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Tuesday, March 15, 2005

 

Fun With Metaphors

I am a bowl of French Onion Soup; my mind a piece of soggy bread, floating in a broth of despair, weighed down by the melted cheese-like mass of my yearning.

No, I am a waffle, pressed between two heavy iron grids. I expand, pressing against my boundaries and I am released, only to be smeared with the butter of my fears, drenched in the reduced-calorie maple syrup that is my insecurity.

Wait, no; actually, I'm a smore. My soul has been roasted over the open flame of the universe's cruelty. My birth and my death surround me like graham crackers. And my once solid dreams are melted against me like so much gushy chocolate.

But then, I might be parsley, because nobody really has any use for me.

Or...or, hang on...Oh! I'm a smoothie. My days, like various sorts of fruit and ice cubes and yogurt, were once distinct and bright. The routine of my life has blended them all together into a lumpy mess that's supposed to be good for me, but that I don't really want to drink, 'cause it looks like vomit.

No, that's bullshit. What I am is a falafel on pita bread. The tahini sauce of my youth is dripping away through the leaky bread, leaving the crunchy patties of my existence dry and hard to swallow.

I could say that I'm brussel sprouts, because nobody wants me and I'll probably just be sneakily hidden under the mashed potatoes.

How about this: I'm toast, but toast that's been on too low of a setting, so I'm disappointingly soft when people want me to be crunchy. Also because I'm really tasty with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled over me.

Tsk. Who am I kidding? All this debate, when I really know exactly what I am. I'm cheese!

Comments:
You ARE cheese. You are God's feet.
 
I laughed from the first sentence all the way to the end. That was great.
 
Rough day at work?
 
I'm an apple staring angrily at an orange wondering what it has that I don't. Stupid orange.
 
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