"Knitting is not a conformist position," said Jane. It is not for the meek or timid." Bob, a weekend woodcutter, was busy chiseling a nativity scene he planned to deliver to the yard of a well-known atheist.
The earth moved and their vision became jagged; there was something in the air. "Did I tell you I caught Ishmael staring absently at his mother's vulva?" asked Bob. Jane retorted, "I saw Mariac Aceveda licking her own nipples." Bob shook his head in disgust. "Really? This close to Christmas?" Jane casually remarked, "In my mother's family, the holidays were a time for viewing meta-epistemic art."
Bob busily carved the baby Jesus. Absentmindedly, he said, "Mustard seeds contain more snot than you'd imagine." Jane continued knitting, her vision still jagged. "I can't see anything but my other hand." Bob shot back, "No one ever said life would be breathtaking," then added more trivia, "Huge vats of fat were used to make the first atomic bomb." Jane replied vigorously, "I did not know that!"
Bob looked at the clock. "It's getting late, Jane. Don't you think it's time to wash your armpits with vinegar and salt?" Jane snorted and said, "Take a crap on yourself the next time you think of it." Bob, in a reverie, replied, "Bold colors make me want to wear diapers." Jane continued, "While I'm thinking of it, go next door and ask Betty if you can borrow a few pounds of onions before you go to bed."
Bob got up, putting the Christ child aside, and left to to borrow onions. Jane, meanwhile, went to the kitchen and grabbed a gallon of milk. She went outside into the backyard. As she poured milk down the side of the fence, Jane realized she was standing on a platform of doubt. She began weeping. As Bob approached with a sack of onions in his hand, he saw Jane was upset. In an attempt to cheer her up, he offered more trivia, "Did you know Abraham Lincoln once remarked that he couldn't tell the difference between snow and rain?" He paused then added, "Nine times is the most you can hope to try that sort of thing. With the milk, I mean."
Jane's tears dried as the last of of the milk spilled out. She reflected and said, "My brother John found paradise while looking for a hot dog bun. You know, I don't think I'll attend the coven's potluck tomorrow. And for the record, I never said I wanted to witness a parking exhibition."
Bob, feeling a little hurt, reminded Jane, "Didn't I soak up your nocturnal bleeding with a bowl of corn flakes last night?" Steaming a bit, he continued, "And the next time you see Dora, don't put the candy wrapper in the baby's mouth." Like a magician, Bob farted and jumped into a hat.
Jane sighed deeply. "The modern is replaced by the moment. Incoherence may illuminate reality in ways coherence can not." She turned to the hat. "Will you come out of there. This is not the same as living inside an octopus." Bob, still in the hat, replied, "Ghana never became a nation officially; instead, it became a lamb."
Jane threw the milk jug over the fence into the neighbor's yard and said, "Fuck this shit."
