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The beach... the place where the land meets

  • The beach... the place where the land meets the sea, and the place where I take my morning walks. That is where 'they' first appeared.
  • "We just moved here three days ago," one of them said cheerfully, as they walked along the waves. I didn't trust them. They were obviously outsiders, because the locals never
  • littered on the beach. They were carelessly flicking cigarettes onto the sand to be swept away by the evening tide. I guess they figured the ocean is so big for a reason
  • unfathomable by human brains. They could not possibly understand the sea of possibilities. They were out of their depth. They merely surfed the wave of incomprehension until
  • they finally decided on a random Cheesecake. The Cheesecake Factory was a prism of tasty delights held in front of multiple suns in a fun house mirror. They had picked
  • Pavlova but the Cheesecake Factory only stocked cheesecakes after the worldwide shortage in Pavlovas. The shortage was due to a strike by the Pavlova Makers Union over unfair
  • practices relating to the fluffiness of the meringue. The ground poodle hair they used to give it that texture would get into their lungs & cause 'poodle lung' meaning they'd nev
  • er be able to get up on the furniture again. That and between the lingering sweetness of the meringue mixed with poodle hair, their breath was horrendous. But no biggie, the pies
  • were selling like hotcakes, just as the hotcakes were selling like pies. We were practically minting money, but at the same time great confusion prevailed. A leading expert in the
  • field of OpenSSL securities started hacking our hotcakes, and we could no longer keep them in the oven. So that, my friends, is how the bootleg hotcake scandal started.

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