Trap

Carl here.

I guess it all started with the dream. In it I was sleeping covered by a huge, steaming pancake, instead of a blanket. Naturally, I woke with a craving for flapjacks. No one was around to fulfill my culinary needs, so I thought I’d do it myself. How hard could it be?

I set about collecting the likely ingredients: sardines, olives, brown sugar, and a chocolate cake mix. I dumped everything into a pan, but I needed something to use for blending. That’s when things turned against me in the form of a booby-trap.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before famous author, Robert Hansen came home and untangled me. He apologized for the “inadvertent snare” (his words). I forgave him and asked him to join me for pancakes.

I’m not sure why he declined.  

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Fashion

Carl could never be called “a slave to fashion,” but he did quite like the hat he found in the kitchen.

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Ode to the Peeps

Two.

One.

One half.

They were all gone. All the Peeps had disappeared. Carl’s profound sadness compelled him to write, Ode to the Peeps:

Oh Peeps, my peeps, where have you gone?

Oh Peeps, my Peeps, I write you this song

Of mourn

Some claim you’re hidden far, far away

Come Easter you’ll return, that’s what they say

Of lesser forlorn

Until then I’ll wait, and try not to cry

Hope is a light, not a finale bye-bye

Of a lamb newborn

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Peeps Counting Ability

There are a couple of things at which peeps aren’t skilled. One of them is counting. Despite that, the squishy little fellows sensed that their numbers were decreasing. As one would expect, panic ensued.

This leads us to the second peep deficiency—the ability to make good hiding decisions, as you will see from the following photos.

Perching on the toaster worked well until a nearby movement scared them and the dove inside the slots.

The next smoothie seemed a bit sweeter than usual.

Pretending to be candle flames was quite ingenious. But, when we had a nighttime power outage…. Well, I suppose you can guess.

One peep had a unique approach—blending in with his environment—supposedly.

All in all, the peep population continued to decrease. The cause? Still to be determined.

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Peeps and Poor Counting Ability

There are a couple of things at which peeps aren’t skilled. One of them is counting. Despite that, the squishy little fellows sensed that their numbers were decreasing. As one would expect, panic ensued.

This leads us to the second peep deficiency—the ability to make good hiding decisions, as you will see from the following photos.Image

Perching on the toaster worked well until a nearby movement scared them and the dove inside the slots.Image

The next smoothie seemed a bit sweeter than usual.Image

Pretending to be candle flames was quite ingenious. But, when we had a nighttime power outage…. Well, I suppose you can guess.Image

One peep had a unique approach—blending in with his environment.

All in all, the peep population continued to decrease. The cause? Still to be determined.

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Peeps to the Rescue

At first Carl didn’t know all the advantages of being famous and having an entourage. This became clearer a few days ago. Carl and his friend, Pip, were minding their own business when they were attacked by Carl’s arch-enemy, Snarl. When help was needed, the peeps were quick to the rescue.

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Peeps

Carl has become so popular while promoting my book, The Five Names, that he now has peeps. This first photograph shows Carl, and his peeps, as my Corgi dramatizes a portion of my book through the perspective of Inkie, the main character. (The theater-in-the-round seemed to be the appropriate seating arrangement.)

Carl confessed to me that he’s not entirely certain what peeps are supposed to do, but he assumed that becoming familiar with great literature is on the mandatory list.

I believe the peeps are somewhat in the dark as well, based on the second photo. These yellow ones were in the process or bring Carl a spoon in case he wanted butterscotch pudding. Their efforts were misguided since Carl only eats vanilla pudding.

 

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Rock Music

 

Carl is obsessed. He works day and night on the musical score for the movie version of my novel, The Five Names. All the while he maintains his happy-go-lucky smile. How does he do it? “Pace yourself,” I told him.

He responded with a brief pause and a far-away look. “This is far bigger than I anticipated. It’s developing into a musical, a rock musical.”

“I never thought of Inkie being into rock.”

“Have you forgotten what you wrote?”

“It’s been known to happen. But I’ve worked the manuscript over so many times that it’s hard to imagine I wouldn’t recall….”

“I offer my rendition of the prime example of a rock song.” Carl barked out a drum beat, and then mimicked a guitar. Then he howled out the words:

Rock in the bucket,

Rock in the bucket,

I must get them all,

Big ones, small one,

Carry them over,

Put them on the wall.

I was astonished. “A real rock song, a song about rocks. Carl, you have one-upped me. But that hardly justifies the movie being turned into a musical.”

“You say that because you have forgotten the secret, hidden-in-the-lyrics code. First of all, the song is recorded on page nine of the novel. Now, if we take that number and divide it by the twenty-five words in the song and multiply that product by the twenty-fifth ascending prime number subsequent to the number three. Then divide that by the circumference of the moon, Titan, we soon see that there are exactly seventeen songs hidden in the novel—thus the need of the musical format. You’re with me, aren’t you?”

There are times in a person’s life when diversion is the best strategy. “Carl, how would you like a premium doggy biscuit?”

 

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The Score

 “Carl, what are you doing?”

“The score.”

“March madness? The final four?”

Carl looked at me peculiarly.

“I didn’t know you followed basketball.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you listening for the score on the radio?”

“I’m working on the score.”

“There isn’t a lot you can do about that. It’s pretty much up to the players?”

Carl scrunched up his face. “Do you mean the musicians?”

I was totally baffled. “Carl, are you talking about the pep band?”

“What?”

“What?”

I took us sometime to unravel the situation. As it turns out, Carl was working on the musical score for the movie version of The Five Names. I momentarily thought Carl had sold the cinematic rights for my fine novel. But he said he just didn’t want to leave things to the past minute.

The good news, then, is that these rights are still available, should any of you wish to invest in this excellent opportunity.

 

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Whisk

 

“But there’s a real need for cooks.”

“Carl.”

“It’s only food for two hundred.” My Corgi whined. “I know I can do it.”

“I’m sorry, but I think it’s a disaster in the making.”

“What if I prove I’m able? Would you let me then? Huh, would you? Pleeeese?”

I have a hard time resisting Carl’s groveling, especially when he smiles in his special way.

“For you I will cook my rendition of spaghetti called, ‘Pasta Strings with Catsup a la Carl.’ You’ll love it.”

“As long as you don’t use real cats.”

Carl’s ears drooped. “I suppose I can alter the recipe.”

I left the kitchen to my Corgi and the house teamed with cooking-noises. But moments later, the activity seemed to drop off. A whimpering cry came from the kitchen. “Help. Help me please.”

I found him in the undignified situation shown below. Apparently Carl had lost an epic struggle with a whisk.

I released him and have never used the incident for an, “I told you so.”

 

 

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