Scenes from a remote hut
Mr Burns and Homer were settling into their wooden chairs, the green felt of the seat was a delight and Homer couldnt help but feel thankful for all Mr Burns had afforded him this past hour. Doughy half-spheres, sparkles of beer so fine Marge would lose her hair over it - but did she like beer, he wondered? There was smooth dip (maybe chunks that would burst in your mouth were hidden underneath) and a bowl of more liquid delight. Homer sure felt like a pharaoh and he had the Gerissenheit of a peasant. Lying low in his chair he looked over to Mr Burns, their eyes met, a single teardrop sparkled in Burns eye. He was a terribly sad man, Homer realized. But had he forgotten the marvels that surrounded him? There was bread, waiting to be dipped! And Homer slipped further into his chair, now he could feel the cold hardness of the table on his legs, on his ass. But it was walnut wood and then he understood for the first time that coldness could be wonderful even beyond the pleasures of beer and ice cream, and hardness could be beautiful beyond the sleek touch of a remote. His foot grabbed the spoon to the dip, Mr Burns face showed wonder at the grace and Geschicklichkeit of it. Only seconds later Homer handed him a perfect piece of bread with dip and as Mr Burns began to smile, his lips opened and Homer only wanted one thing.
11.09.2024