Familiar bitching continues! Ave Maria!

Well, well if it isn't our friendly neighborhood sociopath... After claiming to sincerely and earnestly continue the keyboard clack resonance for a while, my mind's proverbial nut sack went on an unplanned hiatus. For reasons better kept as secrets locked in the deepest receptacle of my left ventricle, the inner author squatted, placed a wet towel on his head and fondled his favorite rubber ducky leaving a sign in it's wake that read 'Everything must go..'

Work consumed me like the Nyquil addict who collects those transparent little caps with countless amber vials piled and rolling within their filth in the mirage beyond. I had not put a finger to a keycap in a lustful yet cerebral sort of a way in months! Was I dying? Or was it the disapperance of the one dollar menu at the local McDonalds that had left an ominous vapor trail resembling a Pinata that had crossed the proverbial border without ample paperwork?

The mind wanders in the strangest of places. An hour long talk with a friend just a few minutes ago had me drawing similarities seen in childrens books written by Stephen King's intern. The meaty part of a conversation with Achin always constitutes him decoding a birth mark on my forehead that translates to 'thou shall pick on thy mate, so help me god!' So here we were talking about this and that while he kept on driving me to accept how dull my life is without the cankle of a feminine influence playing the love interest.

To whit I could only derive one conclusion. To me Achin resembles a tubby six year old on a warm Christmas evening wearing a flannel shirt, burgundy suspenders, olive green shorts and a matching bow tie. His neatly parted hair ruffles to one side, as he pants away trying to gather his breath from the run he made across the living room to get to the kitchen. His eyes gleam in the crackle of the fireplace as the embers light up his transfixed gaze set upon a bright white cookie jar sitting on the topmost shelf of the cabinet. The jar is shaped like a smiling, tubby jack rabbit with it's hands clasped around it's belly sporting a red sash barely able to hold the rolls of pudge that accentuate the charming yet subtle personality of this bunny. As the seconds tick and tock from the grandfather clock across the cabinet, the bunny's big black cartooned eyes roll from side to side as if mocking the boy to dare and lay his hand into the jar and reach for a cookie... And by Joe how can he resist!?!

Picture Source: Gallowaytwo's Flickr Photostream