Pot Pouri

When you were younger, do you remember when Mom would hold your hand in those expensive stores?

Those stores with glass and porcelain things everywhere- those places that usually reak of pot pouri and grandmother.

Pissed me off.

Why Mom? Why can't I have my hands to myself? Why must you hold them? All I want to do is touch the shiny things, Mom. Just let me touch the shiny things!

In retaliation, all I wanted to do was "accidentally" stumble into a nice diamond encrusted unicorn figurine. And then maybe jump across the laser barrier in front of the door- instantly gratifing my urges for noise.

Although... I think my Mom stopped holding my hand in stores at a crucial point in my development. Had she let go sooner, my family might still be in debt. Any longer, and I would be an emo/death metal kid.

Food for thought: What are your innermost desires when you see something fragile?

*

Precisely. Blame Mom.

Wanted

I want a penguin.

I want a penguin really bad. I want one that I can squeeze so tightly. I want one to kiss me with its silky beak.

They're just so adorable. And you know it would wait on you like a butler. It would be happy to fetch a pina colada from the kitchen.

One day I will visit their ice city and barter for a companion. Hopefully they'll accept me into their ranks.

Please. Buy me a Penguin. For my Birthday?

Birth

My birth is tomorow.

The flippin' Post Office isn't open and I know I have a package. They're supposed to be open on Saturdays right? Well what the floof! That means my gifts won't be here. That means I won't be able to do my annual roll around in wrapping paper ceremony.

Birth is great. I've seen a birth. I've seen animals birth. I've seen a lot of stuff just get birthed. I even saw my friend's brother get birthed- secret videotape, we won't go there.

Actually it's not great. Its disgusting. There has got to be a better way to make it happen. [ READER WARNING ] I saw puppies get birthed once, and man, the mother ate the placenta and everything. Changed my life.

Just to let the feds know, I'll be smoking a Cuban cigar tomorow. Come on. Throw me in a tire.

Breakfast

I hate breakfast at school.

It's awful.

I wake up, go to breakfast, and get slopped some yellow fetus material called scrambled eggs.

Yeah, it's fantastic.

Not to mention the coffee is just abominably bad. Take, for example, some sort of burned root, and that brown sludge you find under your refridgerator, and thats the coffee at Franklin Pierce College.

Back at home, we take breakfast very seriously. That is why we have such fine establishments as Fitzpatricks restaurant. There is no one else in the world who understands breakfast more than Fitzy.

Here are the elements of my breakfast, in order of importance:

2 eggs, over-easy - And I mean overeasy. I want eggs I can stab. I want eggs that will get me 7 years to life no parol. I want orange blood. Instant gratification with every forkfull.

Toast - Crucial for mopping up excess orange blood. If necessary, strawberrry jam.

Bacon - The meat of an animal- which spends its entire life wallowing in mud and bacteria- is definitely a breakfast delicacy.

House of Swift

Joe is moving out.

He will be missed...

So this begins the semester of David. Things are going to be different in this room.

For starters, my body will remain naked. I'm never naked anymore. Even in the shower I'm wearing flip flops. The energy must flow from every breathing skin cell.

Henceforth, the room will be named: "Swift's House of Personal Nakedry". Not to be abbreviated.

Another addition to the room, as commissioned by the head Swift, is to tear down a wall to allow Carribean breezes- characteristic of southern New Hampshire- to tickle my bodkin.

Joe's bed will be replaced with a hot tub complete with massaging jets, trickling water falls, and filled with melted glacier water from Portugal.

A dart board with Flipper's picture, will be affixed to the wall.