Sunday at Work

Came to work in the rain
Didn't hear me complain
Either you're back on a plane
Or I'll do this again and again.

Egg is Meat

Sitting tight for warm, wonderful, well-done Waakye to wolf on Thursday afternoon, I waded into a wager with The Cat. I slickly staked the meat that would come with the food, knowing this Cat worshipped his cooked carcass. The Cat agreed on the fly. Intern Achiaa loosely let it slip to the Cat that I was not having my Waakye with venison or any kind of viande. The Cat asked what I was eating it with. In order that Intern Achiaa would not say “fish” and ‘salivate’ The Cat, I wisely whooped, “egg”. The Cat was silent for a trice. Then he came back, “but egg is meat”. Dear reader, what do you think? Is egg meat?

Catwalk

After work on Wednesday, the Beauty Queen regaled us with this droll memoir. Many years ago, her neighbourhood kiddies club organised a Pick-n-Act. This gaucho-guy who felt ‘très bien’ plucked the nod to ape [a model on] the catwalk. Cool Dude slumps slowly on all fours, and begins a feline tread.

The Accident

This morn, while braking at the traffic light
The car abreast was still in flight
But, too late, he changed his mind
And a big bus ate his behind!

The Liberty of Cremation

Hmm, Alpha Lion. He’s mightily mirth-provoking, these days. Alpha Lion is desperately disinclined to die. He aspires to linger on, on ephemeral Earth evermore. He double-dares divine delight under the darling domes of heaven. Alpha Lion is scant seduced by saccharine stories of eternal celestial praise and carols. He’s coolly considering cremation or cryonics when he expires geriatric. He confesses a carnal dread of not being able to inhale and exhale if he is interred upon death. Wow! He elects the liberating feeling of cremation!

Tracy & Stacy

i saw two of the same face
together in one happy place
feeding on the double beauty
became my pleasant duty.

Hmm, TV3, Long Tennis?

On its Saturday-morning enfants entertainment, TV3 shows an instructor coaching the callow school-goers on a rousing game with yellow-green balls, rigid rackets and a sprawling net on a concrete court. The ritzy caption on the screen calls it – LONG TENNIS! What are they teaching the infants? Erm, Roger Federer, can you sms me on how green the LONG at Wimbledon is, when you get there?