A ROBOT MADE OF RED VELVET

A robot made of red velvet gently caressed my face. It's touch was gentle, but robotically precise. It was a very high-tech robot, it's velvet was of the highest quality, the pigment the very essence of sensual red, and it's circuitry programmed to have the very minute movements synced smooth as all get out. I wondered how far this would go. I wasn't sure if this velvet robot was getting fresh with me, but I certainly hoped so. I gave it the eyes and trusted that's it's programmers had coded it to recognize what "the eyes" meant.

I READ THE INSTRUCTIONS

I read the instructions for the collection of my parcel. It was to be collected from a secret underground bunker in Hamburg between the first bloodening of the full moon and the emergence of moral thought in mammals, at no less than 40 words per second in request time and the delivery of the serial number to be layed out like the twoallbeefpatties business of yore. I wondered whether this devious chicanery was intended to make me give up on the idea of ever collecting my package, and pictured these delivery company hobgoblins rolling around on a pile of uncollected packages in glee, cackling and tossing them up at the fan.

THE BIG BURNING CANDLE

The big burning candle dripped wax over the whole town like lava coming down from a volcano. But this wax wasn't so hot that it would melt off our skins and leave us screaming like a horror movie poster with one bony hand reaching for the sky, it's was that perfect painful pleasue pleasurable pain hot that had the whole town writhing in a candle kink ectstasy. For the first time in a decade nobody was on their pohone or checking their mailbox or thinking about the next day's plans, we were all writhing in burning sticky waxy perfect NOWness. It was beautiful. I couldn't wait for the after part, when having lain on the ground breathing softly in the post orgasmic haze, the wax would have solidified, and we would have the sensory thrill of flexing our naked bodies and cracking that hard wax to free ourselves.

ONIONS DRIPPED FROM THE CIELING

Onions dripped from the ceiling. Was there a storm of onions happening outside my badly insulated house? I got several pots and pans and put them underneath the dripping onions to catch them. If these were red onions, I would be saying "Yahtzee!" and thanking my good fortune for this influx of free onions. But these were brown onions. And I have standards.

I HAD JUST ONE BIG TOOTH

I had just one big tooth and one big finger, and I would smear the paste across my big wide tooth with my big fat finger. It didn't seem all that effective, and I worried that if I got a cavity and this tooth had to come out, that was it. It was pea soup for me from then on. I like pea soup, don't get me wrong, but I have a full life ahead of my that I hope to be full of biting into apples and buttocks and gold dubloons.

JAZZ WAS ALL AROUND ME

Jazz was all around me, it swaddled me like a baby and swayed me back and forth with it's gentle swing and tickled me with it's syncopation and dangled its many colours above me like one of those dangly things in a bassinet. I wished I could be ensconced like this forever and say, "jazz music is nice" in a mumbly murmur, but I knew that that whiny music from the late 90s where the punky people strained their voices and sang about how the girls didn't want to fuck them was ready to burst in at any moment and blow my high.

GREEK STATUES CAME TO LIFE

Greek statues came to life and waggled their tiny penises at me. I thought this rather rude and chastised them. They were suitably shamed and went back to being frozen granite, but with their looks of haughty contempt now replaced with looks of chastised shame. I took out my marker and drew funny little moustaches on them.