Why Wild Butter Lost Her Face

Malcolm, whom shall herein be called Philanthropuss, lay steadily still on top of the refrigerator, his large eyes surveying the kitchen.


His daughter, Julia, stared back with her glimmering doubtful look.  She was tall where he was wide and thick.


The clan had recently exited for a round of watching the airplanes soar over the post linguistic flames of Brooklyn.


Julia admired Philanthropuss very much for his immobility and serene if unresponsive cat head.


No one blotted out recent severe collisions with family she had tried to notice without phreaking her mind.  Her mind was in phact, freaked.


The momentary silence, is here, is love.


Jamie's Wild Butter slid in the back door with an eager smile and a load of yard tools.


I wield yard tools with a fervor said his face.


Wild Butter was a girl with many appealing features.  Mostly she scrambled eggs in the morning, fed kittens in the afternoon and dreamed of her flowering laughing roses feeding on the remains of ancient felines buried by the fence, which enclosed a makeshift tool shed along with the pleasant hanging fruit of a peach tree and a phig plant.


All day long her long-haired beauteous phamily circled about her, cheering her growth from overalls to clothes Philanthropuss selected for her on the main shopping thoroughfare nearby.


Glowing and slightly dusty, she reached for Philanthropuss' paws so she could get into the refrigerator and eat peanut butter topped with ketchup and olives.


No one noticed that she had dripped water on the floor, much less Jamie, Lisa, Dori, Julia, Johnson or Ceiling, who were cogitating without words on the stoop out front.


Do-si-dso called the manic cuckoo clock at the top of the steps in the Catskills.


Bones! yelled William Shatner to Chelsea.


Father money flew down from the sky and, burning with dreams much like those of scrambled-egg eaters, softly caressed Wild Butter's hair and placed on her eyes silver coins whose fierce frozen alien intergalactic ironies invaded the old Greek house and drank all the retsina.  Father money could no longer see Wild Butter's innocent face, and Philanthropuss looked to his left.