S T R E A M # 1 0

For the record: I do not own a dog, nor a cat; nor do I grow tomatoes. My neighbors do not grow tomatoes, either. The neighbor to the east owns a very small dog, but I only see it when it is being walked. I do not have a special interest in tomatoes – although I do enjoy ketchup on my burgers and fries and such. And I do enjoy tomato sauce on my pizza and such. I just wanted to be clear here. At least for once. At least, for a handful of sentences. I really need to purchase a new desk lamp because the one I’ve had for years is falling apart. But I like it because it has a little rotating thingy that hold pens and paperclips and such. I haven’t been able to find a lamp like this anywhere. The problem with this lamp is that the metallic inner shell that surrounds the top half of the bulb has detached from its plastic outer shell. If that makes any sense. I don’t have the time to try to make much if any sense here. This isn’t about making sense. It is about making bananas for my strawberry spaghetti juice. The dog doesn’t like it when I talk about tomatoes. The dog is embarrassed by my endless ranting about his tomato fetish. Anyway, the dog and the cat and the tomato and the cow and the juice and the bowl and the cat – the other cat – the cat that meows when it’s cold outside – the hat in the back of the rack is the mack for the sack. Got that, Jack? I don’t believe you when you say that the campaign isn’t long enough. I think you ought to try running. We can have a “perfect” candidate if we changed the rules for robots. But that is neither here nor there. That is Out There – where the Truth is. Ask Chris Carter, that sunbaked surfer hippie. The coffee tastes like salami. No, it doesn’t really. The pizza Pop ordered had salami. I helped myself to a slice and discovered that pepperoni works much better with pizza than salami does. The dog has wanted me to give him a bus ticket to New Orleans for a long time now. How do I know this? The tree told me so. Yes, that’s right, the Tree TOLD ME SO. You may wonder how this is possible. So do I frankly. But it happened. The tree is the dog’s spokes-tree. That’s the latest thing, apparently. Outsource all the speaking to trees. Trees don’t charge half as much as traditional spokespeople do. Trees make terrific speakers because they don’t break under pressure – unless there’s a tornado. I want to dress the tree in a leotard and gold bracelets for tonight’s debate. Yes, the oaks are going to debate the evergreens. I don’t know who I intend to root for yet. (Ha, ha, “root.”) They both have the same issues, really. It’s become little more than a personality contest. As of this writing, I’m leaning toward the oak. But the day is young and the time has come to eat my plumb and such my thumb. Or suck my thumb. Bottom reached. 

17 April 2008 

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