Naked Writing

Afternoon Snack

It looked like a slug. The dollop of hummus that fell onto her keyboard while she ate lunch and read the paper online.

It made her jump.

It made her wonder where the slug could have come come from. Did a mama slug get lost on its way to Rancho Cucamonga or perhaps Des Moines? Little slug eggs strayed on their way to birth—Found in a bathtub, then squirted onto this laptop.

(What could lay these eggs?) Had this slug been incubating for months, waiting for just the right moment to surface and scare a poor, hungover girl while she avoided doing work? She stared at the hummus. Took her finger, wiped the dollop off the spacebar and ate it.

AKR

Charlie the Perv

I saw a disgruntled banana rowing with one broken oar in Prospect Park the other day. He turned and turned in circles as the geese and ducks swam to the edge of the lake to pick up bread crumbs. He cursed out loud in a strange berry vernacular. Shit became strawberries. Fuck figs. Assholes apples.

“I hate this strawberrybag apple figging up my boat ride!” he yelled into the clouds as he threw the damaged oar overboard.

I contemplated helping the banana (whom I renamed Charlie in my head), but was having too much fun watching him flail about. Charlie attempted to use his left leg to supplement the lost oar. His awkwardness resembled a video still from some kind of softcore porno created for sailing fetishists.

Only then did I notice that Charlie wasn’t wearing any pants.

“Do bananas wear pants?” I wondered to myself. “Or is this just some perv in a banana suit?”

AKR

Postcard #4

Dear J,

I don’t want to see your balls. Or any of your genitalia whatsoever. I’m not sure what’s wrong with the country these days—the need for wanting to look at a grown man’s genitalia and whatnot. Back in my day, we only looked at drawings of genitalia, and usually, only women. Or at least, that’s what I’d like you to think.

Sincerely yours,

AKR

P.S. Are they photoshopped?