Chest Nutt’s Stuff Ing.

I took inventory. I pulled from my pocket three chestnuts barely worth a British pound, in fact roughly 3 quarters its original value, scarcely enough to replace my white bed recently shredded into cubes small enough to fit in a single cup. Only recently did I sell a half a cup of dice cubes made from celery. My other handiwork, a cup made from an onion, only yielded me one quarter. Much to my dismay, my two spoons made from butter began melting away on the table. Then my neighbors started teasing me about the three quarters in my pocket in addition to the spoons, which I considered a verbal assault. Yet black pepper alone could tease me in just 1/8th the effort in reference to the same spoons. Even the spoons themselves still managed to tease me halfway through poultry season.

Then my radio began playing a song by Chest Nutt:

Wash me
Cut me
Bake me
475 degrees
15 minutes of fame
Shell me
Skin me
Boil me in salty water
15 minutes of fame
Drain me
Chop me
To tiny smithereens

As a result I envisioned the bed cubes in 250-degree rotation for 10 minutes. Afterwards I took my celery dice and onion cup to extreme heat to soften their firm intentions only to merge their likeness with the chestnuts.

Then I had visions of the addition of mushy rooms with abundant moisture along with the combined seasonal assault upon the remains of my bed even during poultry season. Everything suddenly seemed to blend together with even patterns of moisture before I suddenly saw the turkey patting its stomach while refusing another bite.

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