Friday Haiku VI

~THREE DAY WEEKEND~

Friday Haiku time

Forlorn, I will let you down

Doing other things

Global Warming... Hurry Up!

My name is Bog, I have been frozen inside this wall of ice for over 40,000 years and I love bananas. It all began one Upper Paleolithic spring morning, I departed from my rocky dwelling to hunt mammoth but lost my way amongst the trees that always seemed so familiar. For days I tried retracing my steps for a way home, only to find nothing in the form of help or direction. It was on the seventh day that I met the shining man. His body was a glimmering silver color, his head covered by a sort of shield. At first, he simply stood still in the middle of the forest as I watched him from afar. When he noticed me staring, he beckoned me to come towards him. As I approached, he handed me a yellow object and gestured for me to eat it. "It's a banana", the shining man said. I took a bite, it was splendid! I gestured back to him to give me more. "Peel it this time", he said while showing me how to remove the outer, protective layer. This made the banana taste even better! My elation at this discovery made the shining man smile. "For you", he said pointing to the entire banana pile. I eagerly grabbed another, then another. When I turned around, the shining man had vanished without a trace. For years I stood there, eating the bananas oblivious to the changing climate that was transforming the world around me. Then it happened, my freezing fingers could no longer peel bananas. To this day I stand here frozen, holding a delicious banana as I wait for a thaw so I may taste the sweet mush once more.

Those Pesky, Scheming Farm Animals

I'm pretty sure that the entirety of my cattle are plotting some sort of effort against me, it looms in the air alongside purple storm clouds. I sit in my chair, peering out of the window while pulling the lace curtain aside, shotgun within my clutch. I see one of them gnawing at the grass as if nothing is amiss, playing the coy cow. No doubt the chickens are wise to the situation at hand. Several of them peck the ground for bits of feed that remain, eyeing me from the corners of their beady little eyes. I release the curtain; I've seen enough. I load my shotgun and watch the door as thunder rumbles across the cooling sky. A long moo in the distance, the signal has been given. I brace for the attack.

Friday Haiku V

~IN MEMORIAM~

Tattered kitchen sponge
Hygienic service no more
Into the garbage

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Eerschay! 

Just Another Tuesday

There is nothing I love more than dancing the night away. Tonight however, I have the realization that there is nowhere for me to “get down”, so I remove my (very fine) dancing shoes and scorn the twilight. Once again I’ll just lay on the floor, listen to some records and feel sad.

Home Sweet Home

How I ever got here I do not know, but for five years I have been stuck in this box. The room is a perfect cube, approximately twenty feet in every direction with no doors or windows to speak of. On one wall, there is a clock in the shape of a cat, whose eyes shift back and forth with each passing second. On the opposite wall is a small painting of a shoeless boy fishing off of a pier. Other than these two items, the room is void of decor. In the middle of the ceiling there is a sliding hatch which randomly opens to drop various items down into my space (books, clothes, photographs; I was once mysteriously given a gold trophy). Each day at exactly 11am, a parachute carrying a tray of food slowly descends, gently landing on my floor. These meals are not your ordinary dishes, all are unique and more delicious than the next. They transcend all varieties of cuisine, sometimes being atypical enough to be "unclassifiable". In fact, all of the items I've received are one-of-a-kind and of the highest quality. The books (written by authors I've never heard of) contain stories that are more interesting and gripping than anything I've read in the outside world. The photographs are always beautifully composed while the clothes are soft, comfortable and quite frankly, look great (as if they were custom made just for me). Suddenly, I hear the sound of the hatch slide open and I look up, horrified to see what is plunging down to greet me.

Friday Haiku IV

~THE CLOGGER~

Succulent, shaved steak
Salami, bacon and cheese
More than a sandwich

Pod Nosem

"You have one more wish left", the plump, silvery fish informed me. I had been fishing all morning and this was the first catch of the day. In exchange for his freedom, this fish was to grant me three wishes. The first two had been spent hastily, so I wanted the third one to really count. After several minutes of pensive brainstorming, I came up with the one thing that I truly fancied above all else. "Um... I'd like to grow a mustache" I said. The fish nodded his head (as he had done the previous two times) , chanted his magical fish language chant "Ulla bubble nof-nof gazoo!" and I was instantly showered with glimmering confetti and mini balloons as the transformation began. My eyes strained to look down at my upper lip while the handle-bar facial hair curved into place; the excitement was terrific. I gave a playful pull on the squeaky, curled up facial hair just to make sure it was really there and that I was not dreaming. "Thank you", I said. After tossing him back into the big blue sea, I waved good-bye. The rest of the afternoon, I fished without a care in the world.

