Quiz!

FB inspired me to make a quiz too. Please post your results, my gumdrops.

http://www.quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=71547&first=yes

Fudge on the Mountaintop

There is a stash of fudge I am hankering to get my hands on at the top of a very tall mountain. It will take several days and top quality fortitude to make the journey to and from, yet I am sure it is worth it. I went to the head shop and bought myself a young tattooed hussy to make the journey with me. She will keep us well-supplied with mind-benders and tie-dye outfits (that's right, head to toe). From what I understand the fudge is well worth the effort - it is a balm of sorts that smoothes over blemishes of the mind and neglects of the soul, creating a warm, baby-in-the-tub sensation that I have been searching for since infancy. Even though my mother bathed me in an alligator-ridden swamp, still, this is the sensation I seek. My departure is imminent.

A Trip to the Fair

Last night UF and I went to the Harford, PA fair. FUN!!! Hot dogs, onion rings and steak sandwiches...yum. We went to see the demolition derby but sadly my pictures did not turn out so well - too many herky jerky movements by the smash-ups and men wearing helmets...it was very smoky and kind of beautiful to watch.




BUT MUCH MUCH BIGGER in the way of photo excitement were the prize-winning items on display in the halls.

A crocheted motorhome. It's hard to see from this photo, but inside the well-appointed home are two racks for electronic keyboards. Amazing!!!



A beach cake. Excellent idea to put lifesavers along the front edge in case of accidental drowning.



In the clothing section - this lovely sandwich outfit. The boy modeling it does not look so pleased, however.




The art section contained many many fabulous items. These were my favorites, please note that the first one seems to be an MM of some kind.

Countywide Baby Show

These are the top three winners in the County Baby Show!!! Congratulations to you. (Baby Denim and Chewed Up Baby, I was sorry to hear you didn't make it to the final round.) The babies were placed on a pedestal, with their caregivers behind them to prop them up, if need be. The judges came around with clipboards and ballpoints, making notations and scoring according to categories like Best Brisket, Longest Haunches, Smallest Tail, etc. Then the tabulations were made...and these are the winners! I hope you will be able to make it to next year's show.

Yay for babies!!!

Midnight Visit

This fellow quietly entered my home in the night. He hovered over my bed and breathed into my nose with two straws, one for each nostril, until I woke up. Strangely, I felt a lack of alarm as his eyeholes peered into mine. This morning I have breath of fire, a raging breath of stink and heat. I have already singed the fur of Krakow in multiple places while attempting to feed her. I heard once that soft-boiled eggs were absorbent of mouth hell - my next move is to stuff my mouth full.

I hope the day holds many more bold moves in store.

Portion Control Envy

I am empty of tunafish semblances and performing with a troupe of acrobats in the arena of public predilections. The tickets are cheap and it is a summer show only. There is a bucking, an inverting and a flipping on the bruised shoulders of panicked elders. The formations assemble and break apart quickly.

The critters I have trapped and had taxidermied this weekend include seven weasels. They have been stuffed and stilled and locked into a circle, backs to the center. Happy stuck weasels commemorate the Fourteenth Day.

Pants pocket-like jowls are forming. I am husbanding the landscape with my chums, each morning we raze, trim and pluck. All actions seem to come in demonic threes.

It is time for a suckling.

Bots

The rotation sensor devices are in correct alignment. The beige carpet provides pre-sanctuary before the bots come to smooth out the tangles and pick the pustular weedy nodules. Dig, pull and dump - these are the ways of the bots. The visitors have left, the landscape is tumbly with gunshots. I am off to collect more critters for taxidermy.

Skirmish in the Piles

Earlier today I took a trip to the crud piles to inspect and possibly help clear out the pestilence. I was embroiled in a minor skirmish that resulted in the above circular flesh wounds. Then there was a weird blackout at the supermarket this evening. Alone with cart near the bacon bits aisle, the lights turned off, the music turned off...many seconds pass. Creepy. Dark wraps around like a blanket of close plastic, shrinkwrap. Beard begins itching. Relief as backup generator begins to work. Happy sighs from fellow shoppers and self. Invigoration and indoctrination begins with the liquid toxins in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Hole

I have found a hole big enough for Krakow and I. We will sit there and play jacks until the time is right to come out. There are beers in there, enough for both of us, at least for the morning, and pieces of beef jerky, with which we will tantalize each other. We are on a stationary mega-transport into the zones of push and tether.

