Houser

My pet mouse, Houser, died yesterday. I was distraught.

My friends held a funeral for Houser to help me come to terms with my grief. There was a eulogy. It was given by my cat, Tempster.

Tempter said, “It was hard for me not to eat Houser. She meant a lot to Brooks. If I followed my nature and eaten the mouse, I would have added grief to Brooks’ life. So I relented, difficult as it was. Houser ended up dying of natural causes. I was surprised to find myself in tears. I was confounded. I looked deep into myself. My constant epicurial passions for mice kept me from noticing Houser’s beautiful whiskers, her sweet shiny wriggling nose, her gorgeous gray coat of fur, and her incredible burrowing nature. She will be missed.”

Houser RIP
5/2006 – 8/29/2009

Loan

I went to the bank to get a loan for repairs that I wanted to make to my garage. They said that my credit rating was too low. I was disappointed. They could tell and said that if I opened a new checking account and deposited $100, I would get a toaster. I couldn’t believe my luck! I signed up. They gave me the toaster.

Later that night I came home. My wife asked if I got the loan. I said no. She was sad. She went to the kitchen window and looked out at the garage. There was a loud sound, followed by an explosion. She grimaced. She said the garage’s roof caved in and landed on our car causing the gas tank to explode and the garage was on fire.

She asked how come I had a smile on my face. I showed her the toaster. Her face opened up into a smile and she embraced me. We danced in the glow of the light of the flames.

Text

I got a text message from the wishing well. It said, “How come you haven’t come by to visit me in a while?”

I wrote, “Recently, I got most things I’ve been wanting. I noticed I felt no different afterwards. So I decided to stop asking.”

The wishing well texted back, “What am I supposed to do now?”

I wrote back, “I know!”

Grave

I work at Rosehill cemetery. I dig graves. It’s fun because I like to dig fresh dirt. The amazing thing is I never get tired. Sometimes I have to dig over twenty-five graves and my arms never get tired.

I’ve met other grave diggers and they tell me they get exhausted after digging ten graves, and they want to know my secret. I tell them about how much I adore the smell of fresh dirt, and the sound of the shovel cutting through the dirt and clay, and seeing the different colors of sediment. But they don’t understand. They want to know my techniques of the angle of the shovel, and whether I use certain oils to lubricate the metal.

I say, “I don’t know. But I know this. One day, I’ll end up digging my best grave ever. And when I’m done, I’ll stand over the grave, feel my life ebb, as I fall in with a sense of pride and completion.”

Botanical Gardens

I was feeling weary from work today and I st0pped by the Botanical Gardens to get some peace of mind. I went to the summer gardens section. They area was filled with blooming, colorful flowers. I began to feel better. I felt so peaceful that I took off all of my clothes and ran naked around the gardens.

A family came by and were surprised to see my naked dancing body. The father shouted at me to put my clothes back on. But then his kids took off their clothes and ran around naked too. They were followed by his wife. They coaxed him to follow suit. He did.

A group of tourists came by. Some of them were rankled. But others weren’t and stripped and ran around the flowers. The others felt they were now out of place and they got naked too.

More people kept coming by, and the story repeated itself.

Soon there were about a hundred of us joyfully dancing naked amidst the summer blooming.

Security came by, sirens wailing, walkie-talkies a blazing, and they began shouting, and…well, you know the story.