Two years of windy words waft through the blogosphere. Losing altitude, accelerating toward earth, cyber air whooshes through my window screen.
Cold air slams hot, as parallel universes collide. A rogue gust of wind rips the screen from the frame, whacking the side of my head.
I pass out on the bed, then later, open my eyes inside the eye of a tornado; the house spins in the sky. Outside my window, a witch zips by on a Dyson.
Woof. Woof. Yelp! Sssssssssssst.
Poor Toto. Got sucked into the vacuum. He was mistaken for a fur ball.
A contemporary twist!
Click your heels three times.
Two years went by like – Snap! Or Crack! – Rather quickly, factoring in the days spent unemployed in my warm up suit ensemble that turned rancid by the end of days – Wasn’t that two-weeks ago? Missed the locusts and tidal wave, although we did get a lot of rain. Coincidence? I think not.
Recently, I’ve been spending my days in Harriet the Spy mode. No, not flat or middle grade, but in three-dimensional investigative mode, searching for clues in a dubious deal that’s all about the dirt. To avoid suspicion, I adopted a dumb blond persona. No one discovered my true identity despite the fact that I’m a brunette.
It’s probably a “Who comes first, the chicken or the egg?” scenario unless the yolk broke, then it’s an omelet. All I know. Something stinks in my quaint New England town, and it’s not horse manure.
I know you must be on life support by now hearing about the cell tower, but that’s where the speckulation of dirt began because the tower people (sounds like a sci fi movie) want to blast a hole in sacred wetlands ground in order to plant the faux pine death tree.
The trajectory of the killer ray will travel a horizontal path toward my house, situated at the top of the mountain. The good news. We’ll be able to microwave TV dinners on the TV or on my head. Good times!
I also think the tower people are responsible for citrus flavored toothpaste that glows like an extraterrestrial element on my toothbrush. Citrus is a tangy tooth treat that wakes up my mouth in the morning, to which my tongue responds, “WTF?” My feelings on the aberrant flavor a.k.a. freak of nature. Citrus should stay in the fruit where it belongs.
Have you dazzled your teeth with citrus?