Frimp speaks!

“What?!? Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just I’m so tense. I fret about hawks eating me for lunch. Or some damn bird getting the worm before me. Or is my plumage up to snuff. You’d think my being able to fly would usurp any petty thought or feeling. But that’s not my life. To be honest, I wish I were an elephant. They’re built like a tank, everyone gets out of their way, and they have those cool trunks. Sure, they probably worry about being caught and forced to work for the circus. But I’d give up the bulk of my freedoms to fly through flaming hoops, as the audience applauds, and my handler feeds me a small amount of bird seed. If you happen to work for the circus, and are currently auditioning, come find me. I’m on tree number 92, in the Blark Forest.”

Incident with the Newlyweds

Last night I slept walked into my time machine and unconsciously pushed the dials to August 22nd, 1848, and St. Louis, Missouri. I woke up to the sounds of donkeys braying. I was standing in the middle of a dirt roadway. The donkeys were attached to a stilled buggy that was carrying a just married bride and bridegroom. The groom said, “What ya doin’ in the middle of the road, sonny?” I got my wits about me and said that I was crossing the street and got tired and was resting. The bride looked at my lower half and I realized I was just wearing my skimpy red nighttime briefs that had the letters “zzzzzz” on the rear.

The bridegroom said, “How much longer are ya gonna be in repose?” I patted one of the donkey’s head and said that it shouldn’t be much longer. It was then I realized I was speaking to pre-U.S.President Ulysses S. Grant. He was with his new bride, the once Julia Dent. I’m a big fan of U.S. President’s wives and know all their names. When I was a kid I collected all their action figures, except for Helen Louise Herron “Nellie” Taft, the wife of President William Taft’s wife. For some reason they were always sold out of her at the Toys R’ Us.

The flapping

I sat on the mountain top. An eagle landed next to me.

The eagle said, “Do you have any nuts or seeds?” I said no. The eagle said, “How about a recently dead mouse?” I said I did not. I said I had a Mars bar. The eagle said, “I’ve never had one. I’d like to try it.” The eagle ate half the Mars bar and said, “Thanks, I don’t want anymore.”

The eagle said, “Would you rub the back of my neck, underneath my feathers?” I said yes and did so. The eagle began to hum as it moved its head and neck in a circular rhythm. I stopped when my fingers got tired.

The eagle and I sat quietly.

The eagle said, “Do you want to learn how to fly?” I said I did. The eagle said, “Stand up and spread your arms.” I did. The Eagle said, “Now flap your arms in a quick up and down motion.” I did. The Eagle said, “Now, still flapping, lean forward and let yourself fall.” I did. I fell fast. I felt like what lead would feel like if it was falling.

But than the falling slowed until I wasn’t falling anymore. I hadn’t hit the ground. I was hovering in place, like a hummingbird. Oh, I was still flapping my arms, but they were getting tired. I remembered how hummingbirds have a sweet tooth. The sugar gives them the juice to navigate the air. I leaned my face into my jacket pocket and ate the other half of the Mars bar. I felt the spark and flew upwards until I caught the wind. I rode the wind over the face of the mountain.

I flew for a couple of hours until I’d had enough. I landed next to my car and drove home. I went in and sat down on my couch. I like to sit on my couch. It feels like a giant hand is holding me up from the vagaries of the world.

And…

For the past week I’ve been camping on the Moon. I have a small pup tent that I sleep in at night, next to my rocket. I’ve been spending my days going for long walks and pondering why I have lately not been able to say the word, “and.” I stopped saying it in conversations about two months ago.

I didn’t realize that particular words absence until my friend Max mentioned it to me. He said, “You just left out the word ‘and.'” I asked what he meant. Max said, “You just said, ‘I bought a can of tuna, bread, mayonnaise.'” I said that he heard wrong. Max asked me to repeat what I’d said. I said, “I bought a can of tuna, bread, mayonnaise.” I gasped. I tried again with the same result. I moaned. Max said, “Just say the word ‘and’ by itself.” I tried but nothing came out. I was distraught.

I consciously tried including, “and” in sentences over the next few months but to no avail. I would lose my temper and storm out mid conversation, leaving whomever I was speaking with baffled. I became so depressed over the situation that I left for the Moon where I could be alone and reflect.

