Aunt Lily was portly and white-crowned–the sweetest thing, and she was family, who deserved respect. Time to bring out the whoopee cushion.
I looked at our geriatric audience. Most were in wheelchairs. One woman was snoozing with her mouth open. Another was strangely gurgling.
The woman I’d met just ten minutes earlier smiled, lowered her eyelids, and began to sing–from a place that transcended the human who sat beside me.
About that time I was thinking this is really outlandish. There’s no way someone can make such a specific prediction and have it come true. What’s going on here?
But I did not stop the session.
Soon you have an alien something oozing a toxic goo, crawling and dripping on the walls and shelves.
I reached the sanctum sanctorum. A perfect ball of fluff made from a piece of jeans insulation interwoven with black cat hairs. The hole hollowed out of the center provided a soft and warm place for the architect to sleep.
Searching bright pinpricks high, connecting patterns, skimming the plunge of dark mysteries.
I gasped. Didn’t he know? Courting a female tarantula requires finesse! Ted was showing no finesse. He was acting like a horny teenager.
It was obviously a youngster…frantically searching for its kin. Desperate to outrun the predator, it leaped and bounded, reaching a speed of 55 mph…
Were the asparagus spears too menacing for the deputies? Did they think he had some kind of potent vegetable weapon, cocked and ready to spit deadly asparagus juice?