Circular Foods

Most foods have a beginning and an end.
Most foods have much nutrition to lend
To your stomach,
and thereby the rest of you.

Circular foods are much more confusing.
Circular foods are much more abusing
To my mind.
Because I don't know where to start eating them.

I sit and I stare at my circular foods.
I sit and I stare in my circular moods
While my stomach growls
and my acid splashes my insides.

I once sat, cold and naked,
staring at a pizza that I just bake-ed
For twenty-seven hours.
It was unpleasant to say the least.

I will now only eat things that are angular or square.
I will only eat these things because I do not dare
To die of starvation.
Which I would do after enough time not eating while staring at circular foods.

So:

Goodbye cookies.

Farewell pie.

Have a nice summer in Tanzania cupcakes.

and

Say hello to the wife and kids for me, but nonetheless I never want to see/hear from you again ham/cheeseburgers.

The Meticulous Hypothesis: Part IV: Average Indentions/Goodbye My Turtle Friend (I didn't even know your name)

Early the next morning, after vomiting a sad black and white rainbow, I felt very empty. Emotionally I was empty, but I was even more literally and physically empty having just vomited profusely and excessively. Hunger plagued all of my senses. I could barely move or chronicle my innermost thoughts. I wanted to die, just not of starvation. I wanted to die of ultimate sadness, dipped in humiliation with a side of deprivation salad topped with Newman's Own Lite French Solitude dressing. The thought of this deliciously morose death made me even more famished. I finally arose from my vomitous ashes and made a slow, deliberate trip to my grocer's freezer. There I saw it: a bastion of heavenly beef - Dwight Yoakam's Lanky Links. A sausage creation, bathed in sweet mythos, sent down from the Almighty Dwight himself. With reverence and a gleeful tingling in my bones, I grabbed the frozen delectables, purchased them, and retreated to the parking lot to partake in the prepackaged palatables. As I slowly opened the cardboard casket in which my sausage friends had been imprisoned, I came to a startling and morbid realization: I had no heat source from whence to cook the meaty obelisks. Defeated and de-motivated, I took to lobbing the frozen meat-sticks at nearby vehicles, resulting in indentions that were neither too big, nor too small to be created by frozen sausage.

I get very emotional about my breakfast meats.

The Meticulous Hypothesis: Part III: Vengeance/Do they call Saturn "the moon" on Titan?

It was late at night. The wind howled harsh nothings into my ear. I rounded the corner of an inner city boulevard only to see an upturned turtle, withering away in the desolation of the cold. I ran over to the turtle and clutched it tightly with as warm of an embrace as I could muster. The turtle died in my arms moments later. Salty orbs of hot emotion flowed down the side of my face as I screamed at the dark abyss of the night to bring the turtle back. Broken and alone, I carried the empty vessel of my new friend with me.

I will never forget him. Or her. It's hard to tell with turtles.

The Meticulous Hypothesis: Part II

Later, I took a nap in a shallow pond near the expressway. The sweet symphony of passing auto-carriages lulled me into a deep nether-sleep. The dream took me through many dimensions of time, space and knock-off shoe distributors. I saw the sights of a million lifetimes, and licked the salty-sweet kettle corn off the ground of a million carnivals. It was there I saw it: A giant black olive- no it was a bowling ball. It spoke to me. I listened. Intently.

I woke to myself coughing up pond water.

The Meticulous Hypothesis: Part I

Upon waking I had a realization: Perhaps constructing a dwelling made entirely of chipped turkey loaf was an ill-advised decision. Nothing made this more apparent than the pungent turkey goo sliding down from the ceiling onto my collection of misshapen rocks.

The goo made me itchy.

Finer Moments

The other night I was sifting through a pile of torrid refuse, looking for a matchbook and a usable candelabra, when I heard the faint musings of a distant falafel vendor. Having not yet eaten that night and remembering a distinct fondness for falafel, I made my way to the sweet odor that was tickling my olfactory sense. On the way, I witnessed a knife bearing man insisting that a nearby woman relinquish her keys, phone and handbag. I demanded that the criminal cease this threatening activity and put down the knife. Instead he came at me with the blade! Cleverly, I disarmed the foe by lodging his knife between two of my ribs, rendering it useless. Outmatched and out of knives, the coward ran into the comforting embrace of the darkness. As my warm, crimson essence slowly pooled beneath my hemp pullover, the distressed damsel looked into my eyes with a comforting gaze and asked if there was anything she could do to repay me. I explained to her that a responsible citizen crusader expects nothing back for his heroic deeds.

But a ride to a nearby hospital would have been greatly appreciated.

Mysterious Liquid

I found a bucket of yellow liquid in my refrigerator the other day. As I stared at it in deep preponderance of thought, I wondered if the liquid was urine or melted butter. I thought about tasting it to resolve my query, but decided against it because of the unsavory nature a possible libation of urine would bring. Instead I decided to grease a pan with the substance before cooking some stir fry.

My residence smelled like burnt urine for several days.