Beware: The Future

The winding road spread infinitely before me along the rocky, coastal cliff. I took a sip of beer, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and threw the empty can onto the blurred blacktop below. "Say What You Will" (by Fastway) was on the radio as I mindlessly maneuvered the convertible through another dangerous curve. In the passenger seat, my robot was going on and on, complaining about his rusty, malfunctioning servo harness. Within the span of a few hours, he had already smoked up half my cigarettes while boring me with story after story, anecdote after anecdote. Storytelling was not part of his original programming, but over the years he had unfortunately learned this new trait from all the degenerate robots in Type-C specification school. He continued, "So then this variable-sequence robot comes up to me and he says..." I stared at the road, not listening to my counterpart. After a minute or so there was laughter, then immediately another monologue about Carnegie Mellon's robotics club and robot armies and blah, blah, blah. I pondered driving off the side of the road into the water below, but the lack of bones and organs would certainly insure his survival and he'd probably just keep going on and on as I lay there dead. "Hey, I'm getting hungry, you mind if we stop at an oiling station?", he inquired suddenly enthused. I didn't respond as I stared ahead wishing this heap of scrap metal seated next to me would just power down. "You mind if I bum another cigarette?", he asked reaching over taking one before I could respond. My fingers gripped the wheel harder as I sped up. Four more hours and we'd be there. Four more long, excruciating hours. "Nothing like the open road", he said exhaling a puff of nicotine. I cracked open another beer.

The Perfect Storm

The first rubber chicken fell upon my lap with a muffled slap. Needless to say, I was startled and, not to mention, slightly injured (just a small welt on my left thigh, no need to send get well cards or flowers or anything like that). Shielding the sun with my hand, I peered upward seeking the source, but found only expansive blue sky and a puffy cloud patch here and there. No one else in the park seemed to notice my sudden good fortune, but being the hyper-paranoid person that I am, I hurriedly packed my new treasure into an army green knapsack. "Best to just leave before anyone notices", I thought to myself. So I stood up, brushed the dirt and grass off the back of my legs, gathered my belongings (novel, blanket, boom-box, new rubber chicken) and began to leave; that is until I heard a woman's harrowing shriek. Turning around, I noticed at her feet lay a rubber chicken. Within seconds another rubber chicken landed just twenty paces away, then another and another. Before anyone could process what was happening, these whimsical fowls were raining down at a furious rate. People scrambled for safety, tripping over the scattered rubber chickens, petrified by this most unorthodox circumstance. Alas, fifty-six days later, I sit here writing this blog. I gaze lovingly out of the window admiring the rubber chickens that still continue to fall. I pray it will never end.

Friday Haiku III

~MY MISTAKE~

Haikus are not thus
As were written in this blog
Before I knew. Oops.

Basically, it was brought to my attention that Haikus are 5-7-5 not 7-5-7 as I had done previously. Yummy Hut apologizes for any confusion this may have caused.

An Explanation of My Two-Week Hiatus

It all started one spring evening while sitting in the stands of the stadium for baseball playing. With runners on the corners, a lanky relief pitcher had just walked yet another opposing batter. This young man wiped the sweat from his brow as the groans and boos fell upon the night like slow churning butter. At his wits end, the manager of the hometown team called time out and dejectedly walked out towards the grass. With a pensive stare he scanned the stands, peering at the individuals chomping their hot dogs and sipping their beers. I shifted uneasily in my seat (sec. 134, row 6, seat 7) nervously awaiting his darting glance. When (inevitably) our eyes met, his widened as if horrified. He turned to spit, then waved me onto the field. A suddenly transformed crowd cheered heartily like slow churning butter as I made my way through them to the field below. "Throw 'em your Spacey Spiral Ball", the mustachioed manager grumbled to me as he slammed the ball into my six-fingered hand. I gave a quick nod of approval, walked to the mound and kicked at the dirt. Collecting my thoughts, I took a deep breath and began my baseball career by striking out the side on nine pitches. Eventually, they gave me a uniform (with a 61 sewn on the back) allowing me to travel with the team and lead them to victory night after night. After winning the championship, I was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame (http://web.baseballhalloffame.org) and retired as quickly as I had begun; leaving me to pursue my real passion, writing a nonsensical blog like slow churning butter.