Instructions:
- Click play on the YouTube video to hear the song.
- Scroll back up and stare intently at the egg.
- Don’t worry!
Author Archive | Mark
Too damn hot!
AFter their shift cleaning out the blast furnaces, Edna and Eustace would head down to the the Pantages Theatre, still wearing their protective gear.
They took the oxygen with them, and then stole it from their audience.
They had a burlesque show that everyone in town (shamefully) admitted was “too damn hot” for Gary, Indiana.
Alltop believes it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity that gets you.
A writer writes
Ignatius was working. That was the first rule for writers. It wasn’t about the tools, his teachers had said, way back in school. It was about discipline. Work.
A writer must write, even if, as Thomas Mann said: “A writer is someone for whom writing is harder than for other people.”
Of course, he might find a pen somewhat less of a challenge than the over-sized novelty pencil. And he’d heard great things about something called a word processor.
No! he thought. It wasn’t about the tools.
Another sheet of paper ripped apart, unable to withstand Ignatius’s impatience and the giant pencil. He sighed, and started his to do list again.
Alltop does not know this “pencil” Ingatius speaks of.
The wonderful thing about tautologies
After a certain point, the previous night was all a blur.
He’d started the usual way: he burst through the door, landing on the nearest (and fattest) person, introduced himself, and then sang the song. (He’d paid the Sherman Brothers a fortune for it, so he sang it at every opportunity. And he enjoyed the frenetic dancing and bouncing too.)
The wonderful thing about tiggers
Is tiggers are wonderful things!
Their tops are made out of rubber;
Their bottoms are made out of springs!
They’re bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy,
Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun!
But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is
I’m the only one!
Is tiggers are wonderful things!
Their tops are made out of rubber;
Their bottoms are made out of springs!
They’re bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy,
Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun!
But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is
I’m the only one!
“That’s a tautology!” the enormous biker he’d landed on said. He weighed about 300 pounds and had the most impressive mullet that Tigger had ever seen. It was magnificent!
“Thank you!” he’d said.
“It wasn’t a compliment. You can’t say you’re wonderful, and then prove that by saying you’re wonderful. It’s a self-reinforcing statement that can’t be disproved because you’re assuming you’re correct.”
The other bikers in the bar agreed, nodding their heads.
“If you’d said, Tiggers are wonderful because we’re bouncy, that would have been fine,” the guy behind the bar said. He was wearing a leather vest and had nearly as much hair on him as Tigger, though it wasn’t a wonderful orange color.
“But I AM wonderful!” Tigger said, confused. “The Sherman Brothers wouldn’t lie about it.”
“I don’t know who the Sherman Brothers are, but they have very poor logic skills,” said the giant biker Tigger was sitting on.
“And I don’t want to be one of those guys,” said the bartender, “but their rhymes are kind of pedestrian and that bridge does not scan well at all.”
He reached under the bar and produced a baseball bat.
Alltop is great, because it’s just so fabulous!
Hidden quirky smile
Two notes:
- An excellent week of stuff upcoming on The Skwib this week.
- Dear NASA: For future reference, if you drop your crap in my backyard, I’m not telling you. Especially if it sets anything on fire. Finders keepers.
- The Kindle Giveaway continues. Join my mailing list, The MonkeySphere for more free, absurd and humorous fiction, plus a chance to win a Kindle. ($139 Amazon gift card.)
- I’m aware that was three things.
- Also aware that was four, and now there is a horrible feedback loop that will take all my willpower to —
Alltop is funny feedback loop!
The perils of evolution
One day you wake up and watch the sun rise, ripe and scarlet over the savanna, and you know it can never hold you back.
The next, you’re unable to hold a conversation with other humans in the flesh, and you have the attention span of an unhinged hummingbird. Inside your head there are noises that would have terrified you before, on the plains, but now they are the background radiation of your mind. You’re surrounded by voices. Within this clamour there is only the silent pulse of a thought that never comes, an impulse suffocated by plenty, a drive misdirected by old mythology.
You long for the reality of stone, the scrape of grass on your bare legs, and the silence of nature, tooth and claw. You wonder if you should Tweet this yearning, but — hey, new Facebook interface!