A balloon.

Ok, so blow it up.

Puff. Puff.

Oops.  Somebody asks me a question.

The air escapes.

I look at the balloon.

My, my, what a limp excuse for a balloon.

Blow, blow.

The phone rings.

I squeeze the end of the balloon, and lightly release the pressure.

The balloon flies out of my hand, making a sound that reminds me of something.

What is it?

Oh yeah.  A gaseous release.

Now what?

Where is the balloon?

I become obsessed.

I must find the balloon.

I see it.

It landed on Erica’s head.

She is unaware of a deflated balloon lodged in her curly locks.

It looks like a condom.

I think about it.

Should I ask her if I can have my condom, uhm, balloon that is hung up in her curls?

Not a scenario that I want to pursue.

I take out another balloon.

I blow.

The phone rings.

This time, the balloon flies over the cube and lands in Beaver’s feta cheese.

I see her eating the cheese.

She doesn’t notice the balloon.

She eats it, the cheese and the balloon.

She complains of a belly ache.

I keep silent.

I blow up another balloon.

Phone rings.

Balloon lands in Candis’ salad.

I saunter up to her desk and try to retrieve the balloon, from her salad.

She beats the @$@%@ out of me.

I am bruised and battered.

I blow up my last balloon.

The phone rings.

Oh no!

My balloon!

Not in Pat’s soup!

Pat eats it.

I ask her: Did you enjoy your lunch?

She says:  Yes, I had soup.

I say :  What kind?

She tries to answer, but she starts floating above her desk.

I see a large bubble emerging from her mouth.

She continues to rise above it all.

I take a deep breath and sing:  Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon?

Oh oh.  Our rally point meeting.

Everyone ok?

Anyone need help?

By the way, where is Pat?

I point to the ceiling.

Oh there she is.

What the hell?

Get down, right now, from that ceiling.

Pat blasts through the tiles in the ceiling, releasing Air Gas and Products, and lands in the parking lot, where the geese immediately fly to her rescue and sit on her eggs.

In 25 days, the goslings arrive.

Strangely, they bear a familiar resemblance to Pat.

Moral of the story:

There is none.

Unless, of course, you believe in Dr Seuss and Mother Goose.

And if so, celebrate good times! There’s a party going on right here.  A celebration to last throughout the years.  So bring your good times, and your laughter too.
We gonna celebrate your party with you.

Let’s face it: Life is meant to be enjoyed.

And there is nothing like a balloon to tickle our imagination.

Wolf

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