Scotch and Chicken Paprikash
“The time is currently 2 o’clock in the morning. I’m Nick Mickelson and you’re listening to WPSV, channel 830 AM, on August 1st, where it’s currently 90 degrees outside. Tomorrow’s looking extremely uncomfortable. There will be horrible temperatures in the one hundreds during the day and in the high 80’s at night. Expect clear skies and relentless humidity,” the Meteorologist said.
The weatherman was right. He’s never right in the winter. Only in the summer does he seem to get it right. The sultry months of Indiana’s summer were at their worst. This was time when death occurred. The forgotten elderly, dogs in cars, and drunken, shirtless drivers all had unfavorable odds against them.
Theft is usually up during the hellish heat-waves that ravish sweltering neighborhoods. Home insurance catapults up and people stay in bars and malls to stay cool. Smashed skunks on the road leave unspeakable stenches. Much like spoiled beef stew or rotten sour kraut. My fingers smell like chicken paprirkash and my breath reeks of scotch. Hoosiers of European decent feast and famine along with factories, cultural areas, and the future. The Euchre deck will be cut and dealt in the empty evening.
Buzz Aldrin was on the radio after the weather man finished his potentially fatal news. He said that he’d never saw a UFO or aliens while in space. Some people believe that he and Neil Armstrong never landed on the moon, let alone walked and bounced on it. I wasn’t there. The suit’s too heavy. The helmet could snap necks like dry spaghetti.
A man named Manny told me that a “volunteer” was going to go to the moon and live there for about five to six years. Water, food, and other supplies would be delivered
at the first of every third month. This “volunteer” was supposed to set up weather balloons and missile defense systems that the Russians couldn’t penetrate. He wasn’t allowed porn of any kind.
“It was going to be like what Australia was to England. A dumping station. We were going to put nonviolent criminals on moon stations, if they survived, to do tests on the surface and atmosphere. Experts originally thought that these men would not be able to survive more than two years in space,” Manny said. “Monkeys only lasted two months. Donkeys ate all the wiring and had to be shot towards Juniper.”
I had heard others tell similar stories about fake moon landings and the nonexistence of dinosaurs. Maybe I’m too cynical, but I don’t believe that these people are right. Like I said, I wasn’t there, but so what. I never witnessed Jesus crucified, Shakespeare write a play, or woolly mammoths roam the Earth, but I think that they could’ve happened. Probably the same thing is being said about people like me.
I have seen heroin be cooked on spoon stolen from Denny’s, shot in a woman’s vein, and witnessed her glorious overdose. I’ve seen the Pacific Ocean from a Mexican shore. I have never, however, witnessed a miracle of faith. Nor have I ever witnessed a miracle of the supernatural.
The mother Mary pushed Christ into the straw and loved him right away. Just remember, little Jesus, to the old saying, “no one loves you but you’re momma, but she might be jiving too.”
The weatherman was right. He’s never right in the winter. Only in the summer does he seem to get it right. The sultry months of Indiana’s summer were at their worst. This was time when death occurred. The forgotten elderly, dogs in cars, and drunken, shirtless drivers all had unfavorable odds against them.
Theft is usually up during the hellish heat-waves that ravish sweltering neighborhoods. Home insurance catapults up and people stay in bars and malls to stay cool. Smashed skunks on the road leave unspeakable stenches. Much like spoiled beef stew or rotten sour kraut. My fingers smell like chicken paprirkash and my breath reeks of scotch. Hoosiers of European decent feast and famine along with factories, cultural areas, and the future. The Euchre deck will be cut and dealt in the empty evening.
Buzz Aldrin was on the radio after the weather man finished his potentially fatal news. He said that he’d never saw a UFO or aliens while in space. Some people believe that he and Neil Armstrong never landed on the moon, let alone walked and bounced on it. I wasn’t there. The suit’s too heavy. The helmet could snap necks like dry spaghetti.
A man named Manny told me that a “volunteer” was going to go to the moon and live there for about five to six years. Water, food, and other supplies would be delivered
at the first of every third month. This “volunteer” was supposed to set up weather balloons and missile defense systems that the Russians couldn’t penetrate. He wasn’t allowed porn of any kind.
“It was going to be like what Australia was to England. A dumping station. We were going to put nonviolent criminals on moon stations, if they survived, to do tests on the surface and atmosphere. Experts originally thought that these men would not be able to survive more than two years in space,” Manny said. “Monkeys only lasted two months. Donkeys ate all the wiring and had to be shot towards Juniper.”
I had heard others tell similar stories about fake moon landings and the nonexistence of dinosaurs. Maybe I’m too cynical, but I don’t believe that these people are right. Like I said, I wasn’t there, but so what. I never witnessed Jesus crucified, Shakespeare write a play, or woolly mammoths roam the Earth, but I think that they could’ve happened. Probably the same thing is being said about people like me.
I have seen heroin be cooked on spoon stolen from Denny’s, shot in a woman’s vein, and witnessed her glorious overdose. I’ve seen the Pacific Ocean from a Mexican shore. I have never, however, witnessed a miracle of faith. Nor have I ever witnessed a miracle of the supernatural.
The mother Mary pushed Christ into the straw and loved him right away. Just remember, little Jesus, to the old saying, “no one loves you but you’re momma, but she might be jiving too.”
posted by Neil Kelly at 9:40 PM
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