Monday, August 9, 2010

Bathroom Monologue: Randy and His Maker

Randy and his maker rounded the furthest clouds. Cherubs jammed out on drums and acoustic guitars, and rivers ran among them to pour out as rain for the world below. It wasn’t exactly what Randy wanted from death, but it beat dying.

“So the one thing you can never forgive is denying you?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

“Never? Even if they don’t mean it?”

Randy’s maker paused to tweak the third tuning peg on a cherub’s guitar.

“I don’t take it lightly.”

“What if it’s Opposite Day?”

Randy’s maker looked up. “What’s that?”

“You know. Opposite Day. You see a white cloud, you say it’s black. If it’s evening, you say it’s morning. What if somebody said you weren’t there on Opposite Day?”

“I’d forgive it.”

“But you never forgive it.”

“That’s right.”

“But you just said you would.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah you did.”

“No I didn’t.” Randy’s maker continued along the clouds. “It’s Opposite Day.”

“Oh, you’re good.”


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