Apr. 9th, 2004

Beautiful flowery sewage spewed from the solid-gold nostril and slopped against the tanned limbs stacked around the edge of the pool. A slow flatulant susurrus coiled through the room, then exploded in a quick puff.

I hung up my coat. "Honey, I'm home!"
Ancient barnyard spork turds flamed out above our frog gazebo, gnashing their gums on each other's arms with sleepy disinterest.


A dragon spoon herded the turdy embers into a small heap, lifted them into the coffee can, then smoothed the ground of the last few specks. Clank clank on the can's edge, then on with the lid. The dragon spoon, released, crept away and disappeared under some rotting planks.

A large potato man lifted the can onto his wagon and began the trek into the city. If you've ever deep-fried a whole potato that's six or seven feet tall, that's not this potato man, for a number of reasons, but that should give you a general idea.

Potatos pulling carts tend to plod. Carrots sleep in, pass them by later. The late vegetable doesn't get the turd can though.


eleriah / iwadoj

February 2005

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