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Archive for December, 2013

I’m thinking it’s about time I had a little talk with my buddy, Sid.

If you recall, Sid is actually God operating under a nom de plume after the Tea Baggers took over Heaven and replaced him with Ted Cruz.

Sid decided to become an entrepreneur. He’s listed in the Yellow Pages as Sid, Purveyor of Blueberry Pies and Performer of Amazing Miracles.

“”The next best thing to being God,” Sid explains, “is watching the ecstasy on some poor soul’s face at the smell of a freshly baked blueberry pie. It’s better than sex.”

“You’ve got to be careful,” says I, “the first thing the tea baggers will do is take blueberry pie off the approved food stamp list. Then, they’ll rewrite Genesis. No more fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. Eve will tempt Adam with a freshly baked blueberry pie. Instead of sex we’ll have blueberry pie baking as the World’s Oldest Profession. Noah will load two of every species on a giant, floating blueberry pie. Imagine what would happen to the human race if those species started eating the blueberry pie right out from under them. You’re treading on dangerous ground, Bud. Entire industries will collapse and the world will be thrown into turmoil. Why, imagine a world in which thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s blueberry pie.”

“The way I see it in retrospect, Son, I should have let humans perish anyway and replaced them with blueberry pies from outer space.”

This set me to thinking. A world of blueberry pies from outer space. Every pie alike, no more biases and prejudices, every pie entitled to equal treatment, no Republican pies, no Democratic pies, and no teabag pies. Just a world of Generic Blueberry Pies.

But, then, I thought, what if one day in the distant future, a single blueberry pie decided to corner the market in blueberry pie futures. Here we go again.

“Sid,” I says, “I’m thinking we might be better off the way we are. At least we can go to hell cursing Ayn Rand. No one in his or her right mind could curse a blueberry pie covered with whipped cream.”

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One Glove

beverlyanna

By Beverlyanna

Something caught my eye
Half buried in the snow

One glove… just one

For some strange reason I chose to pick it up
It seemed odd without its mate
Once warm… part of  a perfect pair
It was now stiff… frozen solid

I wondered who it once belonged to
The owner would probably discard  the other one
Into the trash heap
For what good would one remaining glove be?
Supposed to be two.

It seemed worthless now

Just one  glove
Forgotten in the snow.

I picked in up.
And took it home .

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