Log

Our log is neither daily, weekly, nor monthly by design. It is a every-time-we-jack-in-and-actually-have-something-new-written log.

Heat Stroke

part one.

In the past week, temperatures have been soaring in the nineties. I've sweat at least my body weight and have started seeing hallucinations of ten foot prairie dogs. I've lost all lust for women but am left with a puzzling craving to hug a snowman. Oh Frosty, you and your luscious lobed body is welcome in my arms anytime. Me, Frosty, a tutu, a bagpipe, and a meat locker. I could wear the tutu while you could play Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies on the pipes. We could be happy forever. Or until I become a frozen ballerina. Holy flying buffalo Batman, I've completely lost it.

part two.

New game plan. The next gas station quickie mart I'm going to get me a bag'o'ice. I'm going to go into the bathroom and make sweet love to that bag'o'ice.

part three.

in the shade of a tree I'm going to roll out a tarp and dump out that bag'o'ice. I'm going to roll myself into a tarp ice person HoHo. oh yeah.

part four.

found a lake. cooled off. but I'll never forget you Frosty, or you my sweet bag'o'ice.

-max

 

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