Futons are the Devil!

Fact: Futons are the devil to move. They are all floppy and cumbersome. They are heavier than they appear and when two people each grab an end to lift them they sag in the middle and continue to touch the ground. Futons also have no edges to grab onto making it difficult to hang onto them. Therefore futons are definitely the devil to move.

Fact: Futons are also the devil. Having been to hell and back I can confidently tell you that the overlord of the afterlife for unpenitent sinners is a futon. I'm not talking about some cute anime character of a devil but rather a large double fold, 10 inch thick, memory foam devil. A big mean old futon with a metal frame that has a tendency to heat up very quickly in the fiery pits of hell and burn your elbow something fierce if you attempt to sit down on him in hopes of watching a little post-mortem cable.

~Sigh~

World,

I'm feeling introspective. Would you consider taking a barefoot walk in the grass with me, World? We could discuss philosophy and ponder our existence. World, let's frolic and pick wildflowers and take some time off for what really counts. Can we have a picnic? I'd like to have a row boat all to ourselves, just the World and me out on a lake. I'll write you a poem in couplets and you can tell me what it's like to be a collective noun. Alas, maybe it's silly. It's probably just spring talking.

Call me?

-Jess

Dear Sir,

I am afraid to inform you that your soft-sided briefcase is a purse. I personally do not care if you carry a purse, but I was sure when I saw you on the train this morning that you did not realize the mistake you had made. You should go and complain to the person who sold that to you.

Sincerely,
Perfectly okay with transvestites
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Dear Sir,

Your sneakers match your messenger bag exactly. The green and orange combo of your shoes looks as though it came from the same dye batch as that of your bag. Applause to your bold coordination.

Sincerely,
But does his carpet match his drapes?


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Dear Sir,

Please don't chew gum anymore.

Sincerely,
Seriously. Stop.

(Cr)Mime in the Streets

He was a mime on the way to the top until he dared to break the ancient code of the mimers. Banished to live amongst real objects Popo turned to a life of crime until Vic Wilkinson found him. Trained in the school of hard knocks, one ex-cop saw the good in a pantomime gone wrong but when he decides to take Popo in from the streets to share his one bedroom apartment he realizes that he just may live to regret it. Now Popo is trying to get his life back and fight the Mime order and maybe get Vic to do some dishes. They may kill each other or they just may learn to love each other.

Throw it Up High

The real life story of ceramacist who dared to see the potential in a group of kids with everything going for them. After realizing that he will never make enough money to pay his rent by selling pottery, Fort Mackinaw, decides to get a job teaching in the idyllic private school on the outskirts of town. Fort discovers that some of the kids in his class have been smoking marijuana and letting their grades slip and he decides that he can turn their lives back around with ceramics.

Fort faces adversity and naysayers from the administration, parents, the kids, the townsfolk, the school mascot, a basketball coach and even his mentor a renowned pot thrower. He sees true talent in some of these kids and fights on to see if he can prove them all wrong. Fort has to find out if he can teach these kids that if you are willing to get your hands a little dirty then maybe you can make money selling pottery, not pot.

Make it count

Okay, so by now I am sure that my readership--which sounds like a really boring cruiseline--has probably hit the million per day mark, so Maria--which is the name I have chosen to give these millions of people--let's get down to talking about the serious things in life. Let's talk about scooters, vacation, and fall. Or maybe more importantly let's talk about babies. I was having breakfast this morning and a couple came in with two babies. If you are wondering about how old these babies were I couldn't possible tell you as I have no concept of how old humans are when they are under four feet tall. A baby might be seven months old, it might be three years old. A midget might be thirty-two or they might be seventy-eight. I just have no idea. When this couple came in with their two babies one was broken already. It was screaming and crying before it even was given a reason to scream and cry like underdone eggs, or syrup. I think that its just rude to not turn your child off before coming into a restaurant. I turn off my radio. I don't come into a restaurant with a blaring radio. No. I turn it off. So do the same please. That's all.

Well no. That's not all. When I see anything I have a horrible habit of immediately needing to talk about it. So if I see a man with ridiculous hair, I have to start talking about ridiculous hair. If I see someone with a cat on a leash, there I go talking about cats on leashes. If you have a crying baby I start talking about babies. Please understand I am not meaning your baby in particular. I am just compelled to relate all stories I know of couples with two babies who walk into restaurants with crying children. I have a design flaw. This morning much to my horror the people talked back. This is jarring to me because I am used to talking to my television and getting no direct responses. I forget people are not television. So we had a conversation about babies. This is fine. However, shortly afterwards we also had a conversation about people who have teflon horns implanted in their heads. Stranger! Why didn't you lead with this story? I know that it would have seemed a non-sequiter but believe me I would have been much more interested at the outset. I don't like to talk to strangers usually but if you have a story about a man who has teflon horns then by all means give me a tap on the shoulder. This is the stuff I want to know about.

Thanks for listening Maria.

-Jessica

Get out of my mouth

World,

Look. I already think you are hot. Trust me, I am checking you out already. There is no need for you to put on so much stink in the morning. Your cologne and perfume was so strong on the T this morning that I could taste it in my mouth. Get out of my mouth World! I am so serious about this. If I had wanted you in there I would have invited you nicely and perhaps taken you out to dinner first. From now on, less is more World. Better yet, just smell clean. You don't need to be a bouquet of flowers and musky smells. When I yawn I don't want to taste 20 old women on their way to a big bingo outing. Cool it. If I want that taste I'll lick a Vogue magazine, 'kay? Right.

-Jess