Thursday, August 28, 2014

Hokey and the Horse

Note on 10/3/2014--The following blog entry is so stupid, I'm really tempted to take it down.  But, I think I'll leave it up as a reminder of the depths to which I can fall.  You can read it if you want, but don't have too high of expectations.  Read my other stuff....'cause generally I'm better than this.


I've had a terrible case of writer's block.  It's been going on for months.  Thus, my lack of fresh stories.  Well, tonight, I'm sitting here in my Lazyboy chair, wishing I could think of something interesting to say. 


Nothing.


I had my laptop open to a blank Word document.  Sat there staring at it.  Nothing.


So, I finally decided to just play a little exercise game.  Basically, I just decided to write whatever came to my mind.  Just let whatever flow.


Here is the result.  I hope you get at least a little kick out of it.  I think I'm a bit odd.


Hokey and the Horse


The Hokey Pokey man trundled down the street carrying a bag of potato chips.  He tripped over a box of bundled bug bags, and fell on his noggin.  “Ouch!”  He yelled.  “That hurt!” 
No one heard him.  No one cared.


So, on the Hokey Pokey man trundled.  He crossed the mossy bridge, and climbed the wooded hill.  At the top, a big horse stood with his tail waving in the wind.


“What are you doing standing there Mr. Horse?” he asked.
“Waiting for you,” the horse replied.


Unfazed by the fact of the horse speaking, he trundled up and climbed aboard.  It wasn’t easy.  He had to stand on an old yellow bucket that someone left under an old oak tree.  But, he got on.
“Which way?” asked Mr. Horse.


“Whichever way leads home,” said the Hokey Pokey man.
“Yours or mine?” asked the equine.


“Yes,” said Hokey.
So, they were off.  The horse trotted over the crest of the hill and down the other side; disappearing into the misty morning.  In the distance, they could hear the rhythmic rumble of German music, somewhere in the fog.


“Oh, I love a good German party!” declared the horse.
“Me too,” said Pokey.


“Do you like to dance?” asked the stallion.
“I do, but I always get myself turned around.”


Crunch, crunch, crunch went the potato chips.

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