Just in Time for Christmas

Reginald Scarebrackets moaned thoughtfully upon receiving the belated Christmas card. “But it’s just now June,” he exclaimed, slicing the card open with his preternaturally lengthy thumbnail. “Gads!” A simply dreadful green panda bear clung whimsically to a cart and horse.

Reginald Scarebrackets placed the card carefully on his lime-green linoleum floor. He scampered off to the next room, only to return, breathing heavily, with tongs and a machete tucked into his cummerbund. Breathing through his nose (it whistled) he slow leaned forward, tongs outstretched, and attempted to grab the card with the unyielding metal fingers. Upon his 17th attempt: success!

Reginald Scarebrackets used the tongs to shove the card deeply into the roaring fireplace and then hacked the fire to bits with his startlingly sharp machete. He made himself some tea and had a quiet sob in his luxurious grey-green Winchester armchair.

“Christmas,” he said, then sat in silence for some time.

Boiling the Furniture

Sometimes there’s a sense that something’s not right.

A certain futility parked inside a growling sofa or recliner.

I’m not talking bedbugs.

Or am I?

Returning to the previous point, yes.

Inspired by a paving over of whatnot. All the whatnots really.

Can’t say there’s a point to it. Or can I?

Feel that sun just gambol in the brain. Raindrops tambour on the roof. The windows. All the cars in heaven.

There’s so much frustration in the world, sometimes, it’s hard to read a word.

There’s so much in the world, sometimes, it’s hard to think of writing.

Pishposh, the yeti’s in the marmalada. Can it be? Where else would this dancing monsoon come from? Who else would find the time?

Yes. Yeti yeti yeti.