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------------------------------------ There was a large painting of Evel Knievel shaking hands with Richard Nixon. It hung in the Mayors office. Late one evening after everyone went home. I took it down to the lab. I zoomed in on Evel’s left eye a 100x and enhanced it. It was an address. I went to the address. It was a modest, 1970’s style, split level ranch home in the suburbs.
----------------------------------- Inside I found a dead parrot lying on a waterbed. I revived the parrot with some saltines and adrenaline. We became good friends. The parrots name was Randy. One night a few years later while Randy and me played Gin Rummy, he sang me a song about a fire. The title of this blog was never mentioned but I sensed it, and Randy confirmed it by giving me ‘THE LOOK’.
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I woke up this morning and there was a marching band in the backyard. They had all their instruments out, but weren’t playing.
Just haphazardly wandering around and bumping into each other.
You think its an omen?
Remember that time you touched my wiener
with your bloody wooden hand
Whatever became of us
and all the times we planned
Have my dreams all turned to shit
now that even god’s laughter is canned
or is there something more to this
than make-believe marching bands
thedailydoodles said: Canned laughter of God… is amazing.
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