Thursday, September 15, 2011

Day 345: Babbling Brook

My new writer friend and fellow old soul, Andrew Morrisey, graciously agreed to co-post with me in this, my final stretch on the blog. He is smart, witty, and a talented modern day Kerouac. I couldn't be happier that he shared some of his magic with me. The result of our efforts is a cat and mouse post (inspired by this video) and is as spontaneously written as they come. Each of us writing as a character, one line at a time. Why? Because some guys like to keep gals on their toes.


Guy: Oh Girl, girls make boys lead even their own blog entries.

Gal: And boys are particularly good at false leads.

Guy:
Girls think they’re butterflies all sprinkled with cinnamon.

Gal:
And boys are just caterpillars trying to hitch a ride.

Guy:
No I’m not. Daddy issues and lip gloss and glittered up coodies.

Gal:
I think you mean cooties -with a “t”. Hey, know what else has a “t” in it? The word ‘dirty’. Like your hair. And your mind. Boys don’t know clean if it hit them upside the head.

Guy:
Where boys come from cooties are other things, girls have those too… (ahem). But come on, boys got sweat and guts and boogers to wipe.


Gal:
They sure do. Girls don’t sweat. We glisten. And we don’t touch guts, we just use them. We’re smarter. We’re softer. And we smell like cotton candy. Don’t you like cotton candy? The pink kind?

Guy:
Oh now Miss Gal what am I gonna do with you?--I like candy with legs!, and bright eyes!, maybe a soul to search.

Gal:
I figured you like that type of candy. I do too, but it’s sure hard to find the blue variety that doesn't leave you, well, blue.


Guy:
Blue can make pink blue but not rainbows. Rainbows are like butterflies sprinkled with cinnamon.


Gal:
Hey, you ever mixed up cinnamon with paprika? I have. They look the same, so they’re easy to confuse. But they can sure change your butterfly wings a nasty colour when you pick the wrong one by accident.

Guy:
Mixed it up once. Twice. Yeah, yeah, three times--Shall we mix it up?


Gal:
Quite honestly, I have a hard time believing we’ll have anything in common. But... well...sure. You seem to be a dark shade of blue that has seen brighter days. And maybe I understand that a little.

Guy:
Uh huh.


Gal:
Can I tell you a secret, Blue? Lean in closer, so nobody can hear. Alright, here it is: I may like pink cotton candy and such, but sparkles and glitter don’t suit me none.

Guy:
Now you’re talkin’ --dudes dig whispers. And glitterless gals.

Gal:
Do they now? What else do they dig?

Guy:
Boys dig holes to climb out and stars and eyes and starry eyes waiting. Can a gal dig?

Gal:
A gal can dig. Sure. A real gal can, anyway. She can dig holes with her bare hands. She don’t mind getting her nails dirty. All depending on what she’s digging for, I guess.

Guy:
Hey hey, hey Girl--show me all about what the world ya diggin fer.

Gal:
Oh, I’m always digging for something. Peace of mind most days. But I reckon I’ll dig all the way to China before I dig that up. You got peace of mind, Blue?

Guy: Check that, Gal.

Gal:
Got a piece of it you want to offer to a gal like me?

Guy: Heck that, Gal, comes long long ways from born to dead. Lean real close though, I heard this thang once: Nobody really knows anything ‘bout everybody.

Gal:
Clever.

Guy: Classy.

Gal:
Surprising.

Guy: Unwinding.

Gal:
Stimulating.

Guy: Ca-raaaaazy.

Gal:
Rascally.

Guy: Coupons.

Gal:
Trophies.

Guy: Ca-raaaaazy.

Gal:
Crazy.

Guy: Yeah we are--But with a bow, and tip of the cap, Miss Gal.

Gal:
And maybe a curtsy too, Blue. We gals like to curtsy.



*Follow Andrew Morrisey on Twitter and check out his site FTW.

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