Pro diet tip: Your pants won’t get too tight if you aren’t wearing any.

Looking out into the back yard, he watched the dogs run back and forth; the younger of the three barking wildly at the dogs on the other side of fence. Tom took a sip of his now luke-warm coffee.

Shaking his head, “Damn – waited to long. Now I gotta go nuke it again.”

A minute later he returned to his seat where he continued struggling to write something — anything meaningful. With a heavy sigh Tom gazed at the photo on his device, realizing that the writing prompt wasn’t doing very much for him.

“But then, they rarely do,” he mumbled.

The sound told him more than he wanted to know. Kitten was feeding them once more, but he had to ask: “Are you taking pity on those damned strays again?”

His voice was ripe with frustration, so Kitten ignored his query. Instead she reached into their kitchen’s junk drawer and picking out two batteries, she walked to the back door.

Opening it and without a word, she handed the obviously outdated robot the batteries. It beeped, moving away as Kitten quietly closed the door.

“Yes,” she finally responded.

“I ought to call the Recyclers.”

“Then what?” the Sex Kitten 2030 beeped.

At first I thought I was hearing things; a flute in a copse of trees. Then I thought I was seeing things; a woman wrapped in furs playing that flute.

Behind her — wild animal’s – each under her flouting influence. It took everything in me not to fall in line and follow.

Then I saw the half-man, half-goat, carrying an iron skillet, bleeding and stumbling as if dazed.  It was then I realized that the woman, whomever she was, had kicked Pan’s ass, duncing him in the head with the frying pan, before stealing his flute.

“Perhaps they’re married,” I smiled.

Sometimes I feel like the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s ark — and it’s raining.

As a writer and all that entails, never limit what you write about.

waxing words poetic
brushing colored water
floundering in the middle

Time is the greatest antagonist of any life.

A wedding ring is like a tiny handcuff — so chose your cellmate wisely.