Author - Chris Weagel

There was no need for a swallowable bowling ball. But it exists. It’s real. We have to acknowledge it.
There was no need for a 51st state dedicated to the housing of off-season holiday characters. But the government just seized my cottage land for it.
There was no need to review thousands of hours of home video just to wave at all the people you may have overlooked during previous viewings. But you did this. It happened.
Humans are convinced they know better. They are certain their superior brain stems help to avoid such lunacy. Human Beings are confident they can resist purchase of another waffle iron to make an even 9 (3 rows x 3 columns, right there on the front table where anyone can see them from the street). Their conviction is unshakable.

REMEMBER: If you stare at a person’s head long enough you can see what’s inside it, making all the decisions.
Earlier today, I became aware that an acquaintance of mine has little more than an Oscillating Fan inside his skull. It is currently set to “Medium”.
After a few minutes consideration, I gave in and signed over complete power of attorney to him for me and my estate.

For the first time, I felt really important.
It lasted a full five minutess.
Then everything got real hot.
Turns out I had swallowed a salamander.
I go before the parole board next week.
I plan on making my case through song.
You have to wear the overalls, though, they’re mandatory.

How can the man who holds numerous patents on space helmets (and related paraphenalia) for little birds find himself at the darkest bottom of life? What triggered this downward spiral? Was he reminded of the little bird lives he destroyed each time he’d glance at his wrist watch and see the scars left by the frantic pecking of his test subjects? Each new prototype, each new helmet polymer meant one less song bird in Aunt Bea’s pear tree. Maybe the silence of the research library suffocated him like the silence of his neighborhood with its great Elms and Walnuts and Birches, their great boughs and branches muted and empty. Perhaps deep down he felt responsible for the Widow Johnson losing the family home after spending too much of her fixed income on bag after bag of exotic...

Opening the mailbox, V was delighted to find it filled with vacations.
He selected the sweatiest vacation of the lot and swallowed it whole.
“WHENEVER I SNEEZE, I FEEL LIKE STARSHIPS AND SEE YOUR SMILE,” V announced. “I’D LOVE IT VERY MUCH IF YOU TOO COULD SHARE THE WONDER.”
The shingle-mining town of Bisquinne, Missouri flipped completely upside down.

The man told him he’d get $57 if he stood real still the whole time and didn’t say a word. Jake would have to keep his arms outstretched and pressed up against the wall. His face and front side would be pressed up against it too. The man said Jake should keep his eyes open the whole time, he encouraged Jake to “experience life in all its forms,” but never interact with the public. Don’t respond to them, don’t pay any attention to their ways. The man, who some called Mr. Henris, said to Jake that the money was his if he’d just stand there, pressed up tight against the front window-wall of the Animal Hospital all day. Jake wasn’t supposed to block anyone’s view. He wasn’t standing there to hide anything. Quite the opposite in fact...

Twin tornadoes of insanity. Fraternal twins. As closely related as celery on a stalk, but different. Unique. These tornadoes of insanity careen and collide and crash off everything and one another, spilling syrup and blood, bones and batter.
One is purple, the other blue. One writes his own alphabet. One does it on your face. One was born in the south. One is a child of the deep. One hates lightning. The other eats rain.
Cement slabs are no match for these creatures. Neither is leopard’s salt. You just have to run. Faster and faster. And hope to god you’re welcome at home.
*/eagle cry/*
*/eagle cry/*

I’m finally starting to feel normal again. It’s taken me about three weeks to get over this tomato infection. But it’s gone now. I’m healthy. I’m ready to resume the more physical aspects of my work. The repeated lifting and setting back down of objects that do not belong to me, directly in front of their owner, will start again. And without gloves. Once more I will put on my weighted socks. Once more I will thicken my mustache. Once more I will assume the role of Town Pointer and provide silent assistance to local traffic and merchant signage. “As you can see, citizen, this is a No Passing Zone.” “This water-bubbling establishment welcomes seeing-eye dogs.” Illness is unavoidable. No man is perfect. But I will not let illness define...