Lollipops and Duck Sauce

Throwing a curveball to myself, as somehow I'm pulling the Bugs Bunny stunt of playing both pitcher and catcher. Today's twist: start with the title and concoct a post to justify it. It's similar to a drill we used in improv comedy, when it was essential to fake being an authority on everything.

I accidentally stabbed myself in the head with a low-hanging tree branch over the weekend. Or invisible squirrels lowered the twig an instant before I stepped forward. I prefer the latter, as invisible squirrels are more fun to blame than personal stupidity. Plus, with the proper alliance between varmints and termites, a I can hold the entire virtual forest conspiracy responsible. Theoretically I could look up when I walk to make sure I won't jab my skull, but what happens when caterpillars join forces and stuff their cocoons into my nostrils with hopes of suffocating me to death (or at the very least, using my sinus cavities to grow an army of butterflies to wreak havoc on my internal organs)? God only knows how many no-see-ums I've ingested over the years; it's possible I was subconsciously influenced by insects to wander into the woods in the first place. Logic dictates I was pursuing an errant frisbee throw, but if the bug kingdom controls my brain, they could've forced my hand to release the disc early, knowing full-well how I'd chase after it like a robot with a pre-programmed itinerary.

(I need only check prior blog entries to discover the damage to my head created no discernable change in my writing style. If, however, I'm finally inspired to author a novel and the subject matter is seven-year cicadas, I'm checking with a shrink.)

Writing incorporates a similiar momentum as running, especially when authors utilize run-on sentences. Sit behind a keyboard long enough and you'll potentially experience a release of hormones that provide a "writer's high," the euphoria that makes you think you can write forever. Retrospectively, you'll discover the feeling was more likely a culminated sugar high from this morning's diet of Pop Tarts, Coke, and a Snicker's mini. Different delirium, same result: you end up trying to figure out how you ended up with toe-blisters and bloody nips.

Considering the challenge I set out for myself in the first paragraph, I'd have to call this a sub-epic failure. The best I got: I've seen "suk" on Chinese menus and lollipops are suckers. Weak, I know.