Because Katy Is The Boss Of Me

That's why this posting even exists. I sent her my usual rambling e-mails today, and at one point there was talk of midgets. Which was the inspiration for the following short story I sent her:

I wish midgets really did love being shot out of cannons. And that they did it often, and with smiles on their tiny faces. What a spectacle it would be! I would sit on the grounds on a crisp autumn day, with a travel mug of hot cider, and wait for them to load Mr. Pickles into the cannon. I would stare in awe as the fuse was lit, and then gasp as he rocketed into the heavens, soaring above me like a gnarled little man-bird. Oh, Mr. Pickles!! How glorious! How grand! How sorry I feel for your wife and children, but you were born an entertainer, and your farewell flight was written in the stars! When they drag your smoking corpse out of the lake, I will remove my giant foam finger and bow my head. For you, sir - gave us the greatest gift of all: the gift of an airborne midget. And for that, you will live on always. Thank you, Mr. Pickles.

Let the record show that "Mr. Pickles" is a name Patton Oswalt used for a midget he talked about in his act when I saw him a few years back at the DC Improv. It tickled me, so I like to name my imaginary midgets in kind. But the rest of the story is Grade A 100 % Conroy nonsense. MmmmHmmm. Chunky.

I will write tomorrow. I will write about a Haunted House. That's right....you'll be back.