Octopus' Garden

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


I am joyous to tell you that one million, five hundred thousand calamata olives are ready for deposit in a Peruvian cave marked by a crop circle of silently humming signifiers.

Fruit bats anxiously await your transmission of authorization via sonar and will alert the appropriate algorhythyms to initiate the transfer of importunities.

Your most urgent reply, wrinkled in brine, is desired.

For I have looked upon your profile and wondered: Who is this dreaming axolotl? This squash-court Jezebel? How could this Haz-Mat honey come to be?

For I am a most sincere exiled princess of a defunct thumbtack empire, in need of thong laundering and a Visa Gold card. Or no . . . for I am a kidnapped prince held hostage by the narrative feed of a Tasmanian novel cartel. Or no . . . for I am a roller derby queen on the skids. Or no . . . for I am [just tell me who you want me to be].

Do you wish for the increased omniscience created by a full head of cabbage? Do you wish to meet available Winnebagos in your hometown of Mandan, North Dakota? Do you ever wish for a larger turkey baster?

I will most anxiously await your Yield sign. I will not blink until I hear from you. I will hold my breath like an eager cup full of jangling quarters in a smoke-filled room.

Hurry! You have won the nunnery! The pottery! The cutlery!

Hurry! Time is running out.
posted by Artichoke Heart at 2:37 PM


You really can just write your ass off.
Blogger Owen Hansen, at 12:48 AM  
Thank you, Owen!
Blogger Artichoke Heart, at 3:06 AM  
I really like this a lot. I feel as if it contains a code or riddle or some sort.
Blogger BrontoRen, at 3:14 PM  
Thanks, Brontoren! (And psst! Look for Decoder Ring nestled amongst meal worms in boxes of vintage goldfish food.)
Blogger Artichoke Heart, at 7:47 PM  
I'm very afraid.
Blogger Michelle Rogge Gannon, at 8:33 AM  

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