Good Luck, Mr. Goldilocks
Like air conditioning in the winter, document shredding can be a beautiful thing. In fact, thanks to my autobiographical blood, all morning in the bathroom mirror, I’ve been practicing my tightfisted happy face. I’m so handsome, I’d like to ask myself to dance, but just take a look at these bohemian teeth. I’m hoping for a suspended sentence. Fortunately, it’s not what you say that matters, it’s how you say it. Sure, I’ve made a couple of bad turns here and there, but if life is just one giant simulation, why can’t there be a happily ever after for everyone? Thank goodness the robots know us even better than we know ourselves. Good luck consists of all the bad things that don’t happen to you. And a couple of winning lottery tickets. Yesterday, when I told Miss Kitty not to worry; I’m sure things are going to turn out just right, she said, If you’re really lucky, Mr. Goldilocks, life is just one long sleepover. And no bears.
Locusts
Why use a crowbar to fish when you can just as easily go to the supermarket and add insult to injury? For the most part, my outfit isn’t in the Fall catalogue, but the lions promise to eat only their fair share. Since I installed the sliding glass doors, at least the trap door spiders have stopped complaining about the ocean front-view, so now I can get on with what’s really bothering me; those damn locusts—especially the ones with the wheat-colored camouflage and the amber waves of grain. No matter what happens it doesn’t matter what time it is, as long as it’s always now. Yesterday, for example, Lester approached me with an intriguing offer: Would I prefer to learn to dance at home, or would I prefer to learn, at home, to dance? I mulled it over, and decided that the primary rule of real estate is location, location, location. I also decided that people talk too much. Hey, you don’t think that practicing my tax evasion skills will prevent me from wearing my World Bank running shoes, do you? I bought them at the anti-fun factory and got the drug dealer discount. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s your favorite insect? Really? Are you doing anything fun after work?
Appear in Clockwise Cat, Issue # 43, March 2024
