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Hey Simon, what's the story with this moose ?
von ervine >>
Dear Simon,
this really should be a Dear Simon letter, dedicated solely to you, while in fact it is about the hard boiled egg I was throwing up in the air yesterday, - it had a nice spin as it spun, weightlessly, near the bottom of the ceiling's lower reaches, and no doubt it had all kinds of trains of yellow thoughts sprinkled all over the inside of its all-white brain when it suddenly was stopped in midair by that intruding spinster, the midnight whale fishing for hard-boiled eggs, and having gone hungry up there for OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenNineTenElevenyears it was drowsy, so surprised by the sudden appearance of a hard-boiled egg right inside its wide open mouth that it immediately spit it out again in a sneeze-like 110-volt-cough, 1h-a-aa?1-t-cch0=u ! - maybe because of the spin, maybe it had forgotten it was hiding up there masquerading as The Kitchen Lamp (nobody would ignore a black whale hovering over his cornflakes for long, lest OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenNineTenElevenyears, who knows what kitchen lamps are up to during those long nights of being either ON or OFF, and nothing in between, even if they are whales really, as we now know they could very well be, and where in this whale of a story are we anyway, and that's not the end of it, oh no, this fish has a long tail, even if it is a whale really, which for all we know is not a fish, just like it is no moose, and no kitchen-lamp either, oh no) but yes: the egg surely had no hard feelings about the kitchen-lamp, in fact, by the time it had hit the floor it was feeling just kinda flat - today I do not think it had any feeling at all, but yesterday I had a jester's day, and ate it, no salt, no pepper, no sugar, it felt so good, topped it with a chocolate-bar and an apple to boot until I heard the sirens |
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