You Ever Look At Your Hand?

You ever look at your hand? The closer you look you can kind of see down into the cracks of your skin. Damn. Like, how far do you think those cracks go? It makes me think of those things in the desert where girls always take pictures, those tall sandy rock walls. I can’t help imagining Anikan Skywalker flying through the cracks in my hand in a little racing drone he’s piloting. I wonder if, between the canyon walls in the cracks in my hand, there are little civilizations on the ground that cheer on the racing drones. They probably cheer them on, bet on them, have little villages with carts where they sell apples and skin lamb meat off a rotating spit. And then sometimes the civilians have unrest and uprisings when they’re unhappy with the drone race outcomes. Maybe that’s what bad moods are.

The knuckle on my middle finger is weird. When I make a fist, the bones shift in a weird way. It looks like the roof of a domed stadium closing. Flex fist, the dome closes. Unclench fist, the dome opens. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. Domed stadiums are pretty much the most expensive convertibles you can buy. I wonder if billionaire stadium owners ever clear out their stadiums and put a chair in the middle of the field and pretend they’re driving a huge convertible. Probably not.

I feel like I could be a good palm reader. You just have to be really confident, right? Know a little bit about the subject matter and bullshit. I have a strong respect for people who peddle the occult. Palm readers, fortune tellers, psychics. Master bullshitters. Do you think companies who make chicken patties dye their meat to look even whiter? People really want white meat. I just had a bite of a buffalo chicken sandwich from Arby’s and the meat was shockingly white. People really want white meat, but this is just a blended up chicken patty. It can’t naturally be this white. Keep your eyes peeled to people mixing white dye into pink slime, I think I might be onto something.

What the fuck is a cuticle? It’s like moss that grows up your fingernail. What if the walls of Wrigley Field just had cuticles growing up them instead of ivy? That would be pretty disconcerting for opposing outfielders, but at the same time it would help with the ball visibility. You ever heard of a baseball getting stuck in a cuticle? Didn’t think so. Bitch.

P.S. I added the “bitch” to get to 420 words. I don’t really think any of you are bitches. And now I am over 420 words, but I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Which we are if you are still reading this. The same web page.