Ode to a pig in a Blanket

Part I.
Innocent piggies

Little piggies, little piggies, here I come...!
Wait for me, piggies, there's no need to run–
for good care I'll take of you, soon you shall see,
oh! How nice and warm you'll be in my belly!
But if you want to stay there, I'm afraid it can't be so:
although you may not want to, there are places you must go.
You'll help me build muscles, and keep my reflexes snappy–
but most importantly, piggies, you'll make me very happy!



Part II.
In the oven


Now all you little piggies should bundle up quite snug;
roll inside your blankets and give yourselves a hug.
Stay there on the tray; you must be tired, go to sleep!
Mom will put you in the oven and then turn up the heat,
but what started out as toasty now begins to burn!
"Help! Let us out! This will be our urn!"
Scream and twist, little piggies, there's no way to get out!
Go ahead and try, but you can't even move about
for what started as a blanket soon began to swell
and now confines your movement in this scorching prison cell.
Roll about, you can't get up, here you'll meet your end!

You know what I said before was merely all pretend.
I told you you'd be happy, I said: "How nice and warm!"
except instead of feeling nice you're seeming quite forlorn.
Could it be you've finished baking? Has the oven done its job?
Then come out, little piggies, there's no more need to sob!
Your blankets now are golden, your bodies limp and soft;
my hand reaches towards you, it lifts you up, aloft.
I gnash you, I mash you, with juice I wash you down,

You're delicious, little piggies! You have the best blankets in town!


My mom made pigs in a blanket today. They were dee-licious. Also, this was surprisingly FUN to write, even though it turned out wonky.

Projectile vomit

Just now I got up from my desk to put on some pants and felt something odd inside me, something warm rising fast from my stomach to my throat...

You know how sometimes when you eat too much, you throw up a little in your mouth? It's always totally unexpected, so you're stuck with a mouthful of vomit until you can go and spit it out (that isn't just me that gets that, right?). That's what happened to me just now.

Except instead of just sitting patiently in my mouth, my puke shot out of it. Luckily I have awesome reflexes and my hands, thinking for themselves, rushed to catch whatever it was that was trying to escape from me, without knowing what it was.

And so I was left standing in my room with two handfuls of vomit.

I guess it was OK, because on the floor in front of me was a Calculus book that belongs to my sister and not a drop fell on it. Which leaves me wondering why I'm so bad at sports. I mean, I've just proved that my hand-eye coordination is perfect.