The Chronicles of Granny In The Bed

Friend, Dag blasted, bowling balls are downright expensive!  The union workers who manufacture bowling balls are stingy little dream killers, charging as much as twenty dollars per finger hole while they get paid to take naps when they’re not doddling around the water cooler (if they even bother showing up that day).  There are five holes in a bowling ball I think and each corresponds to a single digit.  By the time they do the math for you, you are paying $499.95 plus insurance for a bored out spherical rock. Listen carefully: that does not include a carrying bag.  You can’t just palm this thing while you’re out getting groceries, you need a special bag that is made by a whole other set of workers who are doing their level best to dismantle capitalism as part of an international revolution, starting with bowling and the sport of bowling I think by the looks of it anyway. I won’t pay it.  I won’t be bothering those people anymore, as my father says.  I will instead be making my

It is well known in literary circles that Jules Trellis and myself are not bedfellows.  We are perhaps at the polar ends of the political and religious spectrum – he is a state apologist opportunist hack war criminal and I am a fervent seeker of the truth who stops at nothing to rend the facts from the myopic madness that is post-modern society.  Trellis and I are as blood and water, not likely to mix unless Stephen King is writing his adolescent fantasies. I do not want to let my learned prowess prejudice or cloud your own democratic interpretation of the man.  So, lets examine and find out: just who is Jules Trellis? Trellis was born in Nuevo Manhattan when that was still a thing that was being done just shy of 50 years ago.  Since dropping out of school at age 17, he has been a mainstay in the editorial section of your daily newspaper – his op-eds are syndicated in 250 key languages throughout the galaxy.  The son of time merchants, he is also the great-great-great grandchild o

(continued from  Chapter I ) >look Front Entry You are standing outside the front of a door.  On a table, nearby, sits a glass of clear liquid upon a golden saucer.  The Lady in the Purse is currently bathing in the cup, and she begins singing an annoying rendition of a Bee Gees song.  You are looking toward the west wall which is cheaply designed with gold plated crustaceans next to a painting of silver-plated glasses filled with what appears to be red wine! >wait You wait a few minutes, noticing some intricate rococo guild on the opposite wall that looks provincial, but not in a good-bad way which, upon thinking it over, you realize that makes it better-worse. The Lady in the Purse calls out from behind you, “I am ready, darling.  Oh, I do feel much better, I’ll feel even better when I get out of here.  Yeah, I can’t get out of a cup, huh.  I took a bath in 8 ounces of water.  Well… I think it is water.  It is odorless, and it does have a specific weight of 1.  I

The 23 symptoms of Acute Insanity Syndrome (all symptoms must exist to be properly called Acute Insanity Syndrome).  If you, or someone you tolerate exhibits these signs, please see your nearest government specialist as soon as you get off work.  As a word of caution, be sure not to miss any work or you may fall under mandatory monitoring at a Liberty Camp near you.  No need to go there yourself, a friendly officer will escort you if you are absent more than once and are therefore ruled unstable in absentia.  Remember that non-workers do not have rights , they have only one right - the right never to be heard from again. Persistent arguments with plants about such frivolous subjects as the standard rules and advanced strategies of table tennis. Supreme hatred for candy canes and the broader issue of candy cane rights that, turns out, makes it hard on the sweet innocent peppermints. The urge to knock down walls and other interior design projects that never materializes, but never

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