Is it so wrong that I entertain delicious fantasies about an aluminum baseball bat, freshly heated to skin-searing perfection, propped over my shoulder as I assume a perfect batter's stance, which I swing with all my might against the side of the head of Little Boy Blue, my inconsiderate, oblivious talentless hack of a neighbor who insists on polluting the air with hideous horn-blowing? And then, not satisfied with the mere pulp created by this bashing, proceeding to press the red-hot bat to the worthless lips that press themselves against the mouthpiece of the horn he abuses day and night?
fresh-baked at 10:55 PMI was once annoyed late one night at Mi Tierra, San Antonio's popular 24-hour TexMex restaurant.
It seems the strolling mariachi band was idling too close to my table.
Their monstrously awful trumpet player kept blowing bad notes.
I caught his eye and began sucking the lemon wedge from my margarita.
Heh, heh, heh.
But Jodi, youse cants be doin' dat to da boy! He's a very impotent playah in da orchestra.
Thomas: Beating Dead Horses since 1970.
Offered by: Thomas on January 21, 2008 1:53 PMYes, it's wrong to entertain such fantasies. They're not nearly violent enough. Surely you can do better, my dear.
Offered by: Jeffrey on January 21, 2008 1:17 PMPurjor myself in court. Duh.
Offered by: Ds on January 21, 2008 11:43 AMWere it not for the writer's strike, I would do what any talented writer would do and lift your story, pawn it to either Law & Order or CSI New York, take full credit and blatantly plagiarize myself in court when you sued me for 2.1 million dollars in copyright infringement. Then, feeling just a tad guilty about my professional plagiarism and the numerous accolades and successes it has garnered me, I will decide to start a charity for underpriveleged youth; a charity that nourishes the creative spark that has been lost in our schools. A charity that teaches chorus and music and dance. And I'm going to house it in this great space I'd heard about, recently vacated when its lone tenant was mysteriously pummelled to death with a superheated baseball bat.
Because our souls know no sorrow when a child blows his trumpet unto Gabriel.
Damn writer's strike.
Offered by: Ds on January 21, 2008 11:42 AMWere it not for the writer's strike, I would do what any talented writer would do and lift your story, pawn it to either Law & Order or CSI New York, take full credit and blatantly plagiarize myself in court when you sued me for 2.1 million dollars in copyright infringement. Then, feeling just a tad guilty about my professional plagiarism and the numerous accolades and successes it has garnered me, I will decide to start a charity for underpriveleged youth; a charity that nourishes the creative spark that has been lost in our schools. A charity that teaches chorus and music and dance. And I'm going to house it in this great space I'd heard about, recently vacated when its lone tenant was mysteriously pummelled to death with a superheated baseball bat.
Because our souls know no sorrow when a child blows his trumpet unto Gabriel.
Damn writer's strike.
Offered by: Ds on January 21, 2008 9:43 AM"Is it so wrong that I entertain delicious fantasies about an aluminum baseball bat, freshly heated to skin-searing perfection..."
Boy, for a second there I thought you were going to in a totally different direction with this blog.
Offered by: jamied on January 21, 2008 8:21 AM
