Assorted Letters

With Christmas coming up, I thought I should write something festive. So today I’ll be showing you how to make roast potatoes, an integral part of Christmas dinner. There are many ways to roast potatoes. I’ve given a few options below: Pomme de terre? More like pomme de terrible. No one’s ever said “you look like a potato” as a compliment. At least my gas doesn’t literally kill people . When you describe someone as hot, it’s usually a good thing. But nobody wants a hot potato. You can’t spell potato without “poo”. They say that “eyes are the windows to the soul”. I’d say that’s accurate considering your eyes are poisonous and should be avoided. Yukon Gold? More like you can go away. I’m not saying you have a terrible personality, but we literally had to find another species before we could describe potatoes as “sweet”. I hope I’ve helped make your Christmas dinner a success. Let me know how you found the recipe.

With each dip of my beak, the water ripples outwards, circles stretching out into infinity. I pause for a moment to appreciate my gift for words before launching into my next insightful comment. The butterfly effect says the simple act of a butterfly fluttering its wings could cause a tornado on the other side of the world. I wonder what outsized impact creating ripples in the lake could lead to. Maybe world peace or something cool like that. Or maybe someone will take a picture of the ripples and post it on Instagram and pretend to write in the POV of a bird and then copy the Instagram post to their writing blog because they think they’ve written something funny.  

I ponder questions so complex they’re deeper than the river I’m thoughtfully staring into. What is the meaning of life?   Is war ever just?   What should form the basis of my morality?   Why am I being anthropomorphised? I’m a duck. Just feed me or I’ll poop on your boat.   Quack.