Though in the past week I’ve tried but haven’t been able to say the word, I found that can write it. And and and. I’m thinking the solution is to write, “And” on a note card and hold it up when needed in a conversation.

Some time in the hole

I dug a hole in my backyard and got in. I said I liked the smell of the dirt. The dirt didn’t respond. A worm stuck its head out of the dirt and said hello. The worm and I talked for a while. Then the worm went back into the dirt.

I fell asleep in the hole. I woke up. The daylight was gone. I was surrounded by warm pelts. They expanded and contracted. Creatures were burrowed and breathing against me. Because it was dark, I couldn’t tell what kind of creatures. I closed my eyes and imagined we were one animal.

It began to rain. I felt the water on my face, the only uncovered part of my body. The creatures began to stir but not wake as the drops coated them. Soon it smelt musky. I relaxed and fell back asleep.

When I woke, the creatures were gone. I was submerged up to my chin in water. I was shivering. I tried to get out of the hole, but my muscles were stiff. I had to flex them repeatedly in order to get some movement going. I manged to get out of the hole. It was still dark.

I went into my house. My dog Rexy got up from her doggy bed and sniffed me. She said I smelt like raccoons. I said I was glad to know. She asked where I’d been. I said I dug a hole and spent some time in it with some unknown animals.

I was still shivering. Rexy said I ought to take a warm bath. I got the water going and got in to the tub. I shook while in the bath and water spilled out onto the bathroom floor.

Why I’m still in bed

I haven’t gotten out of bed. I tried. But my mattress sucked me in and I couldn’t move up and out. I asked the bed, “Hey, what’s the big deal?” My bed mumbled something. I said, “What did you just say?” My bed said, “I’m scared, can you stay with me?” I asked what it was scared of. The bed said, “Someone else laying on top of me.” I said no one would be doing that. The bed said, “Can you guarantee that?” I said no and stayed.

I looked out the window at the backyard. A moose walked by. The moose stopped when it saw I was looking. The moose actually looked behind itself to see if I was looking at something behind it. The moose looked back at me. I motioned the moose to come towards the window. The moose came up to the window. Its breathing fogged up the glass. I yelled, “Have you got a cigarette?” The moose said, “What?” I asked a second time. The moose said, “I can’t hear you through the window. Would you open it?” The mattress repeated its request that I don’t leave. I shouted to the moose, “Never mind.” The moose said it couldn’t hear me. I didn’t say anything more. The moose left upset. I heard the sound of the moose knocking down part of the backyard fence.

I looked up at the ceiling. A bat looked back, clinging to the overhead light. The bat said, “Would you keep it down, I’m trying to sleep.” I said, “How can you see me, I thought bats are blind?” The bat said, “I can’t see you. I’m speaking in your general direction.” I said, “Listen, this isn’t your bedroom. I need for you to go and find a cave.” The bat said, “There are no caves around here.” I said, “That’s not my problem.” The bat said, “All I’m asking is you stop your jabbering.”

I lay in silence. I waited for the mattress to fall asleep so I could get up and leave. When the mattress sleeps, its breathing gets deep and occasionally it lets out a snore. That wasn’t happening. So I quietly began to sing the mattress a lullaby. “Oh, sleepy time is upon you, so sleepy, so oh so sleepy, lulling off to slumber-land, away you go.” I listened and heard a snort, followed by a glottal vibration. I slowly slipped out of bed.

When my foot touched the floor, it met a viscous substance. I pulled my foot back up and smelled the sticky substance. It was molasses. I felt like a fool for getting flooring made of sugar cane stalks. The mattress woke back up and said, “Were you trying to leave?” I said, “No.” The bat said, “Yes, he was.” I said to the bat, “I thought you couldn’t see?” The bat said, “I have sonar. It’s as reliable as sight.” The mattress said to me, “Why did you lie?” I said, “I didn’t want to make you upset.” The mattress said, “Well, you did.” I said I was sorry.

I heard the front door open, followed by steps in the living room. The moose came into the bedroom. The moose looked down in disgust said, “What the hell is this on the floor?” The moose lifted and licked a hoof. It said, “Mmmmmm, delicious!” and began slurping the floor.