Thor on the couch

Never had it crossed Thor's mind that it would come to this: a quiet existence on a sagging, soggy couch, a three-day-old burrito for breakfast, those congratulatory letters piling up beside her, bullshit, every single one of them. There had been no award. She concocted that story as a joke, figuring her buddies would know better, would laugh or roll their eyes or make that pshaw noise she found so fake. Pshaw. Who says that? Pshaw to the woman on the couch, sweaty, smelling, something questionable oozing from somewhere unknown. So wet. Pshaw, the Nobel Peace Prize? Pshaw all over you idiots! Thor realized she'd befriended a band of morons and then she realized something worse, that those idiots who loved her would leave her when they found out about her lie. Pshaw. Thor was the moron. So she retired to the couch with a bottle of Sailor Jerry and her burrito, and she got up to get the mail, and she lay there as the phone rang, again and again, wondering how long it would take until she was more ooze than woman, wondering when her trophy would finally arrive.

"Stand and streeetch toward the ceiling;
Bend and streeetch--touch your toes.
Open up your mouth wide;
Touch your tongue to your nose.

Flap your arms like a chicken;
Arch your back like a cat.
Hum 'The Star Spangled Banner;'
Rinse and repeat that."

Thor yawned his way through his morning routine without missing a beat. Soon he would trudge to the kitchen for his usual breakfast of two bean and cheese burritos and a mango. He glanced at his clock, which read (as it always did) 6:02. Thor smiled lovingly in the general direction of the malfunctional time piece before pulling his tube socks up just below the knees and hitching his tan paisley boxers into place a little too high up with a magnificent set of rainbow striped suspenders. And he was off...

Thor skipped down the street
Exuding confidence with every step,
His face awash with the giddy ignorance
Of the socially inept.

Thor is Bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S...

Black boots, black pants, black sweatshirt, black stocking cap, black mittens--not gloves, but mittens, by personal preference--and Thor was set. He tiptoed down the hall, pausing at four second intervals to look and listen. With every stop he flung his arms out in front of him and lifted his left foot about seven inches off the floor. He then stuck his tongue out to taste the surrounding air. He was getting closer...

THUMP!

Thor froze. Someone was definitely onto him. He flattened himself against the wall and held his breath. He was so close. He could practically feel the rubbery banana in his hands, smell its intoxicating sweetness, and taste the yummy mush. With a burst of courage from deep inside his rumbling stomach, Thor ran forward and seized the banana hanging from the ceiling at the end of the hallway. He smashed it open against his forehead and then proceeded to massage the fruit into his scalp. Damn! Foiled again...and Thor was so very hungry.

Thor, Dear, Just Answer the Phone

"TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR! HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU ARE..."

Thor forced his index fingers deeper into his ears and shouted his favorite song at the top of his lungs, but it did little to drown out the malicious ringing of the cordless phone an inch from his face. Thor dared not move, even to chuck the offending article across the room, for fear of hitting the talk button. For nearly two minutes, Thor and the telephone had been sequestered under Thor's bed--hiding from Thor's mother on the other end of the ringing.

Just when Thor was about to expire from overexertion, the phone fell silent suddenly. Thor breathed a sigh of relief, withdrew his throbbing fingers from his ears, and picked up the phone at last. Just then there was a knock at the door. Thor started to cry.