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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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You did not respond to my sexual innuendo so I shall retire to my cubicle and saturate the beige with my self loathing. Our next exchange shall be tersely cryptic and awkward. You’ll think I’m just being my usual creepy self but if you were as attentive as you are attractive you would have noticed that I’m uttering an ancient Klingon ritual. The one were I vow to no longer photoshop your face onto Proxima Centauri (The closest star to the earth, not counting our own sun.)
Good day.
thedailydoodles said: Oh shit.
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