this is so cool

FICTION SHORT / SHORT: Boris the Owl

It was a painfully warm October. Boris, the obese Barn Owl, managed to lodge himself between the two highest pieces of intersecting wood in the rafters. Dusk was slipping into it’s evening coma and soon the thick blanket of night would be stretched across the farm. Boris was stuck. He was hungry. He had climbed to the top of the barn both socially and physically because he had spent the last few months terrorizing his fellow animals. He kept the pigs under control by swooping and clawing them in the early morning. The owls, and other birds had all been repeatedly pecked until they nested elsewhere. The rumors swirling around the farm were crippling everyone with fear. Some said he picked up rabbits only to drop them on tractors and varying machinery for fun. Boris was a bitter owl. The highest perch was too small for him but it was his. So he forced his body into his seat of honor. The October heat had created an onslaught of field mice reproducing of which he feasted on nightly and sometimes went back for thirds. Now, as the darkness crawled over the hills, Boris wiggled but to no avail. He knew his fate. No one would rescue him. He had isolated himself. He had punished others. He was alone. Now death would come for him, slowly, as he starved watching the sun and moon trade places.

CONFESSION: I’m breathing.

Dear Everyone,

I am a human that breathes.

Please be my priest. Not in the Catholic “We’re in box together!” sense. More of an Old Testament, one leader absolving the sins of many via sacrifice. By reading this, you’ll be breathing along with me. Thus, collaborating in my ongoing struggle with breathing. I’m hoping you’ve got a perfect sacrificial lamb of penance for our breaths. No? Welcome human.

I’ve tried to quit but I also am really intent on living. It’s vicious. So I breathe. Moment after moment. Honestly, I can only hold my breath for about a minute before my slaves (lungs) have to go on churning their daily butter of breath.

I cannot escape this cycle. Not even on a unicycle, bicycle, tricycle or my mortal combined enemy: The UniBiTri.

Most times I don’t even think about doing it. That’s how arrogant my brain is. It makes everyone work for me while being me (Inception/BodySnatchers/CrissAngel Reference HERE). I just breathe. I don’t care about the process. GIVE ME THAT OXYGEN. I mine oxygen incessantly without any care for Molecular Worker’s Rights. I rip particles apart with my nostrils. I abuse the air space with illegal dumping of carbon dioxide…almost every second. I’m ashamed but I can’t stop.

You know what the worst part of it is? I actually enjoy it. The feeling of it. I know, it’s sick. Especially coming up for air after swimming to the bottom of a lake pretending I’m a Liopleurodon from the late Jurassic era. The first gasp, OH REJOICE BODY, of air filling me selfishly. *Note: if you did not notice that ‘fish’ was in selfish after I mentioned Liopleurodon (although not a fish but a water dweller) I obviously need to go back to school to get my MFA.

I’m just going to get this all off my chest (with another breath). Look, not only do I take in air for my own needs but I rob scents from things as well. It’s two birds baby. I collect with interest. Is that a pie? Thank you very much. Thanksgiving dinner? I’ll smell and breathe like this ALL DAY LONG. Please, I’m not boasting, I just need to tell my story.

If you’re too far gone like me, you’ll even breathe around other people. I do it in tight spaces. Elevators, carpools, coffee shops…my bed. My poor wife. I’m addicted to breathing and I won’t stop. The more I write the more I realize I’m in love with breathing. You know what? I’m not sorry at all. In fact, I’m grateful. I didn’t ask to breathe or have breath put in my body. This one’s on you God.

INHALE. EXHALE.

INHALE. EXHALE.

All hail the breath. It’s breadth is far greater than I’ll know. 

Sincerely,

A Liberated Breather

How To Do Push-Ups Like A Boss

This is the time of year where I start to train like a real life Olympic Athlete and watch the last few months of eating fade away like my hope cause I’m three gravy puddings deep y’all! Here are a few tips to take your push-upping to the next level (13.7th level [HOT DOG level: skin looks like burned hot dogs]). Get it soldier and do some PUSH-UPS LIKE A BOSS!

-keep body diagonal with feet posted up on a wall. Place crisp bacon on the floor. Slide down wall using butter and eat bacon while sitting. Life is short.

-with two hands on two equal or fairly equal sized rocks with your legs elevated on a bench or similar sized rock. Drop a pile of scorpions underneath you and call Joe Rogan to yell at you and remind you of NBC’s COMEBACK!

-on the backs of two Great Danes because you’re rich.

-on a known crack dealer’s car in the early afternoon.

-on top of a mini van going 2mph through a suburb while you blast Nelly Furtado and regret the entire thing in real-time.

-in a fully zipped sleeping bag.

-at a sleep over on a bunch of stacked chairs because this is SERIOUSLY your last sleep over that doesn’t have JUST ONE cheese pizza. It’s called FOOD ALLERGIES.

-on top of all your pain and people’s misconceived perceptions about you.

-on piles and piles of  that trash knows as Archie “comics.” Archie and Veronica. DUMB. But honestly they should stay together because everyone is like hating on them and they need to prove the haters wrong. Am I right?

-inside of a bear that’s headed to the Iowa Caucases. So you can pushup your way out  and say, “THAT’S MY STUMP SPEECH.”

-at that job you don’t deserve but totally hate cause they all against me.

-on the two Dells you’re overclocking, while you’re playing Uncharted with your feet cause you’ve been atheletic this whole time.

-on two dolphins in the Sea of Cortez at night.

Good luck. Happy 2.0.1.2. (abbreviation for 2012)!!!