Catch as catch can.

Catch as catch can.

I‘m never sure exactly what you should expect. Therefore, maybe you should stop expecting me
to expect for you. These short fiction paragraphs, the surreal little tales are all I can
offer. That and maybe a few coupons for fish and catfood. Every week a new odd adventure will appear in this space. After a few weeks , if the response is green and spacious, I’ll even start playing off
the words of your e-mails. I begin with snowchains.


Catch as catch can.

Baseballs make fine friends. They understand social dynamic
intricacies, and are practiced in the oddities of picking up chicks. I’m
not saying they’re very strong or even have arms. But each stitch
represents a conquest, and even the scent of military might is a sex
magnet. Sometimes when my baseball and I go out to the bars, she’ll
buy me a few drinks and lament the lack of available women. Then
when it seems obvious she won’t be getting lucky, she’ll lean over and
try to kiss me. And although I might find her leathery skin and infinite
curves physically appealing, I know that baseballs will never stray from
their sexual orientation for long. Later that night she’ll be angry,
speeding at over ninety miles per hour down a snowy country road,
and lose control, crashing into some fallow field. And then she’ll call
looking for a tow, because she’s stuck and they don’t make snow
chains for baseballs.

Why Stop Now:
“The Purpose of Fire.”
“Dry as a Bone.”

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