Friday Haiku II

~A SAD, BUT TRUE HAIKU~

Where is my case of CDs?

Seriously now...

Out the car door is likely.

They Can't Help It

Sitting on a cardboard box waiting for the Enormo-Mart to open, I was suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled to my feet. "We need you, now!" yelled a man dressed in Purina checkerboard slacks (ref. Nighthawks at the Diner). Before I could react, I was thrust into a 1995 GMC Rally Vandura G3500 with a 7.4L V8, wood trim interior and custom paint; and away we went. The drive was long and void of scenery until a building appeared alone in the distance. We pulled in front where a sign read "Crystal Springs Theater of the Arts and Crafts for the Attention Deficient". Greeting us at the front door were more Purina checkerboard slacked men, all of whom seemed even more frantic than the next. I was confused but content. Without moving a muscle, I was changed into a viking costume, pushed onto the stage and forced to belt out an a cappella version of "Un aura amorosa". No one seemed to be paying much attention.

Fish Face

"Is this yours?" the detective asked for the umpteenth time in the last hour. "Yes." I  replied again, mindlessly. What was he trying to solve? The only mystery that I could think of was why he was in my apartment in the first place. "Is that yours?" he asked again, pointing to a candelabra. The detective was a midget cyclops and had tufts of hair emitting from his shoulders. Like any detective, he carried around a magnifying glass and some forceps. There was a tattoo on his right forearm of what looked like a fish with a human face. "Facey" was written underneath the grotesque image. As I sat mesmerized by this man (creature?), he suddenly erupted with an "A-Ha!!!", the mystery was solved.

Reading is Fundamental

Every time I ride public transportation, I see a guy dressed up as the Mad Hatter. Sometimes he shadows my movement, other times he ignores me completely, but he is always there. Occasionally, he is accompanied by an entourage of people dressed in giant-headed bunny costumes. On these days, the whole train/bus is filled with their musical theater. They sing and sing. I'm not exactly sure of the lyrics, but all of the songs are about babies. What is more perplexing, is that everyone on the train (even those not in costume) seem to know these songs and enthusiastically sing along. Picture dozens of passengers mindlessly clapping, beaming at the Mad Hatter as he conducts the bunny chorus through another round of singing  "Babies, babies, how many babies are in the tree?". Despite all of this nonsense, I enjoy riding public transit as it provides adequate time to get some reading done.

Friday Haiku

~THE LONELIEST MAILBOX IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD~

Mailbox in a large green field

Despondent, alone

Once again, no mailman came

Paul Simon

Recently, I realized that I had the capability to travel through time. Taking full advantage of this discovery, I travelled back in time to witness many wonderful events: the birth of me, me attending my first day of school and of course, me writing yesterday's blog about the "new look". The secret to properly traveling through time (you'll kick yourself, it is so obvious), is scooters... or perhaps Paul Simon.

New Look! Same New Blog!

Don't let the graphical banner confuse you. This is still the one and only Yummy Hut. Resource for many, discourse of few. We are enhancing our appearance in lieu of the low number of readers. One, to be exact.

Mr. Parkinglot

One time I was in a parking lot standing in line to meet Bob Dole. As we all know, when you meet Mr. Dole, you either receive an autograph or a hand-made pair of ballerina shoes (made on the spot by Mr. Dole himself). Not being much of an autograph seeker, I opted for a pair of the ballerina shoes. As Mr. Dole started into the sewing/mending of the silky fabric, those standing in line behind me grew impatient, many voicing their displeasure. Bob Dole is not as dexterous as he used to be (who is really?), and sure it was going to take him some time and effort to construct ballerina shoes; but I couldn't help my annoyance at those who were boisterously complaining. Why the impatience? I gave a menacing glare to the trouble makers behind me. Bob Dole smiled and handed me a deliciously soft pair of shoes with lace uppers and a luxurious satin lining. I happily accepted this most generous gift. Then I was harassed by a legless woman seeking money for postcards (she was in my car). What a day!

This is the Plan

I wish I were on a fishing trip somewhere in the eastern region of Alaska. If I close my eyes, I can picture the frosty horizon, blinding white. Like a big giant snowflake. I would fish all day, catching fish. Then I would eat the fish I caught. After I ate the fish, I would turn into a fish and be a fish. I would be a fish and do fish things. This includes (but not limited to) swimming, looking at other fish, being wet (always) and of course, smelling fishy. I would have fish friends who also swim, look, are wet, and smell fishy. We would always be doing fish stuff together. Sometimes we would swim far away to places like New Zealand, where we would turn into a large group of robots and attack.