Saturday, November 25, 2006
The Short, Brutal Life of a Parade Balloon
Then you turn the corner, just out of the sight of the adoring crowds, and suddenly you're getting the air knocked of you. You're being punched, kicked, pummeled. Your nose falls flush against the pavement and your nether end hangs indecorously in the air. You feel your spine being squeezed out of you , your legs stomped flat as pancakes. You collapse.
Yet the assault continues, without mercy, until you're nothing more than a bundle of brightly colored rag, stuffed into a bag and put up on a dark shelf, to spend all the seasons of the coming year consumed in angst, worrying whether some freshborn cartoon will steal your place in next November's resurrection.
(Click on time for permalink) 8:21 PM