A man and a woman, a guy and a gal, a gentleman and a dame—they enter a room. A few months later, they go to leave and discover the woman can’t fit through the door.
I get you. Preggers. Alea iacta est.
A snake enters a mouse den–
–do they call them den’s?
Your snake scarfs down a mouse and decides to digest somewhere else.
He can’t fit out?
Your snake can fit out part way, so just his neck is showing. He looks about like a third of a snake now, in that hole.
An ill-advised meal for that snake.
Of course a snake in the midst of digesting doesn’t really need to do anything whatsoever.
I suppose that’s true, depending on your type of snake. Does it need a drink of water?
So there it lies, a third of a snake with its tongue going in and out as snake tongues do, beady eyes looking at something and nothing at the same time.
Plump, dumb, and happy.
Just digesting away.
What happened to your man in the room?
He’s gone. He hasn’t decided yet if he’s going to get help or just plain gone.
I’m picturing him in a suit and hat, and in black and white, like the 1950’s. Why is that?
He walks about somewhat aimlessly.
I wonder whether a question of honor, so simply put, just seems anachronistic nowadays…
And it occurs to him that when you’re born, it’s the opposite. You become too big for the room. You leave, choicelessly. Can’t go back.
So you’re gonna say this fellow, he crouches down next to this here snake, and the snake looks up at him, and he starts telling your snake all about it.
And the snake listens like its got an elephant’s ears.