Sports...
Hello, my pets:
Ah, sports...what makes life great, but a day of deceitful glory embodied in galavanting young bodies in conflict and desire thrusting their souls like past tales of monumental honor and curiousity. As such, who better than to write a prose for those play to win and captivate the only audience fit to behold such tasks of gallant hypnosis that can only be described as Pavlovian: O the adventure, O the passion--to be found in this narrative tale of love and contemplation entitled:
Missing an Arm is not Necessarily an Evil Trait
Little Ronnie woke up. His bright eyes took on the glories of a brand-new day. Oh, he thought with a start, it’s the big sports day. Hooray.
Ronnie was so happy he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t in the land of nod. His flippers could not execute this simple act. Oh no, Ronnie thought to himself, flippers? Why, why that means I’m dreaming and it’s not morning!
The implications were immediate and severe—with no morning there is no sports to come. Ronnie knew what he had to do; he would have to battle the sandman himself, the one-armed Rick Moranis (our antagonist for this whimsical story) in a contest of wits.
He never lets me sports, thought Ronnie. I’ll have to go to his lair and slay him like the callous demon he once was.
Ronnie needed two things—a weapon and a companion—to make this a journey fit for a hero. Ronnie was deep in thought: a sling shot is too biblical, a gun is too predictable and I’ve never allowed knives in dream world. What’s a young boy to do? A boy with dreams, yes aspirations, hopes. O cruel one-armed Rick Moranis, why do you torture me with portending futures of no sports. Have you no soul?
That’s when it hit Ronnie—he would need a soul defibulator to battle this menace of the eighties. And who would help young Ronnie with the application of said defibulator, why Doogie Howzer—He’d do just fine.
Ronnie made all the right arrangements and filled up all the right paperwork. The notary tried not to laugh when Ronnie couldn’t sign the defibulator rental form with his flippers. Oh, what young boys do for sports. Doogie, alas, wasn’t available. He was much sought for in the land of dreams and used Ronnie’s offer for leverage to sign a multiyear contract to obscurity and comfort.
A call was made to Paul Reubens. Luckily, he was free. The journey began slowly but surely. Ronnie and Paul Reubens struggled to connect at first, but the possibility of a land without sports proved to be something of an aphrodisiac and magically the tension was lifted. Oh no, though Ronnie, I’ll need to change my underwear for sports in my waking life.
Paul Reubens looked deep into Ronnie’s eyes and said, “How is this dreaming life different than our waking life, youngster? Are our senses not aflame with passions in both? Are they not, but two eternal sides of the same equation?”
Ronnie noticed that Paul Reubens only had one arm. “You, oh no, you aren’t Paul Reubens at all. Nooo.”
Evil one-armed Rick Moranis cackled gleefully, “I’ve now captured your soul and sports will disappear…forever.”
Ronnie woke up, changed his underwear and played sports. One-armed Rick Moranis wasn’t invited.
Ah, sports...what makes life great, but a day of deceitful glory embodied in galavanting young bodies in conflict and desire thrusting their souls like past tales of monumental honor and curiousity. As such, who better than to write a prose for those play to win and captivate the only audience fit to behold such tasks of gallant hypnosis that can only be described as Pavlovian: O the adventure, O the passion--to be found in this narrative tale of love and contemplation entitled:
Missing an Arm is not Necessarily an Evil Trait
Little Ronnie woke up. His bright eyes took on the glories of a brand-new day. Oh, he thought with a start, it’s the big sports day. Hooray.
Ronnie was so happy he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t in the land of nod. His flippers could not execute this simple act. Oh no, Ronnie thought to himself, flippers? Why, why that means I’m dreaming and it’s not morning!
The implications were immediate and severe—with no morning there is no sports to come. Ronnie knew what he had to do; he would have to battle the sandman himself, the one-armed Rick Moranis (our antagonist for this whimsical story) in a contest of wits.
He never lets me sports, thought Ronnie. I’ll have to go to his lair and slay him like the callous demon he once was.
Ronnie needed two things—a weapon and a companion—to make this a journey fit for a hero. Ronnie was deep in thought: a sling shot is too biblical, a gun is too predictable and I’ve never allowed knives in dream world. What’s a young boy to do? A boy with dreams, yes aspirations, hopes. O cruel one-armed Rick Moranis, why do you torture me with portending futures of no sports. Have you no soul?
That’s when it hit Ronnie—he would need a soul defibulator to battle this menace of the eighties. And who would help young Ronnie with the application of said defibulator, why Doogie Howzer—He’d do just fine.
Ronnie made all the right arrangements and filled up all the right paperwork. The notary tried not to laugh when Ronnie couldn’t sign the defibulator rental form with his flippers. Oh, what young boys do for sports. Doogie, alas, wasn’t available. He was much sought for in the land of dreams and used Ronnie’s offer for leverage to sign a multiyear contract to obscurity and comfort.
A call was made to Paul Reubens. Luckily, he was free. The journey began slowly but surely. Ronnie and Paul Reubens struggled to connect at first, but the possibility of a land without sports proved to be something of an aphrodisiac and magically the tension was lifted. Oh no, though Ronnie, I’ll need to change my underwear for sports in my waking life.
Paul Reubens looked deep into Ronnie’s eyes and said, “How is this dreaming life different than our waking life, youngster? Are our senses not aflame with passions in both? Are they not, but two eternal sides of the same equation?”
Ronnie noticed that Paul Reubens only had one arm. “You, oh no, you aren’t Paul Reubens at all. Nooo.”
Evil one-armed Rick Moranis cackled gleefully, “I’ve now captured your soul and sports will disappear…forever.”
Ronnie woke up, changed his underwear and played sports. One-armed Rick Moranis wasn’t invited.
posted by neilly bojangles at 6:31 PM
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