Die Writing

Pablo Picasso vs. Eggs

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on June 4, 2013


Pablo Picasso!


Pablo Picasso sat down to have his breakfast, but the breakfast was having none of it. He had in front of him greasy eggs, coffee that smelled of stale cigarettes, and a truly revolting morning. Outside his window, the gross man selling newspapers was taking a piss behind his stand and making obscene hand gestures in Pablo Picasso’s direction. He knew the gestures weren’t meant for him – the newspaper man was involved in a loudly disastrous affair with the woman living directly above Picasso – but the sight was upsetting.

Pablo Picasso took a sip of the coffee, forgetting that it tasted of old cigarettes. He contemplated spitting it out, but didn’t. After all, it was his habit to get drunk late in the night and then confuse the coffee pot for the ash tray. There was no one to blame.

He briefly tried to blame Matisse, but right away knew it was pointless. Matisse was the nicest man around, and hardly ever smoked. He would just curl up on the kitchen counter and make cat sounds all night. Matisse was not good at being a cat, but he was so nice about it, no one had the heart to tell him.

Distracted, Pablo Picasso weakly wielded his fork at the breakfast. The eggs ruptured with a burping sound and the yolks ran out, forming a filthy shape. Pablo Picasso grimaced at the eggs and opened his mouth, intent on a reprimand, but the eggs were completely indifferent and just rolled their eyes.

“I’m Pablo Picasso!” He said firmly, brandishing the fork at the eggs. The eggs continued to ignore him, slowly spreading all over the plate in defiance of the great artist.

“I…” he started again, desperately grasping the fork. The eggs basically unzipped their pants on his living room couch, scratched their fat belly, and belched.

“I’m Pablo Picasso,” he said quietly and furiously, quickly finished his coffee and left the apartment. Carefully dodging puddles by the newspaper stand, he headed toward Matisse’s house.


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