Messed-up Gifts

Good Friday,

I’ve been absent this week because I’ve been preparing for next week—June res!

Unfortunately for you, this means I’ll be MIA next week. Try not to cry too much. I’ll be back the first week in July.

As always, I leave you with some gifts. In an effort to keep myself writing every day, I resorted to some rather strange writers block elimination methods. I wrote some really weird flash fiction. I give this to you for two reasons...

-So you can see just what writing does to the brain.

-So, the next time you think you’ve written something completely off the walls, you can think of this and know there’s still hope.

Enjoy, and I shall see you upon my return.

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Once upon a time, on a farm long long ago, there lived a demonic butterfly and his gofer, Jack. The butterfly, Mike, spent most of his days eating, flying, fluttering, bothering pizza delivery boys for no apparent reason, and pollinating rhododendron plants. Jack, by contrast, spent most of his days digging holes.

One day, Mike decided he wanted to do something different. He fluttered to Jack and perched on his nose. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “But I’m on the hunt for foreign activity, and you seem like the perfect person to ask about a lifestyle change.” As soon as Mike said this, he questioned it. What did a gofer that did nothing but dig holes know about a lifestyle change?

“Well,” Jack said. “You could dig a hole.”

Mike spread his tiny wings, indicating himself. “And what would you recommend I dig a hole with? I don’t exactly have hands or claws.”

Jack gnawed on his lower lip. “True. Never mind.”

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Addlebon Jacobs Frankforter IV stormed out of his build-it-yourself web and crawled at a rather slow speed toward the giant, fish-shaped creature on his lawn.

“What is the matter with you?” he said, cranking his eight legs in a grotesque parody of the tango. “What makes you think you can just appear here after six months of no contact whatsoever?”

The fish-shaped creature shrugged, or at least tried to. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll knock first.”

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It was a sad day when Jackarab ran out of food. He lived alone and went by the species title of autodigestiveicious. Eating himself was the norm, which means he’d recently lost himself. Pity.