Death of a strangely coloured animal.

I was running along the road when I saw this golden giraffe with eyes of turqoise.  It said to me, "yabadabadoo."

I knew at once I wouldn't get along with Mr Giraffe, because I hate the flintstones. This was a challenge. I drew out a pair of nunchucks put a turtle on the floor. Then I fished a tube of glowing green serum from a pocket and washed it over myself and the turtle.

The was a explosion of green fumes, and the turtle and I were one. I put a strip of orange eye mask and wrist bands, and swung my nunchucks.

The Giraffe reeled and yodelled, "Yabadabadoo!!!!"

I replied and shouted, "Cowabunga!!"

We charged at each other with the determination to knock the other down, for liking the wrong cartoon. But from nowhere, we saw a purple dinosaur singing a song about loving and being one big family.

He had ridiculously white teeth. I looked and the Giraffe and it to me. We nodded and agreed Barney must die. That's what happened. You don't see Barney anymore on TV these days.

Crackhead

The head is more unpredicatable than the egg.  If you crack an egg, you'll get the white and the yollk.  Easy and predictable.

But the head is a pandora's box and if you crack it, you get ANYTHING:  insults, happiness, gloom, confusion, jokes, images, memories, mammaries, plans, poetry, peace and sometimes nothing.

It's a lucky draw, Doraemon style.

I tried cracking mine, and spilled this:

He mutters this nearly soundlessly.   "It was real horrorshow.  Yea the world's a real horrorshow .  The crooks and cranies, concrete alleys, haha.. from the bird's eye they look like black shady wrinkles of the ageing city.  The centre of the city, it's bloodless heart, pumping the kaching and pushing life through us."  

He rocks gently forth and back, swaying, and tugs his hair.  He holds a tuft of hair, which he spreads on the gray floor.

He lurks in the darkest corner of his cell and sings his sour poisonous song, at all too soft a volume, which to our ears are merely a ceasless chant of screeching static...

If you keep very silent, you'll hear his song of barely.

Yess, if you keep very very quiet, cover your earss, you’ll catch on to the hissing that leaks from the crack in your head.  The nearly inaudible song sung by the loony in a nearly delusionary cell in your head.

What do you get when you crack your head?

Picture: Ceramic, Annette Kirma, http://entertainment.webshots.com/photo/2260711800086720965nWSOHN

Copyrights Yeo Zhe Benedict