I'm almost late for a not-that-important date!

[deckardcanine]

Years ago, kinkyturtle told an especially wacky first-person story in honor of Lewis Carroll's birthday. Now that he's stopped posting on LJ, I want to fill in for him, and this year I remembered the day just in time. So here goes.

This morning at e o'clock, my alarm put me to asleep. I slept-walk partway to the office, but then I made a late left turn, a premature somersault, and an only mostly dead triple axle. This resulted in me getting sucked into a purple hole (because purple is the new black) and my mind getting sucked into the gutter at the sight of it.

I finally came to a stop -- well, a sharp slow-down -- at the Inside Showing Outside Bar, or ISO-Bar, where the drinks merely appear to coat the exteriors of mugs. I asked for three-star brandy, so the barkeep branded a Y onto two red dwarfs and an imminent supernova. Before I could have a taste, a three-foot girl hoisted me by the collar and hissed that I'd swiped her seat. I then realized that I had only one foot and two rear ends, so I said we must have gotten mixed up on the way in. Not liking my tone, she proceeded to pour her drink into me until I made a lower tone when tapped.

Satisfied, we started playing tongs, which differs from poker in that the card suits come fresh from the laundromat. When I turned over the archduchess of wiffle bats and the 41.5 of livers, the girl accused me of keeping my sleeves empty. This was an absurd accusation, as my earlobes were tucked firmly within them, yet the barkeep saw fit to aim a double-barreled shot (as in the shot-put) at me. I got the picture, left the bar, entered the picture in an art contest, and won an argyle ribbon.

Who should I meet outside (at least it seemed outside) but my ex-wife's ex-niece's future grandfather's unmistakable clone! We decided to have an elbow race to the top of his high-tops and then go logging. Thanks to the premium bait that was moss, I caught the biggest log of my life, but it snapped at me and wriggled away. To make me feel better, my comrade shared his magic carpet, which I solemnly identified as actually a confused pet car.

It hardly mattered. By this time the once-purple hole had bleached in the sun, and I found myself hurtling back to familiar environs. Only now that I was wide awake did I realize how ridiculous the whole escapade was. I mean, when have I ever gone to work on a Sunday?

Comments

[nefaria.livejournal.com]

That was positively comestible.