Jagged Skin Garden

The pincers come onto flesh and leave tracks and red scratches behind. You sit in the grass, amongst the weeds and bees and contemplate the disaster of frozen criss-crossed pathways that have led you to where you are. It is lovely, yet it hurts, the deprivation is palpable like ice cubes in clammy warm hands. The ice melts and drips onto your stained pants. You are thinking of marauders coming, Mongolian raiders to obliterate your town and rape your women. Just over the hill, the faintest rumbling of horses and then, before you know it, a full on invasion, life as you know it blasted and bashed. This seems fine, breath blowing out and sucking in, fetid breezes accruing on sweat-damp dermis, sweetish smells of death underfoot, under the flowers, leaving the living to amble and preen above ground. I make no sense. Sense drains out with salty eye goo. Plenty of rabid bland tantrums are coming tomorrow and the next day. I am heavy, like the circus fat lady, cross-eyed and goose-pimpled. I smack flies with my bare hands, turning infinity times around in dizzy nauseous circles. I don't know which life to have, I want to burrow deeply into the waspy nest in the dirts. Perhaps me and the ones I love can have matching holes of burrow to disappear head first into, a shared avoidance.

Marmojacks

These are the bloody super wormy balls that uplift our systems with little prodding, only with shelter and food, some breathing, some pills. I am feeling it is time to die and shed the outer layers of deadness and become more something - something new, something slithery on the rocks of slowness. I am perpetrating moves of fake improvisation on the relics. I figure it is like smiling - if you do it even without purpose you still benefit. I am hoping to benefit from surprises and licking of brush hairs in the goo of tomorrow. So far there is yellow and stinking rotten sunbursts, trees that over-articulate in the sordid breezes and clotted flesh forms that seek to become grotesquely up there in the strata of exciting subjects. I am ridiculous in my ambitions, they dwarf the real. Self-consciousness puts me at a supreme disadvantage when trying to tell a story.

The superlatives I am suckling from include:

1. Bloodiest
2. Merriest

I am girating, hoping to remove extra sags of blubber from the toothpick center, the wooden understructure that times all motion. My motions are haphazard and lacking in oneness. Yet still, yet still, there are reflections of idealized wonderment in the placid ripples of magnetic wanton surface tension. I am excited about tomorrow. I am excited about making less sense than today. Please help me.

Escaping Facts

This is the false wall of escape. Many colored handles for balance-keeping but no point of entry or exit except from above. For this you need rope. Knowing rope and which way to knot are the first steps to escaping any situation, be it bad or very very good. I am in a trance of rope-knowing, I have held it and, eyes closed, blindly studied its twisting rough ways with fingertip sensors. There are only certain fleeting windows of opportunity, times to escape where the ropes may assist. Danger may be below or above, depending on the day. It is tremorous and I am making a pilgrimage to enlarged chest cavities and falling red suns. The light is failing, palm sweat prevents tight grip. There is colorless gas all around, a pleasant not-too-sweet smell, a neutral green smell; I am uniforming myself to gird against the winds and waves. I will receive many scrapes and bruises on puckered yellow flesh pockets, but the vapors will come to soothe and prevent scarring.

Cuddles

I miss my cuddly bucket of squish, Mr. Pants, MM's nephew. The cuddles are coming in a different format now, a less welcome one, the cloying cuddles of hot air molecules. Please be gone. I need to think. I am donning a multi-feathered headdress in honor of this occasion and spinninig around in circles. So far no thinking has come to me. I will wait.

Prehension

The tragedy of the world is that there is not enough time to find the secret source of mega-devil tabs to uplift you out of your dreaded self and take you somewhere ecstatic for every second, all the time, for the rest of time. I am a woodpecker and I peck my head ceaselessly at trees and never get a headache (even though I always have one). There is a puddle of hot melted crayons that I am about to step into, merely because there is nothing better to do. I have asked the Juggler from the Woods and the Fan of Adult Contemporary Music to initiate a union near the cave entrance. I have asked them to fool me into thinking I am a wizard with magical fruity-time Mountain Man powers. I have asked them to fashion power cuffs for me to symbolize witlessness now and in the future. Back to gummy filters and visions of glowing haze layers, the delusion of making, the distraction from lack of functionality and fear of position-assumption.