Weekend Peninsula Walk
As we walked down the peninsula, plumb full of excitement at being on a real live peninsula, Stephanie couldn’t help but proclaim, “I clod howitzers enormously!”
I nodded in agreement, and fired off a quick agreement shot into the air from my portable howitzer. The bullet’s ascendancy into the heavens edifies the way we belonged to the peninsula’s soil and respected its boundaries, while still being completely blunt about its worsening appearance and writings over the years.
I mean, let’s be honest here. The peninsula’s old writings were perfectly frosted condiments of tasty birthday cakes, but its latest output was like a retentive paper skeleton of citric acid. We both spit it out with much skepticism and vinegar before it could pollute our minds and our bloodstream with its fluffy impure lipids of doom.
And so when I fired my howitzer into the sky, I was making a sly — yet still unabashed — comment on the diseased nature of the peninsula’s writing. Its appearance was a whole other issue, and I don’t have time to give you a neatly itemized list of its latest deficiencies and disintegrating features, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Although the Nurelgic borough is still holding up pretty well, the rest of the peninsula has weakened to the point that it’s devolving into some kind of fake airbrushed imitation of what a real peninsula looks like. You can blame it on global warming or on small potatoes in the water supply, but you can’t deny that it’s happening.
And yet, even with all this, Stephanie and I were still thrilled beyond belief to be actually walking on a real peninsula. Even the least edible writing output from it couldn’t dampen our spirits.
And that’s how I spent my Sunday.