Imout

My brain is a bit empty today today so here is something I wrote a while back for a website.

Cut and pastetastic.

Chicken Kievs for tea.

≈≈≈

It is with a heavy  that I put finger to keyboard. You see I have lost my mind, I’m not sure where I put it but I am sure that it is lost.

Last night I put my hand down the back of the sofa to see if it had rolled there, perhaps while I napped or masturbated to pornography. Alas my search only yielded the remains of a biscuit, some pennies and the charisma of Wayne Roony which momentarily adhered to my hand before combusting and singeing my waxed moustache

Later I checked the fridge, which is often the depositary of lost or sundry items. There I discovered a small laughing whim and some sausages but no sign of my absent mind. In fact I may have lost more in that particular appliance than I found, as my combombulation disappeared leaving me discombobulated and sore.

Afterwards I imagined a world where men could read sighs and write on fancies. However I was jolted from my reverie by the arrival of a letter through my door hole. It was an invitation the annual levitation feast; however I was feeling too heavy to attend so burned it on a pyre with some Y-fronts purchased in anger from a girl.

Still my mind eluded me, I could occasionally smell it. Lingering behind the smell of the whim but not distinct enough to make me see it. At that moment I doubted my own existence so telephoned my tailor, who I asked “Dear tailor do I exist?”

“That depends on the cut of your suit” he replied.

“My suit is coarse tweed but finely cut.”

“Then you must exist as only a man who exists can have a fine cut. A myth would be wearing course cut trousers but no jacket.”

“Thank you” I said to the tailor as I placed my telephone back into its wooden box and nailed the lid shut.

To where had my mind gone? Quickly I snatched up my revolver and rushed into the drawing room. Where I fired repeatedly at the mantelpiece, hoping to lure my mind down the chimney. Sadly I only dislodged my late father’s self worth which had become embedded in some soot.

Now I appeal to you. If you see my mind please lift it gently with sugar tongues before wrapping it in newspaper and sending it to my home where I will reward you with some shrieks.

All Out of Ideas

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