The Bread of death

The air holds crispness, the temperature just right and peace rises on the planet as the sun dispels the night. My wife emerges to this lovely scene, as birds dance around her as an aura in a dream. How cold one be unaffected by such a wondrous sight, as little winged beauties encircle her in flight.
With her pinky turned out, her nose turned up and a smile upon her face, she pulls off little bits of bread and tosses them into space. The meal welcomed, the love received, the little wisps, dive toward the meal with speed, and grabbing hurriedly they take back to flight, for the meal must wait, until they alight. Alight they do and feed they try, but that whole wheat bread is just too dry.
Okay sorry that kind of snuck in there. I swear I saw her try to feed whole wheat bread to some birds the other day; they won’t or possibly can’t, eat it. Have you ever had a whole wheat biscuit, I’d rather eat goat eyeballs and grits? My wife and most of her friends only eat whole wheat; I’m not talking about honey wheat, raisin bread or one of the other crossbreeds which can actually be swallowed, but the stuff used during the Spanish inquisition to torture people. The stuff that little Dutch boy poked into the damn with his pudgy little finger. The stuff several tire companies experimented with, as tire recap material, but gave up on as it was too dangerous to be used on the highways. The highway department has its limits, imagine a piece of it, the size of a semi truck tire, flipping through the air toward your windshield. Bread used around the world by religious zealots who practice self flagellation. Chant, slap yourself on the back with a whip, embedded with little shards of glass and eat a bite of whole wheat bread, whew, that’s a tough life. Maybe it’s the only bread approved by cults around the world, this bread is approved by the international association of whacko’s, its right on the label. You may not dance, drink, let your hair down, show your ankles or face, but you can eat bread as long as you don’t enjoy it.
After a minute or two the birds figure out, what remotely looks like bread, is actually a primitive weapon resembling a boomerang which won’t come back. If some unlucky little fella gets hit in the head with a piece, about the size of a quarter, he’s done, death by whole wheat bread. Was this stuff invented to punish unruly children or to feed to wives to keep them in line during medieval times?
Many theories exist, but my thoughts are, it was invented during prehistoric times as a weapon. The cavemen had clubs, then spears and fire, but they didn’t really get kicked off until they invented whole wheat. This discovery marked the beginning of the dinosaur’s decline. A whack upside the head of a forty foot pterodactyl, with a loaf of unsliced wheat bread and you had dinner for a month. A single slice thrown like a Frisbee and you could attain the kind of accuracy, rifling added to the gun. It was eventually replaced by the boomerang as at least they would come back. What chance did poor old dinosaurs have against men with such advanced weaponry? Talk about weapons of mass destruction. What do they call petrified 64 million year old bread, whole wheat?
Alright you get the point, I don’t like brown bread, I keep hearing that it’s better for us, but I’ve already given up smoking, cursing and drinking, that should be enough. I can only hope it’s not a requirement to eat a piece of wheat bread without a two liter Coke, to enter the pearly gates, if it is, that would explain why people in Hades want ice water, they’re doomed to eternity trying to swallow a piece of bread.
Now let’s try to get serous for a moment. I was at the Fall Line Festival yesterday and as usual had a great time. I was told by a large number of people that the fireworks display from Friday night was the best ever and that the Gordon Better Home Town will have a hard time topping it next year. The music seems to get better each year, great job by all concerned. I was visited by many friends, family and readers, I don’t know if I’ll make it next year, as I have plans to travel outside the country, if I don’t, I’ll miss it. As to the implication I’m living under a bridge in Milledgeville writing these stories, instead of traveling, that was the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time, thanks I needed the laugh.