The sea was angry that day, my friends. Like

The sea was angry that day, my friends. Like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli. Most of the newbies were on deck feeding the fishes while one-eye and I peeled potatoes

, cabbages and rutabagas. To block out the sound of the barfing landlubbers, my shipmates and I sang sea shanties while preparing our supper. "Call any vegetable, call it by name

but its still just a damned vegetable all of the same." The song was offered in mirth at first, but the lack of meat aboard the ship began to wear on morale. After 3 months, mutiny

mutterings were murmured about the meatless meals onboard. The sailors began eyeing each other hungrily. Then the hallucinations began. Fingers became sausages, butts were hams.

Before long, the sailors had come to envision each other as juicy steaks, and they tussled along the fo'c'sle with pepper shakers. The bosun tried to stop them, but they chomped

at the bit to keep going. The sailors threw the bosun into the bilge and cackled.

Grandmothers buckled under duets with green owlish zombie quail eggs cracking the skies mask.

These are collection of my favorite words that I keep in a special box. Sometimes I release them into sentences. Marzipan candelabras festoon the hairnets of dirigibles.

silent and listen to the words it takes aeons to say. The light is harsh and the street is ugly outside the diner where my friends and I sit, but I'm lucky to have them here.