Stuck at home because the
VIRUS
Barely clothed like Miley
CYRUS
Non-essential stores are
CLOSIN’
Cats are fed and now they’re
DOZIN’
How much longer will this
GO
I’m bad at playin’ domi-
NOS
Lookin’ for a mask, N-Ninety-
FIVE
Get in the car alone and
DRIVE
Give a high
FIVE
You’re still
ALIVE
Oh shit we gotta sani-
TIZE
Trump has pillaged, Trump has
PLUNDERED
But that’s ok cuz you get twelve
HUNDRED
“Remember, only you can prevent forest fires.”
— Smokey Bear
“Give a hoot. Don’t pollute.”
— Woodsy Owl
“Give the virus no assistance! Wash your hands and keep your distance!”
— Soapy the Pandemic Panda
Cold-reading the intro to Better Homes & Gardens Barbecue Book: Complete How-to for Outdoor Cooking. Glorious writing and illustration.
It’s possible that dreams where you can taste, smell or feel things are quite common, but I don’t seem to remember many of them. Last night, however, I had two of the “tangible” type.
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I thought I had a chance at this wonderfully odd Williams typewriter invented by John Newton Williams and the first typewriter where the typist could actually see what they just typed (Williams also invented one of the first helicopters and a 3-cylinder motorcycle). It was the first item up for auction. The typewriter went for $1,200. I did not have a chance.
♬ Hot dogs, Armour hot dogs.
What kind of kids eat Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks,
Tough kids, sissy kids, even kids with chicken pox,
But not kids with measles,
Because thanks to their anti-vax parents,
They are now dead and can no longer
Love hot dogs, Armour hot dogs.
The dogs kids love to bite!
The kid who sings about wishing to be an Oscar Mayer wiener suffers from childhood deprivation, acting out in desperation to fill the void that cannot be filled. He will soon be consumed by his own emotional hunger, forever longing like a withered gas station roller dog.
My office phone buzzed.
Telemarketer on line one.
I turned to reply.
The back of my timeworn office chair gave.
The chair tipped.
The chair fell.
I tipped.
I fell.
Somehow, I was still in the chair.
Several seconds passed.
“Send them to voicemail, please.”
Monday.
Whisper admonished me for failing to reach a zen state because I stress about things I should no longer care about.
“If you give somebody a perfectly grilled steak and they take it and slather shampoo and gravel all over it and then complain that it isn’t any good, that’s on them, not you. Meow.”
Whisper is wise.