Professor Baseball and the Twisted Daydreams

I have nothing to write about today… or at least didn't until I sat down and opened my text editor. To be fair, I still don't have anything to write about… but I am practicing a "brainstorm-babble"... a technique that a literature professor of mine insisted we used while trapped in his horrid dungeon of a class. "In times of blockage, this will act as the fiber of your imaginative voice" he would drone, passively mocking us in his best "bow down to my superior wit" tone. Yes, he was an ass, and would be the first to agree me. I don't even recall why I felt I needed to tolerate his weekly rantings and insults, as this was supposed to be an elective course for me; based on interest and exploration rather than perfunctory performance. Alas, Professor Ass changed that with a quickness.  Or so I once thought anyhow.

Why the vacillation? Well, it occurs to me that Dr. Ass, P.h.D actually made a notable impact on my educational time served in the brain-prison called University of Blah-Blah… and good behavior notwithstanding, I simply have to give minimal credit where it appears to be due. Ass-credit as is demanded in this case… but credit just the same. This offensive, agitating and annoying little round man - with his poorly coordinated dark socks and sandals - had somehow managed to slip past my self-defensive barricades and accessed my influential mainframe… dropping an (il)logic bomb as he tromped around with seemingly no regard for my - nor my fellow students' - brain-pans. Yes, this is still a babble-exercise… one that Dr. Ass would both berate me for, and secretly admire in his own twisted jealousy fits. "Fiber for my imaginative voice" indeed… anal references from Dr. Ass… how poetically putrid!

Rounding third base now… still wondering how long it will take the other players to notice I didn't actually HIT the ball during my at-bat… heading for home. Plate is being crowded and I don't care. I pick up steam and charge harder… hoping Dr. Ass is somewhere in the stands with money on the opposing team. And then… like an air horn in an infirmary my daydreams are obliterated by reality ripping through my mind. "Shit, it's time to go home."