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Chapter Deep Sink

When I begin writing today.
I write, with a little joy in my heart because my spouse is not a great sink stacker!

     My friendly spouse was born daughter of a black pitch and tar roofer. Expurgated from her mother in the dead of winter just one day shy of Elvis' birthday. But having all of that pedigree behind her.  Still lacks the understanding that the ' Deep Sink ' we put in our lovely Texas home is not a Nuclear Ebola Storage Facility.

     If a ' NESF ' was in use today. It would most assuredly, be regulated by the EPA.

The Islamo-Techno Terrorists or ' ITT, ' BTW, not be confused with the most outstanding educational institution this side of the 2008 financial collapse, would love to get their grimy little hands on my wonderful spouse.

And Ala, 'Tony Stark' makes the outstanding school teacher, stack pots and pans in a make shift deep sink, deep in some  dark and dank cave this side of Kabul. Of course, located in some 'STAN' country. Then force her by ' dinner fork ' to  make her recreate this most famous pots and pans smart weapon.

I myself should be up for a "SIR" after defusing said, 'NESF today.

With all the aplomb and nicety of a English gentleman. I usually just start yelling about the sink and how absolutely horrid my hands start to smell. BTW, I went 'all Mr. Spock on that mess' like the Wrath of Khan where he, Spock was not concerned about the sci-fi radiation.

Oh the joys of marriage. No one told me that having a relationship meant doing and saying things I could have never dreamed up. And that is saying something since I have a great imagination.

 If I could say so myself. Well anyway the mess was cleaned up and the EPA was warned. No harm no foul. Until tomorrow of course. When the recipe for patented Spaghetti dish and that takes at least twenty dishes to complete and serve to our happy little family.

-Atrocity Out.   DISHDATE 12.6.2011


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Never trust Mr Atrocity! Art you can trust him.
Two brothers just lying around-- which one is telling the truth???

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I was asked in a interview one day...What is my process? This was very unexpected for me and needless to say I had nothing to say. I ended up stating,"...a pencil and white sheet of paper."

 The young interviewer stated, " Mr Atrocity, that's not a process." I stated, "...yeah well there you go." He said "Mr Atrocity," like I was twelve and I had just given him a very disappointing answer. I could almost hear him nodding through the smart phone with bone cracking displeasure.

That was the end of the interview. 
It became a Praxis moment....a paradigm shifting question for my mind and soul.

What is my process? 
Why did that question make my mind go blank? Why in the hell did that question above all others cause to me to short circuit?

I asked other people about it and they gave my glowing answers on what I should have said.
Then …