Episode 83

Reflections from the life and times of Mr. Smith. Trapped. Like a rat in a cage. Like a cat in a corner. Like an alligator out of water...in a garbage dump... on the outskirts of town...underneath a volcano about to erupt...at the foot of a floating city on Bespin. So there I was. Trapped. There was a certain level of de-ja-vu to the situation. Sort of like I was trapped, like a pickle in a pickle jar, full of jalapeno salsa. Trapped. Like a lyric in a rap song... on a Saturday night. So anyway, if you hadn’t gotten the point, I’m trapped in a coffin. Sealed like an elephant in a bar. Like a bear in a car. Like a pizza in the tsar of Russia. So anyway, I was sealed in this coffin. My mind was going in circles. Circles were going in my mind. Slowly, the circles turned into chocolate chip cookies. I ate them, and was nourished. My mind wandered. It crawled through my mind’s eye. It roamed down to my toes. The smell made it retreat back into my head. My prospects were grim. It was looking rather dim. Not to mention it was pitch dark in the coffin. Dark as a gorilla with its eyes gouged out. Dark as my thoughts in this little tomb. Then I paused and reflected on life, and pondered my situation within. Then I paused and reflected on death. I prefer life. But I was still trapped. Like a gnat in a mosquito net. Then I paused and reflected on mosquito nets, and realized, gnats are smaller than mosquitoes. Therefore, they can escape from mosquito nets. And that solved my dilemma. I got a running start and flung myself to the bottom of the coffin. I felt myself falling...falling...and when I landed, I was no longer trapped. The coffin shattered on the hardwood floor.
    Thus ends this week’s reflection, and then my mirror image disappeared.

Episode 82

Reflections from the life and times of Mr. Smith. It is a new year. It is a new day. Every single day. Every day is not a new year every single day. If it was, I would be very, very old. It is time for a new year’s resolution. Or is it a new year’s revolution? Perhaps, it will even be a new year’s revival. Or a new year’s reveal. Or a new year’s pizza. Whatever the case, the new year shall be reasonable, I hope. For my new year’s resolution, I resolve to resolve to go to the renaissance fair. For my new year’s revival, I will be sure to write 2011 a lot. Kind of like 2011.....2011.....2011....Not like, 2577. But, 2011. For the new year’s reveal, I shall reveal a new clothing line...a Mr. Smith clothing line that shall be very big in Hollywood...a clothing line that is gonna make me famous! For the new year’s pizza, I resolve to eat it with all the toppings, even anchovies and catnip. And pickled participles (or should I say particles?) of peanut brittle. Anyway, the new year shall be reasonable. I’m sure it will be a fair year despite being an odd number. It shall be an interesting year despite my boring life. It will be yet another year that probably will not bring me a wife. This also may be a very short year for me, seeing as I am still in a coffin.
    Thus ends this week’s reflection, and then my mirror image disappeared.

Episode 81

Reflections from the life and times of Mr. Smith. This morning when I woke up, my first thought was going back to sleep. In fact, I thought I still was asleep. For the room was dark. Very dark. Very, very dark. Very, very, very dark. Very, very, very, very dark! I tried to roll out of bed, and met resistance. If you say that like a French person, that sounds pretty awesome. Re-si-STONCE. Anyway. I met resistance when I rolled to my right, and when I rolled to my left. It was as if I were being boxed in. I sat up, and I hit my head. I was boxed in... I was IN a box. The inside was padded, as if someone had stapled a comforter to the inside. It was a coffin. Or so I feared. Suddenly I felt compelled to compose a dirge. Compelled to lament for the dead. I started thinking of all those who had passed before. Aunt Bertha. Uncle Eddie. Grandma Bartholomew. And of course, dear old mum. I had a strange feeling I was going to see them soon. Dun...Dun...DUN.  I decided to write a poem. And this is how it goes:

They all passed away
(Echo: away, away, away!)
They were no more
(Echo: more, more, more!)
I will soon be joining them
(Echo: them, them, them!)
I am sad.
(Echo: mad, mad, mad!)

Then I paused and reflected on mournful poems. And realized, I am a horrible poet. And I know it. Suddenly I had an incredible urge for Starbucks. That's kind of in like, Star Wars, where they have credits, but this is Star Trek, where they have star bucks. With this mournful thought, I sat alone. In the gloom. In my tomb.
    Thus ends this week’s reflections. And then my mirror image disappeared.