The Eighth Page

Musings with Eli Grober

If it weren’t for Wishbone, I would have no idea what Rumplestiltskin’s back-story is. I enjoy it when my dog licks my face. That is, until I think about the other things he licks. If I were a kind of ice cream, I would be Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. Because my parents often tell me I am overweight, and I can’t always control my bowel movements. Like monkeys. Zoos are the brothels of the animal kingdom. Okay, maybe the prison-themed strip clubs. I miss my pacifier. I found out yesterday that, contrary to its name, Canada Dry is very wet. Very, very wet. Some people think James Joyce was a genius. I think he was just messing with all of us. “Loose cannon,” “powder keg” and “going to get real angry, real soon” are all terms I would use to aptly describe Dennis Kucinich. The harmonica is really hard to play. Did people ever go bowling in Bowler Hats? Because that would totally make sense. It isn’t easy being green. It’s even harder to be minty green. It’s not that hard to be cliché and unfunny. I want to have my mom schedule my play dates again. Life was so simple when other people would plan my daily activities. I feel like an invalid. How High the Moon? I’ll tell you how high, Ella Fitzgerald! 250,000 miles is how high! Some Tibetan monks can sing two tones at once. I’m lucky if I can tie my shoes in the morning. How are these two statements related? I don’t know. I fundamentally disagree with this statement. I once wrote a haiku: The red is so dark The texture unusual Could just be chafing I have a deep fear of heights. I get woozy at the sight of tall people. Sometimes when I go to put on my shoes, I fear that the odor eaters I placed in them last night will mistake my feet for odors. What if we don’t all see the same colors? What if what I think is blue, you see as yellow and all our friends see as green? They’re just words! We’d never know! Mind blowing. I heard that tears are pretty salty, so now every time I’m cooking, I try to think about my recently deceased pet flounder until I break down crying into the bowl just to spice things up. Good things come in small packages. It’s what I always say, anyway. My middle school years were filled with social awkwardness, bad hygiene and too many gushers. My Dark Years, is what I more often refer to them as.