Return Of My Placenta (ROMP)™

She had always dreamed as an only child, even as she always dreamt at night then and always after that too, of having her own large family some day. I’m talking about that single mom of six who decided she ought to consider six to be small. She thinks large means LARGE, and adding one could actually be better if Eight Is Enough. Not her fault that it became additive, and adding two would have made it Eight, but she decided to be like Fibonacci and involve the total with the addition process. It’s only natural, like branches on a tree. So she got the 8, but they did not include the original six. Almost like having one’s cake, and then eating some of it twice, which sounds just a bit disquieting, even if you don’t ask me.

Her total of 8 at once combines subsequently with the original six-pack of urchins (not of washboards, abs), giving an unusual type of six-8 combo order (perhaps it is value meal #5), which comes suddenly and forthwith to the grand value of fourteen, as in fortnight, but without any night. She makes her own light, Awesomely. This is the consequence of subsequently being unconscious of one’s underdevelopment, or over-that, even. Life has one purpose, evidently: maintain our childhoods as long as possible. Become a goodhearted moron. Be good at big-kid-hood.

This would mean she could have the come-true dream and grow up to become the little girl she wanted to be, when she grows up finally, like now, man. That is to say, if I were to think that way, I would want Marilyn Monroe to come over wearing a mink coat, and after talking to my parents, she’d come to my room and after entering, she’d close the door, and play with my Little-Boy-Self (LBS)™. My own current lbs. value is quite low, actually, but then it was below 100, I am certain. Now, it is surely above 100, as is my Intelligent Quotation (IQ)™ surely more than that Hundredweight Of Braininess (HOB)™ formerly nailed inside my crown-coffin.

My Head Is Nearly Dead (M’HIND)™ now, spread along the road of broken sympathy ribs. Nobody asked my permission to get rid of my first best friend forever, which was my womb-mate, my good old huggie-love, that friendly placenta I once spent weeks on end, just wrestling and romping, inside of course, where Mother felt I should just sit there doing nothing for almost 40 weeks — more or less, knowing me is more likely more — and I want my Inseparable Placenta (IP)™ given back to me, by whomever it was taking the thing away in the first place, which was Dodge City.

If the perpetrators of this larcenous crime (Sinister Theft Of My Placenta — STOMP™) I may have to come out there and find you. And after that I want those responsible for my TIP as well. I shall TIP them back, when I find them. It is like where Samson tied those foxes together in pairs, with firebrands betwixt ’em, just to attack his enemies without attacking them, so they would seek revenge on his wife for him.

That sounded sort of mean, Samson. How’d you ever get such a crazy idea, anyway? Burning down the fields, just because you’re pissed? What the HELL, SAMSON?

Okay, I got carried away there. Sorry. Please, carry me away, will you? 😀
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About Galen

Nearly over some hills, still a fool on whatever this thing is where I stand
This entry was posted in FaceBook, Friendship, Generation, Love, Musings, Rants, Spirituality, Wordplay. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Return Of My Placenta (ROMP)™

  1. Galen says:

    sounds like another bible rant to me, snicker

  2. tearsofmine says:

    14….i cannot imagine. 4 is pretty tough.

  3. Galen says:

    You are my only remaining contact (outside of my age group or family) on this wonderful web of true friends — which you and I have lost nearly all of that fine fellowship with them, the beautiful people — who would say it so succinctly. You aren’t even interested in complaining about how tough it is. You just say it. I need to learn to say less. Eventually, I’ll be saying nothing at all. My one hope is that you (and your loved ones) do not lose faith in anything, ‘specially not because of me. So, this (my blog) will be the last place I’ll stop showing up. And you (and your loved ones) are the only ones that I *promise* I will not stop praying for. The other strangers that I’ve met (and this is not easy to say) are on their own now.

    Like our brother Paul did with the unfaithful, I have turned them all over to Satan, that he may teach them not to blaspheme their way into heaven. I go alone (mostly) now.

    Thanks, L. You are the only one in the L-category now. The others (whom I am not bound to, in this life) are mere copies, and very defective and unaware of it. You, unaware of your excellence, have them all beat by a mile. You’re taking care of business, every day. All the way, come what may. Yay for my L! Even if she’s not overjoyed most of the time. She’s tired, and for good reasons. At least four (4) of them, and growing, as concerns. Definitely. You are. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ (and more)

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