Fluff? Who, Me?

Writer’s block is a myth that lazy writers perpetuate–at least according to Miss Crankypants. Just look around, she says, and you’ll see oodles of material, from cats with flatulence to baby slugs oozing across the kitchen floor. Both of these situations actually happened this morning at Miss CP’s house. No writer’s block here. She’s more likely to sit on the fence trying to decide which hilarious thing to write about.
Just yesterday she wrote a razor-sharp comment on  her friend’s blog, that we should all do “three silly things before breakfast.” But Miss Cranky has so many inane things to choose from! She can’t make up her mind!
Should she wax poetic about how lately, when she goes to bed at night, she resembles an alien? This is what happens when you need a carpal tunnel wrist brace, wear a mouth guard to prevent tooth grinding and your stupid congested nasal passages require either a CPAP machine or at the very least one of those Breathe Right nose strips. Last night the strips won out–but in the morning Miss CP lost half her face trying to peel it off.
Or should she write about the slugs? I mean Miss CP lives in Slugville, USA, home of the Ubiquitous Gastropod contest. We have SLUG QUEENS! If you’ve ever wondered how giant banana slugs spend their nursery years, wonder no more. Miss CP picks off (with gloved fingers!) these infant gastropods that hitch a ride on the cats’ fur. The cats claim innocence–which makes Miss Crankypants even crankier. She always knew those felines were slimeballs and now she has proof–a shiny slime trail follows the kittehs wherever they go.
But perhaps Miss Crankypants will succumb to her lower nature today and write about the cat who should lay off the greasy fried food. Isn’t it interesting that writers can write about all sorts of embarrassing bodily functions, but you dare not breach the subject of gas? What is gas but a misdirected belch? We writers know all the euphemisms: cut the cheese, pass the gas, and Miss CP’s personal favorite, the fluff. The other word for gas begins with “f” and it’s almost as bad as its cousin, the action-adventure movie dialogue staple.
Miss Crankypants confesses that a fluff in her presence causes uncontrollable laughter–just before she sticks her thumb on her forehead. That’s the sign her kids used to make to prove they didn’t f**t. You’ll have to excuse her now. One of the cats has got quite fluffily and is trying to blame it on a slug. No amount of Writer’s Block can keep that scenario away from the Breathe Right nose strips.