Yay! A mess making machine.
Maybe you could amp it up and turn it into a gyroscope. Maybe it could launch a propeller.
Maybe you could add an arm with a needle attached to a speaker and play 45 records on it.
Maybe you could use it to hypnotize people. Maybe you could turn the disc into a gear and attach another gear to move an arm. Maybe you could get it fling marbles or toss dog food to your dog. Maybe you could build a drive, add two axles to the box with cardboard wheels and have it drive itself around.
1 comment:
I received a cotton candy machine for Christmas one year. That was some kind of spun fun. Almost enough to cause me to burst into a raucous but whole hearted GlooooOOOOOOOH OOOH OOOOOhhh OH OOOOOOOOh Oh OH OH OOOH Rhia at the very memory of it. It was the real deal.
Speaking of Gloria and different spins, this came in the mail yesterday from a person whose poems I receive, and I enjoyed the turn he took based on his own perspective and beliefs:
Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
We sang Christmas carols in the gym at the prison.
The visitors sang out on all the goldies—
all those old British tunes and their smooth rhymes,
all the gloooo—ho-ho-ho-ho-horias.
The inmates mumbled along.
Everybody sang to the backs of the chairs in front of them.
Then we got to Feliz Navidad.
We didn't know that one so well—
but the guys belted it out with gusto.
They sang it to each other.
This was their song.
Shepherds on the hillside,
suddenly given good news
in their own language.
This is the mystery of Christmas:
God has come to sing our song,
in our language,
not the refined arias of angelic choruses
but the gritty, plain language of life lived,
failed, loved anyway—and saved.
Feliz Navidad.
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve
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