Sunday
post gunshow, post pie, we stood in the undisclosed location contemplating a pink hair roller coated with tufts of fuzz, which in the dim light looked almost green.
The promise of huffing toluene hung in the air like holly. My mind took me to a place where a woman with curlers geometrically arranged in her hair was surrounded by a circle of oompalloompas on stilts, doing unspeakable things to the hollow pink curlers, while singing and flailing their arms in a Busby-Berkeley inspired kaleidoscope of naked orange midgets with green hair and green fuzzy pubes, calling up the mayo in unison as they sang.
And then this morning I got this in email.
I giggled until I peed myself a little.
This posting was sheer poetry….
A true public service announcement.
Wow.
So, you’re telling us you suffered a psychotic break at a gun show?
Mike, it was actually the drive down caused by having to ride in a Prius that caused the psychotic break. Or else it was the sound made by all of the wind turbines north of Lafayette.
Obviously you do not know me, mike. Else you’d understand that suggesting I had a psychotic episode is like suggesting michael jordan likes to shoot hoops, or intimating that the pope may be catholic. My life is a series of psychotic episodes interspersed with moments of utter insanity. And crapblogging.