“Better butter my beans.”
“Better butter and pepper my beans.”
“Better butter and pepper my beans and broil my beef.”
“Better butter and pepper my beans, broil my beef, and bring my beverage.”
“Better butter and pepper my beans, broil my beef, bring my beverage, and burp me.”
“Better butter and pepper my beans, broil my beef, bring my beverage, burp, and bathe me.”
“Better butter and pepper my beans, broil my beef, bring my beverage, burp and bathe me and b . . . .”
(1st of a mini-series of taking poetic license)
I made a decision.
Stop with the inquisition.
It just is.
My mind is made,
Nothing more to be weighed.
It just is.
Simply admire the gloss,
And accept that I’m my own boss.
It just is.
There’s no age limit
To getting a mullet.
So get used to it.
Image: Pixabay
You may also want to see:
2nd of the mini-series
3rd of the mini-series
4th of the mini-series
5th and last of the mini-series
Image: Mfalcian (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0], via Wikimedia Commons
Bro’ to Bro’:
“Buy your own beer,
Ask her out,
Pay your way,
You’re a big boy,
So . . . man up!”
Jamaican to Tourist:
“Quit reading your emails,
Hold your calls,
Order a cocktail,
You’re here to chill,
So . . . yeh mon up!”
A belated THANK YOU to Thumbup for nominating me months ago to participate in the 3-Day Quote Challenge a Day. To be more specific, it was a couple of weeks after the 4th of July (so I’m not that late). With Halloween-tinged trickery, I deliberately applied malapropism to three well-known sayings:
“When the groin gets tough, apply lotion to it.”
— Mr. Magoo (a cartoon character who has extreme myopia)
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“Keep your hands close and your enemas closer.”
— Book of Toilet Dilemmas (a rear book)
——————————————————-
“Two bongs won’t win the fight.”
— Chee [a Cheech-wannabee]
Image: Pixabay
Image: Pixabay
A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 5, see Day 4
[Poetry dominates short story]
A man known as Cowlick comes out of the one restroom and raises his voice, “There’s no fire. I, uh, I lit a match because . . . to freshen the air. . .” He scowls at the woman known as Singed, who stands close to the restroom, speaking directly to her. “I didn’t know we have a human smoke detector.”
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Image: Pixabay
A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 3; see Day 2
[Poetry mashed with a short story]
Rebecca, who is known in their circle as Thin Hair, and Harry, who we know is False Hairy, find a coffee shop near the place of group therapy. They eye each other hungrily, as they feel the heat emanate from their respective chemistries.
“False Hairy, I hope you won’t think me forward, but as an older woman, I tend to get straight to the point. You make my heart beat as I gaze at your face so sweet.”
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Around 2:30 this afternoon, the popular flying ace that buzzed around Sector 430 on the 4th floor in Dept. C was felled by a sheet of 8 ½” x 11”, 20-lb. Bond paper. Rest in peace, Little Rascal.
She sits on his white chair, so eager to please. She hangs on to his every word, forgetting the time, until he says he’s well read. Her brain registers. Oh, no! Today is her first day of a new cycle and that means every hour she has to change. She gets up, but too late. As she glances down, she sees red.
