A peek at the REAL Thumbster

Peace and Love

What's new in Thumbland you ask? Well let's see. Since we last talked...

I bought some cheese.

I've been getting Writing.com emails warning me my mailbox is almost full. It's true, I am a terrible packrat. I admit I have ooddles of emails, some from as far back as 2002, but I can't bring myself to delete them though. (They're still kinda special) I've been going through my sent box and deleting them instead. The trouble is, I find myself reading those emails I wrote before I delete them and that's taking time.

I made a cheese sandwich.

I hope whenever I get one of the "warning emails" it isn't actually a real email that couldn't get through. I've deleted quite a few emails recently and I have gotten new mail since returning from my trip, but everyday I get more warning messages. Why send me multiple "your inbox is almost full" warnings a day? Day after day?

I ate my cheese sandwich.

I don't think I could be a pirate. It's not because I haven't a clue how somebody actually goes about becoming a pirate. (When was the last time you saw piracy offered as a college course?) And it's not because I couldn't learn the pirate lingo. I think with some practice I could be "Argh"ing and "Shiver me timbers"ing with the best of them. No. It's because of the damn parrot. I don't think I could get used to having a parrot stuck on my shoulder. For a few minutes...no problem, but not stuck there all the time. I'm not a big bird fan. Can parrots be potty trained? I can just picture all the other pirates snickering and pointing at the parrot shit down my back. Stupid parrot.

I miss my cheese sandwich.

I noticed a telethon for nameless children recently. Apparently millions of children around the world are nameless simply because their parents are either too stupid, too lazy, too uncaring or too poor to name them. Stupid, heartless bastards...but then it got me thinking. Is that very different than all my illegitimate, nameless kids? Where I come from, unwanted babies are seldom named...well not by us. They're left on the side of the road next to a Free Baby sign. Tourists and gypsies usually pick them up. I assume the tourists and gypsies give them names...but the babies that don't get picked up, (they're usually the ugly ones), grow up unnamed and left to fend for themselves. Some years there are few tourists and gypsies around, so that makes for many unnamed and unwanted children fending for themselves. I'm thinking I could name a couple of my unnamed and unwanted illegitmate kids...seeing as it's almost Christmas...the season of goodwill and all. I'm thinking I'll call one of the boys "Partly" and one of the girls "Partially". Partly Thompson and Partially Thompson. How's that sound?

There will never be another cheese sandwich quite like that cheese sandwich.

My last name isn't Thompson btw. I'm hoping that will confuse them incase they ever try to find out where I live. (I don't want to get all buddy buddy with them just because they've now got names. That wouldn't be fair to all my other illegitimate kids I can't be bother to think up names for, now would it?)

Know any good missing you terribly cheese sandwich poems?

I'll be back another time with a less silly and less heartless entry. Till then take care Thumblings.








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