After years of salsa abuse and my own special brand of
blackened anything cooking, I have
developed a fairly tough gut for dining. So pick your peppers and dose me with
the feisty ghosties or hurry with your spicy curry – it won’t matter ‘cause I
can take it. Yes my steel drum of a tum not only weighs a ton but it’s lined
with pig iron too so I’m forged from Diet COKE
and squeal until filled with grease, but am rarely nauseous.
Now don’t prove me a liar by placing my puffy pink posterior
on a tip-toppy yacht in awful sloppy chop. Don’t roll me in coasters that are stead-fast
boasters over their belly-churning loops and adrenaline swoops, best fit for gung-ho
young souls. No, as long as my bloated bobble-head remains gray-side up,
spin-less, and vertigo-free, signs of chyme will never reach the white light of
day, pester guests, or decorate unsuspecting shirts with regurgitant leis.
So with this in mind clearly there is little risk in admiring
the scenery of my neighbor’s gorgeous greenery. What possibly could turn the
tides of my insides while un-canning hot-plate condensed soup or tossing cold-bowls
of shivering salad for simple supper sustenance? Logically nothing, except the bright, green-bladed grassy knoll next
door at first blush is not as peaceful as it seems, for secrets hide within its
lush brush – the stuff of darkest
dreams.
Only two unbridled rhinos roam this land yet clearly freely frequent
its open spaces looking for a bank in need of very big high yield deposits. What turned my face of fascination to one
of ashen was the horror of my neighbor in tippy-toe terror, repeatedly ringing her
yard armed with a fanged feculence trap, mapping unappetizing tubular Gigantor scat. Suddenly with every weighty skewer of manure showed,
my sturdy stomach’s hunger bowed, and soon made an up-turned pitch towards worry,
in need of a pink Pepto potation cure in a hurry. Since Christmas is far away a
recurring fear of coal stowed in my red n’ green hearth sock should not rank priority
today. But given a possible premonition from
my neighbor’s frighteningly saggy baggy collection, my fireplace should shudder
in fear, if Santa’s hefty sack is stocked to the top with a year end full from eight regular reindeer!
Posts
