Flash Back

Flash Back

The little rascal was throwing a tantrum.  I could tell by the way he brandished the sickle that this outburst was going to be an interesting one. 

"Pickle!" he yelled, and dropped into a defensive crouch.

Whenever he spoke of brine, I knew his anger was actually just a symptom of a deeper issue.  Take for instance the time he spoke of capers – he was actually having a bout of low self-esteem.  Pickle, indeed!

I began to wave my hands about my head, much like a chimpanzee.  Still gripping the crescent-shaped blade, his eyes began to glaze over as he watched my hypnotic dance.  I smoothly transitioned into "the robot" and finished with some popping and locking.  Perhaps it was overkill.  I do know that the homicidal curmudgeon was fast asleep, cradling a small vest-wearing chicken in his arms. 

Ah, yes.  I waved gently to Señor Pollo, who stoically tipped his sombrero in response.  His tiny spurs jangled on his tiny boots, and I knew that sound to be the sound of peace and joy.  And a free lunch at Denny's. 

My nose picked up the scent of pastry, and I lost all interest in the duo.   Somewhere, somehow, someone was frying donuts; cake donuts if my nose did not deceive.  This could only mean one thing!  Somewhere, somehow, someone was frying donuts; cake donuts if my nose did not deceive. 

I was off!  I was also on my way.