Fun for Twenty Bucks
August 17th, 2008- Tim:
- I bet you can't eat that wad of wasabi for $10.
- Me:
- I bet YOU can't for $20.
"I think I know why people cheat."
"Oh?" I looked up from my lunch. "Do tell."
Jimmy cleared his throat. "Okay, here it goes."
If you had to give up one of your senses, which would you give up? Sight, smell, sound, touch, or taste?
I'd give up smell. In a heartbeat.
Farts. Vomit. Rotten eggs. Good riddance!
There were fish guts on my pants. But I didn't mind. Just watching the fishermen slice up those large tuna was worth smelling like one.
It was 6:30am. Kim and I were wandering around the Tsukiji Fish Market. Japanese fishermen rushed about their work without a care for gawking gaijin like us.
Except for that one lady who started screaming at us in Japanese. She sounded angry, though she could have been telling us about a painful bunion on her foot, for all we knew.
I used to wonder: what if watermelons really grew in your belly if you ate watermelon seeds?
I'd have a garden of watermelons in my gut right now. Grapes and oranges and apples too. Cut me open and you'd get a whole fruit salad.
"You done good boy," praised Momma Timmy, filling me with a sense of pride only an impressionable youth would feel when commended by an adult. Those were some great years, those high school years.
Well, no. High school sucked. But at least I could hold my liquor. (Praise the public school system!)
He leaned in close. She could smell his sweat and deodorant.
"Why don't you like me?" he asked.
She closed her eyes. The words were in her head, but she didn't have the heart to let them out.
"It was horrible, my Lord, simply horrible." *
"Explain."
Research Lead Nu'tauk cleared his ebrilleum and shook his vishaft. He turned to the holoscreen and brought up the holovid.
I looked across the table and watched Kathy reading her textbook. Her eyes were locked in a fierce struggle with each and every word. She conquered each one relentlessly and moved across the page swiftly. Then she noticed my gaze and looked up.
"I'm craving Chicken McNuggets," she declared.
"Back in junior high, I dreamt I was an orange," Bonnie said. I regarded her with a tilt of my head and arch of my eyebrow. Then I thought: What is it like to be an orange?