I Met a Man…

<h2>I Met a Man…</h2>
by Schlonger

I met a man today.

This man, I know that I have seen him before.  For example, you are   walking down the street, avoiding the sidewalk at all costs due to the   harmful interaction with concrete and bare feet, and as you look up in a   tree and there he is!  He is just calmly sitting there reading a   magazine that must have many advertisements for tropical paradises.

How must I know this?  Simple.  The sheer amount of saltwater in  which  was raining down from his tree can have no other reason.  Besides  the  fact that I smelled bananas….or self fulfillment.  Hard to tell  some  days.

Today though, as I was walking aimlessly through a field of finely  cut  grass, he met me on a perpendicular tangent.  Well, I must say that  this  can never be good.  He was wearing a tie of a strange quality, as  I  could look at his tie and see Paris at night.  At least, I think it  was  Paris as I was smelling french fries.

He raised a hand to me, in some form of alternate greeting.  Normally  I  abhor physical contact with people who travel on tangents, so I also   rose my hand to an elbow and stood on one foot.  He seemed generally   sincere in his salutation, so I mentally agreed to float with him upon   our grassy playground.

As we sat there speaking with our metatarsals, I found that people  were  turning into rubber bands around me.  This change in general  locomotion  of personages was quite normal, but why were they changing  colors and  speaking of eating goat cheese?  I had begun to realize that  this  particular slice of the multiverse must refer to goat cheese as   something akin to a monetary value.

You see, goat cheese seriously affects my calm, due to particular   textures and the general air of superiority in which goat cheese tries   to garner.  I was finding that I did not appreciate this whole endeavor   and opened my mouth to begin the descent.  He seemed to understand that  I  had to get to my meeting with a small but very wise #2 pencil in  which  denotes on a standard legal pad my thoughts.

We stood and I asked him, “Why are you not real?”

He just smiled and lightly smacked my forehead.  A bright light made  my  eyes crave shag carpet and then I found myself staring at a street   corner signpost written in a language in which I did not recognize.  I   sit here now residing upon a patch of Earth poking at the air in which I   see the keys drawn in crayon.

I really could get used to this, but I am slightly offended.

French fries sound really good right now, with some of that special Utah fry sauce.

- S

Short URL: http://philaphans.com/sixers/?p=639

Posted by schlonger on Sep 29 2010. Filed under OT – Schlonger’s World. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry