The new craft at summer camp is drawing chalk owls on the carpets. Jimi excels at owls
My bathroom is being renovated, so the landlady shows me to the bathroom in the downstairs apartment. She looks inside to make sure there is toilet paper for me, and yells : "BIGGIE! YOU DIDN'T FLUSH YOUR POOP!"
It is apparently Biggie Smalls' apartment. Biggie isn't dead.
I am Donald Trump's adolescent twin daughters. I am the nice one, but I am the slutty one.
Leonard Nimoy spots me in the crowd as the ballet is letting out. He sends someone over with his journal. It is full of complicated sketches and writing, and I am impressed. Leonard disappears, and I can’t return his book. So I tear out a blank page, and leave a note on the message board in the lobby of the theatre :
L – I have your book.
I am on vacation in Dubai. After swimming all day in the Gulf, I notice a golf-ball sized blister on my thigh. After some difficulty, I manage to pop it. Inside are dozens of parasitic worms that look like overcooked rotini noodles.
We are vampires walking home from a party. You get stuck on a chain-link fence by the chain on your wallet. As we try to detach you, I see that it is not a wallet on the end of your chain. It is a block of cheese.
We are moving into a new apartment. As we enter the lobby, the concierge comes toward us. He is definitely Tupac Shakur, and we exclaim loudly at his being alive. He says : SHHHH I GO BY RICHARD NOW. Later, he gives us three passes to the new Star Wars movie, to say thank-you for keeping his secret.
We are building a tiny house in the woods. Down the road, some people are building a bigger house, on a bigger property. When we find a dead body in our yard, we bring it over to their place. We leave the body on their lawn. We figure, they are pretty rich. They are probably be better equipped to deal with a dead body.
I am flying a helicopter mission in India, in high winds. While trying to land on the top of a building to rescue some people, I chop off a couple of their arms. On my second attempt, I manage to get most of the people off the top of the building.
I am fighting in the Mexican Revolution. We have long rifles, and we are shooting at the opposing forces from a double bed, on a high platform, in the middle of the town square. When we get tired of shooting, we lie down and go to sleep for a while.
After the apocalypse, I try to escape the city. I can’t find a boat, so I launch a bathtub into the river. I paddle with my hands, searching for a deserted island. But all the islands have people on them, and I don’t play well with others.
We each have a rotting old barn board to float on. Our board flotilla prepares to head out to the island on the clear blue water. You want to put your enormous stuffed penguin onto your board. I argue with you for a while, and then I give up.
It is very hard being in love with you in 17th century Amsterdam. I want to wrap my arms around you, but it isn’t socially acceptable. I DO IT ANYWAY. It is raining, and I squeeze you so tightly that you drop your wallet. You say EVERYONE IS WATCHING and you try to pull away. I can smell the wet wool of your sweater. I refuse to let go.
All the women in my life have died. I am put in charge of their skulls. I clean them out with a melon baller, scooping out brains, eyeballs, everything I can find. Most of what comes out looked very much like perfectly ripe avocado. I boil their skulls in a pot until they are clean and white. Then I line them up on the windowsill above my kitchen sink, so I can look at them every day.
I am part of an elite group of female assassins. For my first mission, I must kill a middle-aged woman. She is sitting on her couch waiting for us, and accepts that her death is a necessary part of the society we live in. To kill her, I insert a small capsule into a hole in the back of her neck. She froths a bit, and takes a long time to die. I ask the other women if this is normal. It happens sometimes, they say.