Wednesday 12/14

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Wednesdays are probably made of a glittering, sticky tar that they mine in Mexico.

The tar miners must work hard and they work long hours. Wednesdays are particularly difficult for them because of the irony.

Here is a typical conversation that they might have on a Wednesday.

“You know, if we just stopped working,” one miner says, in Spanish or some other language as is that miner’s custom, “we wouldn’t have to work.”

“Ah,” answers the miner to his left, in between swings of the pick, “but isn’t that how it is for everyone?”

Then they will laugh. It’s true! You only have to look at a mansion or a cemetery to recognize that it is so.

Once the tar is mined it is processed. You cannot make Wednesdays out of unprocessed tar. Never ever! If you make a Wednesday out of unprocessed tar you wind up with a disaster like Ash Wednesday, when people have to rub ashes on their foreheads or die, or that Wednesday when daytar pollution killed off the last of the soul-eating fire bison. Those were absolutely the best bison in the world as long as you had a soul protector, so you can see why that Wednesday sucked.

Here is how they actually make Wednesdays.

At 12:01 on ex-Tuesday, the Local Time Management Bureau stops the atomic clock that Internet users in that time zone use as their authoritative reference for time. Business grinds to a shuddering halt. Clocks stop updating. Dogs, even if caught in mid-bark, go still. Birds on the wing do not fall out of the sky; instead, they just hang there, dying of embarrassment.

Swiftly, the sky painters begin to paint Wednesday on the sky. The processed tar spreads smoothly and easily. Sometimes they miss a spot but nobody ever calls them on it because it’s really hard to convince people that you’ve hit a spot of leftover Tuesday unless they are Bureau insiders who know about this kind of thing.

Once the Wednesday covers the whole sky there’s no escaping its fumes. The LTMB can safely turn the atomic clock back on, tapping its side and whispering, encouragingly, “Decay! Decay! GO!”

“Yay!” say the bureau operatives.

“Yay!” bark the dogs.

“Yay!” says the atomic clock.

Yay! Everyone! It’s Wednesday!

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Categories: Essays, Hitherby, Legends, On Puppies