The Itchy Midget

It wasn't so long ago that I was in love with a beautiful girl. I went on lavish vacations and had friends in every corner in every town. I was a laughing, smiling life champion humanoid. Now, though. Now I was watching an itchy midget ask for bacon. I knew the midget was itchy because she kept scratching her stomach. She was on her tippy toes, peering at the breakfast meats. "Bacon!," she decided.

I frowned, a little. The itchy midget was a bit overweight. She weighed at least 55. I wanted to yell "Oatmeal! Oranges!" to her, but I was bashful. Her ears were much lower than my mouth. I would have been too late anyway. Plus she was just so itchy. She was, by far, the most itchy midget I had every encountered. Perhaps a sneakster dwarf put some peppers and powders in her sweater.

I couldn't help to think about my life as the midget happily and itchily trotted off. My life was like the midget. Right now I am very itchy. Now where is my bacon?


Stephen said...

Thats what I'm talking about Mikey, I need your blog when I'm working. Know that I wont scratch your back but I'll help you find someone who will.

Bubeau said...

Bring me my bacon!

Derek Day said...

Conti, this is great. It's the way I see stuff, but penned better than I could! Check out some of my Love Poems if you want. I may have some other material buried in the site as I recall.

ThisJane said...

i have no idea what you're trying to say.