Quick image for my loyal denizens to behold as they carry on with their fruitful, emotionally stable lives. You do have emotionally stable lives, right? Oh, dear readers, how I long to hold each and every one of you in the palm of my hand, as if you were Thumbelina and I was Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade, and how I would coo and tickle your chin and tell you magnificent stories about lawn mowers and wing nuts and the time I bolted from a gypsy cab without paying as a cop pulled the cab driver over for running a red light. In the meantime, we shall accept the wall that lies between us, dear readers, and I will share this nugget of a image.
Me, the Wombury, in the hallway, during the last period of school, bent over at the waist looking down at E, a three foot munchkin of a sixth grader, but a munchkin with a vicious flat-top circa 1954 that the Wombury can't stop staring at. We're locked in a mighty power struggle, like Ahab and the Whale, only the whale is the size of lawn gnome. The Lawn Gnome is winning this battle, because everyday the Lawn Gnome finds creative ways to get under the Wombury's skin. Today's technique: a-rhythmically banging a pencil on his desk-with a thumping power achieved only by the likes of John Bonham of Led Zepplin playing "When the Levee Breaks" on the '75 tour and Animal from the Muppets from the '79 season-despite the fact that the Wombury is staring right into his eyes. Lawn Gnome's response? Smirk. Smirks everytime. He always shrugs and says innocently, "Que paso?" So today I gave in and phoned his mother. She wasn't home. She's coming for a visit on Friday. The Wombury is going to recommend shearing his flat-top, as it seems to be his Sampson-like seat of power.
With that, I will leave you with a picture of a doctor and two men from Mongolia:
(We never discussed Spinoza; then again, you were lazy)
Until then,
The Wombury
The Wombury
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