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.
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.
I'm told that tomorrow, all the automobiles will vanish. We wake up and they'll be gone. No foul play, no hassle, just gone. In the driveway will sit neat little piles of spare change from the ashtray and a little row of ice scrapers and snow brushes from under the seats.
The cars will not be coming back. There will be no investigation. Nothing will be said about this awful time going forward. Instead, everyone will get right to it: beating each other about the head and neck. Those beaten into submission will carry the victors around on their backs and formally give up on their dreams once and for all.