The Adversity with Modern Lighting

"The light bulb is inoperative!" exclaimed the midget tying his Pumas next to a glowing radiator.

I, fixing my toothbrush, abruptly asked him, "To which light bulb are you referring. This place accommodates a great variety of light bulbs which, I may add, are all the same." When I fixed my toothbrush I flushed my comb down the toilet.

"The light bulb that goes into that nice lamp," he smiled putting a pipe cleaner in his ear while scratching his back with a spatula.

Walking in a perfect triangle, snatching dust from the sunbeam, I gave him a word or two. "There are many lamps in this humble abode, but you put the word 'nice' in to modify the lamp you we're talking about--"

"Of course," he snapped gingerly, "Nice is an adjective."

"A very nebulous adjective I will (not add but) like to point out to you!" I almost yelled but didn't as I watched a spider crawl into my friend's hair. "You have described all my lamps except one - the one that is not nice - the one you gave to me."

"Well," he said plunging his head into the bathtub full of used bath water to wash out the spider, "at least my lamp has an effectual light bulb."

"Dry your hair," I said slyly picking my nose. "When you're done, direct me to the 'nice lamp' with the 'inoperative light bulb.'"

"With pleasure," he said attempting to blow his hair without the blow dryer, which I do not own.

After five minutes of light-headedness, the midget directed me out of the bathroom and into the kitchen that has no lamps. "In here!" he shouted pounding his fist on my telephone stand, knocking it down.

"Mr. Flugpuw, (Barry Flugpuw is his name) while you fix my telephone stand, I wish to point out to you that my kitchen retains no lamp. As a matter of fact, the kitchen is the only major room without a lamp."

Barry, not bothering to fix my telephone stand, pointed to the light on the ceiling. "Then what's that?" He began to walk towards it until he tripped over the telephone wire.

"You deserve that after smashing it," I smiled as I walked to stir the stew. As I stirred, I noticed that a mouse had floated to the top. My eyes opened wide, but I did not say anything since the stew is for my family while I go out to find millipedes and centipedes under maple leafs and oak leafs.

My friend finally fixed the telephone stand and asked, "Aren't you going to check out that lamp?"

My mind wandering on the bug/leaf checks forgot all about the broken ceiling light. "It is a ceiling light, my unwise comrade. Let me go switch it on."

I trudged leisurely to the light switch and gently flicked it on. The light did not go on. "Let me go unscrew the light bulb after I switch it off." I did exactly what I said.

"Aren't you going to shake the light bulb," asked the midget chewing on my dictionary.

"Stop gnawing on my reference material, you buffoon," I said scratching my back with the stirring spoon. "Why should I shake the broken light bulb?"

"To see if it's really broken!" he yelled as if he were going to tear off my head and throw it in the microwave just to watch it explode. But it wouldn't because he would forget to turn it on.

I laughed in my cat's face, then I walked straight up to Barry Flugpuw. "Mr. Flugpuw, if the light didn't go on when I flipped the switch, that means it's broken. I remember these things. I'm not like some people who take out the light bulb, look at the light bulb, and then wonder: 'Is this the one I just took out or is this the one I am about to put in?' Then they shake the light bulb, like a twerp, up to their ear so they hear it rattle.

"No, Mr. Flugpuw, I'm not going to shake the blasted bulb. I'm just going to throw it in the pungent garbage and get the light its new bulb."

"Fine," said the midget taking off his Pumas so he could spit on his toes to watch the spittle slide onto my newly waxed floor. "That's the last time I give you friendly advice."

I opened my refrigerator and drank a whole gallon of buttermilk in front of my dwarfed friend. After I finished it off, I wiped my milky mouth onto my blazer sleeve and stared at Barry. He scratched his head, wiped his nose, adjusted his glasses, wiggled his toes, and finally left my home.

I then replaced the light bulb as a shark swam by my window with Barry in its mouth. I smirked.