NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #31/NN_1992_31.iso/spool/alt/non/sequitur/886

Internet Message Format | 1993-01-02 | 2.7 KB

Xref: sparky alt.non.sequitur:886 talk.bizarre:43352
Newsgroups: alt.non.sequitur,talk.bizarre
Path: sparky!uunet!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sdd.hp.com!spool.mu.edu!umn.edu!csus.edu!netcom.com!gooley
From: [e-mail] (Mark. Gooley)
Subject: decoupage salad with laughter dressing and Croton bugs
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Followup-To: alt.fan.gooley,alt.pets.chia
Organization: Canticum Novum, Inc.
Date: Sat, 2 Jan 1993 20:35:45 GMT
Lines: 36

    We feasted on roast dissonance and machinations.  The wine was
a 1973 Chateau Cucaracha y Menudo, with the famous foot-colored engraving
of a Chia Ram (tm) on its label.  With dessert we had port and starboard,
and Sherry trifle: our waitress Sherry came over and trifled with us most
charmingly, and I was so smitten with food poisoning and her that I removed
my dinner companion's skin and made it into a jacket, pants, a hat, a pair
of gloves, a pair of shoes, and a droll little purse with a face splayed
over it.  Unfortunately, Sherry was already married to a Rolls-Royce (tm)
turbofan jet engine, and I had to pick apart the clothes and sew their
leather back onto my companion, who enjoyed the pain and scars but was
indignant that I had skinned her, without her permission, merely to impress
a silly woman.
    We took the Armored Root Vegetable Carrier, developed for the
Turnip Wars in Botswana by a French arms and wheat combine, back to my
place in Cat's Mews: a stable converted into a stable.  We got out of
the Carrier, examined the fresh damage to the reactive and highly emotional
Ukrainian-made armor (drowning its sorrows in vodka), and headed and tailed
for my adobe abode.  An ingenious device in the doorframe transformed us
into horses, and with a whinny I, now a decrepit old white draft stallion
also available in bottles, offered a bag of oats to the thoroughbred filly
she had become.
    We stood there eating out oats and making little neighs that neither
of us understood.  Presently a van from the local knacker's yard came by
to collect me, and I wondered why these stables were called mews and the
animal disposal people were called knackers when we weren't even in Britain.
Foolishly the two old men came in through the same doorway we had used,
and became moribund old hacks worse than Piers Anthony (tm).  It was child's
play (we went out the way we had entered, becoming human, and borrowed the
forms of playful neighbor children) to lead the creaky old horses through
another doorway, load them into their own van, and sell van and horses to
a competitor for a hundredweight of used chewing gum and a box of back
issues of Playchild (tm), famous for their centerfolds of the prepubescent,
pubes airbrushed to blurriness.

Mark., the new year makes no difference
[e-mail]