to catch my breath.
“That’s not funny,” I call. “There’s no proof that that came out of my head. You coulda pulled out any hair and swapped it with that monstrosity!”But I know the truth.
And now she knows it too.
An impulsive murder-suicide plan is quickly ruled out: with both of us dead, who will raise the kids? And for that matter, what if the kids spot another gray on my corpse? Then I won’t be around to kill them too; my secret will get out, and I’ll be the laughing stock of the blogosphere anyways.
No, that plan has just too many flaws to be taken seriously.The obvious alternative was readily available online. This little beauty [pictured left] retails at $18.99, and provides the perfect solution to hide my hideous deformity ... but it looks a bit like steel wool, and I'm staunchly against the abuse of robot sheep.
Why, O cruel God, hast Thou afflicted me thusly? Do I not go to church in disguises so Father Fritz won't kick me out anymore?
Why not pick on Diesel instead? We're exactly the same age, and -aside from you Divining me with a serious infusion of talent- Mattress Police will always have a lot more readers: he would totally blog about hoary flaming death toads raining down on him amidst Your mighty wrath! And as a self-taught linguistic expert, I'm almost certain he lives in New Jersey based on his dialect.O Vengeful One, is smiting New Jersey with a few flaming toads too much to ask from your most faithful of followers?
Comments
Why would you want to look like Jermaine Jackson?