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Death or Cake

  • May. 19th, 2005 at 2:58 AM
Bill Hicks
"I want some cake, dammit," the Muse said. "Just one little piece." She tapped her foot impatiently on the carpet.

I knelt in front of the open fridge door. "No cake in here."

"I'd settle for pie."

"No pie, either. I've got some jam. Strawberry. No bread, though."

"I'm not going to eat jam with a spoon."

"If all you need is a delivery vehicle," I said, "I've got a jar of pickles."

"Ew. Thank you, no. That's not going to satisfy my sweet tooth."

I rooted around a bit longer. "There's something furry in here. It might be sweet. Might taste like moist insulation."

"You need to do some shopping, is what you need to do."

"Grocery stores frighten me. It's all the things in jars. Makes me think of Frankenstein's lab."

She crossed her arms. "You're just lazy. I've seen you eat cereal out of the box, and then wash it down with milk out of the jug, all because your bowls need to be washed."

I leaned back against my heels. "And your point?"

She patted me on the head. "I think I just made it."

"You suck, Muse."

"Yep," she nodded. "But at least I can make a sandwich."

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If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want yourself to be happy, practice compassion.

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