Muffin Roulette

By wr jones

I titled this sketch as qs3.jpg, I have no idea what that means. What in the devil was I thinking? Did I have some new naming convention in mind? Was this supposed to be some way of remembering what I was doing or where I was? I really need someone to mind over me. I’m going to get hurt out there.

In our company cafeteria they sell fresh muffins. Nothing wrong with that, but there is no way to tell what you are getting. I complained about it one day and the woman at the checkout said they were labeled. I walked back and looked. Well I’ll be darned she was right; they are labeled. They are labeled, “Muffins”. You big damn dummies! What kind of muffin?

They are all a light yellowish brown color. Some a little darker, some a little lighter. Some have little dark spots in them. You can not tell by looking if the dark spots are blueberries, chocolate chips, or rat droppings. I picked one out the other day that looked interesting with no spots. Turned out to be corn bread. I’ve never heard of a corn bread muffin. I don’t like them. I wonder if they are supposed to come with a bowl of grits? I made up my mind never to buy an unknown muffin again. The next time I went to get a muffin I was going to stick my finger in it to see what I was getting. No more pig in a poke for me.

Nothing wrong at all with my concept. However, its execution fell short of the mark when I forgot that I used the hand sanitizer hanging on the entrance to the cafeteria. Turns out that taste does not leave your finger by the time you walk across the room. Jessssssus that tasted bad. I have been wondering if that taste lingered in the muffin hole I created for the eventual purchaser.

What? My integrity is totally intact. I placed that muffin neatly back on the tray before strolling out the far door.  The following poem by Danish poet Eda perfectly describes what that muffin eating has done for me.

 

- Addicted to life

Awakened to a new existence
No, doubts, hesitations or fear
New, braver heart beating
Ecstatic joy and vision so clear

A dive in the unknown
Refreshed in suspense and expectation
Revived in a different universe
Wrapped on new feelings reverberation

Hearing my soul sing, loud and free
The universal tune transformed ones know
The world around me reshapes
No borders, no frames, just originality glow

This is the life we were meant to live
No limits what to express and feel
All riches in the world to discover
Equipped with all we need, freedom and will.

  Eda

Striving To Be The Biggest Idiot Ever Seen Or Heard Tell Of

By W R Jones

Trixie and Bubbles

These are the women  I want to look after me.  Clearly I need keepers.   Let me tell you a little story.  Then you tell me if it is theoretically possible to be this stupid; or, have I gone beyond the 6 sigma so far into the outliers that I’m in some sort of parallel idiot’s universe.

I went into work one Sunday to put in a little extra effort as it were, what with me being the diligent company individual I am.   So, I’m at my desk when I become aware my shoulder as well as my hip, elbow, head, knee, and wrist are bothering me.  The shoulder was at the top of the heap pain wise so I wandered down the hallway to get some Ibuprofen.

So happens the Ibuprofen is right across from the administration assistant’s office area.  She has a refrigerator.  Sunday, no one around, why don’t I take a little looksee.  I could use a soda.  Then I saw it in the freezer.   A very cold but pliant plastic bag filled with a brown colored gel.   The admin woman had been struggling with a toothache for a week.   This must be one of those bags you freeze, use as a cold pack then return to the frig.

Well, great, this may do the trick for my shoulder pain.   Check the calendar on the wall and on my iPhone to be sure.  Yep, Sunday; no one will be around.   Why don’t I go to the VP’s office and rest on his small sofa with this cold pack.   Very comfortable that sofa.  Took my shoes off before putting up my feet (I wasn’t born in a barn you know).   Cold pack on shoulder, pain easing, I may have drifted off for a second or two.

I awoke to the sweet smell of chocolate.   Son-of-a-bitch!  Don’t panic.  Sure, there is a little monsterous amount of chocolate on the sofa, pillow, and carpet.  Let’s think this thing through.   Simply tell the truth, fess up, accept the blame and my deserved punishment …. have you been hit in the head?   As a fellow blogger once told me, she doesn’t lie she is just economical with the truth.

I went to the maintenance area.  They keep those steel toed safety boots there.  I put on a pair and went back to the office.   Stepping into the chocolate, I made sure to leave visible tracks back to the workshop.  There I left the boots and walked barefoot back to my office.

Oh, I suppose there is some ethical/moral lesson here but I’ve looked and looked and I can’t find it.

The One Hour Loose Plein Air Study

by wr jones

Ya right.   I’m quite certain the painter (David Jonas – now living in central California I think) I copied this from did do it in an hour or less on location.  I take 6 hours just to do a poor copy.   I’m running out of his paintings to copy.  I should email him to provide me more material.   So, I don’t know about you, but I use the word “loose” as a euphemism for can’t get it right.   Loose sounds more painterly and better than can’t paint for shit.

I should probably go into one of these places more often.  I’d kinda like to find one that gives change in the collection plate.   I put in a $20 and remove  5x$5.00 that way every one is a winner,  I think; I was never all that strong with the math.

Did you ever try fast draw with a real revolver?   I did.   Strapped it to my hip.  Took a few steps forward and like lightning drew.   I threw the revolver maybe twenty feet.   So, in fact, I may still hold the world record for furthest tossed revolver in a gunfight.

I did this in front of witnesses, naturally.  Wouldn’t have been nearly as embarrassing were I alone.  I couldn’t help but reflect had I been in a real gunfight, I would have been, as the cowboys say, screwed.   The vision became so real to me I found myself trying to talk my way out, “Now, hold on there – I’ve lost my weapon.  You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man?”  ”What?  Well, yes techically I did throw it away myself.  However, in the interest of sportsmanship I think you should allow me to fetch it.”   “Or, we could, end the whole deal, try a little team building exercise, where I give you my girlfriend, car keys,  house, wallet, but I keep this $2.00 for some lemonade to clear the trail dust out of my mouth.”