The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Monday, July 26, 2004
Pitch spots my pickled heart today!

After scuffing my finest pair of laceless loafers on one of the many hydrogenated hydrants scarring our Microregion's idiotic intersections, I temporarily took shelter on a nearby bench to determine the damage done to the shoes' well-worn cordovan.

Sitting delicately (my congenital warts still burning with the fury of a thousand fiery furnaces) I primly propped my ancient ashplant against the bench's back in order to more easily assess the cutaneous markings cut on the cordovan's foremost face.

A hissy-fit of the most horrible sort then ensued.

Removing my loafers (as well as my socks and trousers), I ran hither and yon, madly dashing with a hateful heart through the garbage-strewn alleys. Holding my brutalized shoes aloft and shrieking freaky obscenities at the uppermost registers of my vocality, I sprinted through the streets, spitting vengeful fire and knocking over innocent passersby in the process.

Upon passing by a particularly fish-eyed and intemperate-looking lorry driver, I then entered into a brief brawl of the most unsightly sort re: the matter of proper etiquette when merging with pedestrian traffic. And tho I was on the receiving end of much (rather brutal) fisticuffular punishment, I believe I did succeed in sharply elbowing the meager man's underprotected undercarriage (if you know what I mean).

When I came to, shoeless and trousers flying a flagpole (at half-mast) high above me, I found myself unable to ascertain the whereabouts of the age-old ashplant that has accompanied me through O! so many ancient struggles.

If anyone should come across this ashplant (it is adorned with the carved head of a shrunken monkey, and my initials--K.G.), please inform me through any means at your disposal.

Thank you and have a nice day.

That is all.

Thank you for your time.

The end.

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