Hello to all long-forgotten jars of pickles at the very back of basement refrigerators, excellent stop-motion animation shorts set to The Shins music, violas, tulips, and quarters.
The other day, I left the Inside World for a while to go to the Outside World. Only because my friend came over and I like him a little bit. So I biked all the way into the southern reaches of town, (and by the way just two days before I set a record for barfing thirteen times in one night due to a *BLEH* rotten chicken sausage, so maybe it wasn’t the best idea in the world), but I wanted to go out. Anyway, I was enjoying myself greatly for a while, until we saw a little blue egg on the lawn. George Harrison picked it up, and determined maybe it was best to put it down again, and then in a startling show of genius I picked it up, was in the middle of saying, ‘You know, it kind of looks like one of those plastic–‘ When it broke under my fingers and splattered egg juice all over me.
Some of it got on my face. After I spit a few times and washed my hands I laughed about it. Do you know how pleasant it is to still feel sick after a food poisoning epidemic and then spatter bird all over yourself? Not very. Just writing about it now makes my stomach hurt again.
It occurred to me I might’ve killed the bird, but I don’t think so, since it was on the ground and must’ve dropped from somewhere. But there’s no robin’s nest in George Harrison’s tree, so he thinks it was probably his evil little sister who carried it over from somewhere. Anyway, if I was a cave-man, that would be all right, that I broke a bird’s egg– I imagine they probably ate lots of raw eggs, and didn’t even feel sorry about it. But then again, they also lived to be eighteen and didn’t have computers and blogs.
I wish I had more to say, but I don’t. Hm… did you see Lind’s homerun the other night? You know I scored 5,498,930 on computer pinball?
I bet YOU didn’t score 5,498,930 on computer pinball. Yours forever so, so insincerely, Onceabasementdog.