O happy evening. The Palinode and The Lotus arrive home from a restaurant. Mid-conversation.
The Lotus: I really want to write more of those letters, like that one to the guy who smelled of talcum powder.
The Palinode: I see. (pause) I'm sorry, did you say falcon powder?
The Lotus: What? No. What?
The Palinode: What's falcon powder?
The Lotus: I said talcum powder. What's falcon powder?
The Palinode: That's what I want to know.
The Lotus: I don't think it exists.
The Palinode: Is it powder made of falcons, or is it a powder for falcons?
The Lotus: It isn't - it wouldn't be made of falcons. Foot powder isn't made of feet, you weirdo.
The Palinode: Yeah, but what kind of applications would powder for falcons have?
The Lotus: I. Wouldn't. Know. We don't own a falcon.
The Palinode: It's a niche market.
The Lotus: Uh-huh.
The Palinode: For proper falcon freshness.
The Lotus: Why not.
The Palinode: But do the unsuspecting falcons know that they're powdering themselves with falcons?
The Lotus: I'm in a different room now.
5 comments:
Okay. I get a hundred people a day wandering by, but nobody says anything? Stop your lurking.
Lurk lurk lurk.
See? Lurkers.
Look, talking, not lurking.
Yesterday, while at the bird store (crap for birds, not birds who crap), I found some dried fox urine for sale. It's supposed to ward of moles and the like. The cashier said she didn't know how it was collected, but that she'd been assured no animals were harmed in the taking. We didn't buy it.
Fox urine? Maybe they have fox farms out there with foxes hooked up to machines. Unpleasant image. I prefer to think that they trained foxes to use the toilet like all good civilized creatures.
Do you have birds? We've got finches.
Post a Comment