I have a beautiful skull it turns out. If I happen to die someone hung it up or something. To clarify, I had a CAT scan done on me the other week. I put this following story up on some book club I’m in where one of the members happened to respond in all manner that stipulated how fast I needed to get my brain checked out (In case I was okay? I asked. We laughed but it didn’t feel like a joke up until now.). Altho it was a stupid thing to post as a joke. I take all things literally.
Anyhoo, I went ahead and today morning the hospital called. I’m now standing at a pavement dangerously close to the edge hoping to find just about the best ray to further shed lighting to as why there’s a guy taking pictures in my temporal lobe.
That was good, wasn’t it?
They say a picture holds more words than words can express. Let’s see. You see a picture. Or perhaps a Nile truck. It’s funny, I know. Knowing me you’d Suppose the Cow to come first, Kandi tinkuriga Mbarara mawe. Mstchew. And not like that. I’d had had to gently moo it in, first with that rope tethered to Joyce who insists I keep her out of this. Thanks BTW. Hehee. She’s very fat, hahaa! In anycase.. There’s a mosque in there for all of you fasting and a good way to keep away from daytime rolexes as you’ll yet learn about.
The real reason I took it, this picture, was because there is a psychotic hen out there eating cows and beating up anything that smells like rolexes. I know. I too thought baiting it with a homeless cow would be an equally enticing way to add meaning to all this crap I just made you read.
Engagements are too tedious for the modern day human, so thanks anyways.
All you need to do now is, figure out what time hens go to sleep and you’re in the clear. And if that seems too tedious as well. You can rather walk around with a Cow or three in your purse. I actually wrote this staring at a bag walking a skinny girl from Alpha supermarket where they now seem to have just cleaned out every last.. bit.. of stuff. They’re far away to tell exactly what. I’m kidding, I haven’t left the pavement since Monday.
Hens are afraid of pavements. If you disagree then perhaps you’d like to ask your workmates about it and see if anyone takes you seriously.