Author - Chris Weagel

Mr. Wallace became famous for always walking in a straight line.
“I have no choice in the matter,” he was known to say.
He was also known to hurl garden rakes into large crowds of people, without mercy.
“I throw them way up in the air. I have to get them away from me very fast. I know somebody wants these things. I don't want to find out who.”
Mr. Wallace was destroyed by centripetal forces, much like those that formed our solar system.

Deep inside every man is the horrible desire to create art with balloons. Each man must find his own way past this temptation. Focus on intense study, focus on engineering and the world of numbers. Cut off his own fingers, one by one, leaving only the thumbs for harmonica play and companionship. A busy mind, occupied by thoughts of digging decorative lawn ponds keeps itself well away from the lure of bended balloons. In weaker moments, when it seems all but inevitable a poodle dog will spring forth from one’s lungs, spelling his beloved’s name aloud, and in reverse, keeps a man on the course. Others may spend time blowing on their finger stumps or recklessly driving while blindfolded and chained to a dog. This is where the soul shines and true art finds its way out; out past...

Infinite scented markers. Lemon and berry and cinnamon and clear scent. In marker form. Never lessening, never running out.
Walking around with these in your pack, you'd be more popular than the kid with dolphin skin.
And I can get you these markets that smell of food. I can even get you one that smells like Formica. Oh, it's a wondrous world, looked at in the right way.
All you have to do is bring me that infernal shepherd's head. And, of course, the copay.
Which is, really, very reasonable.

Recently, children at local schools were shown a series of photographs of pinball machines and were greatly upset. Many visibly shaken, a few driven to tears. This was repeated at all grade levels, K-6, with older students demonstrating increased aggression during subsequent PE and lunch sessions. Mere photographs brought on these dark moods. As yet, no child has been brought into physical contact with an actual pinball machine; current “Mechanical Delights-Free Zone” legislation being what it is, few will. The path ahead for the pinball and broader glass-enclosed, inclined-plane entertainment industry is clear: shut down, liquidation, abandonment and disavowal. In short, we all pretend it never happened. Any reference to pinball games will heretofore be denounced as gross...

Norwegian Wheat Grass Explosion.
Croquet Underarms.
Camping in between and underneath.
Alice would like to have a word with you.
“I'm not raising my child in this. I want him to walk in straight lines. I want him to perform cursive writing in front of others. I want him to trust right angles.”
Using the pointer, identify the ankles. You have thirty seconds.
The pipes we need are inside this bird. Start praying for their return.
If you face God, no one will see the bite marks.

Always carry an ink pen, fine point. When at a restaurant, preferably in a booth, begin writing horrible messages on the complimentary packets of sugar and sugar substitutes offered for more sophisticated diners. Scribble things that will really hurt, really bring about serious question and doubt. “The chemicals in this powder are actually good for you; they will prolong the suffering.” “God has smiled upon you. That's the problem.” “Your leg will shake with or without this.” “Good ahead, embarrass everyone. Use the coupon.” “Nobody believes it was an accident.” “It wasn't designed with an escape hatch.” “No one is forcing you to feel this way. It's all your fault.” At the conclusion of the...

The prominent design motif in area homes remains hatred. This perspective finds its purest expression in the abundance of running outboard motors chained over picture windows and ceramic lawn ornament animals of divergent origin arranged so as to appear to be kissing in a passionate and lewd manner. Often near the sidewalk.