HUMOR

The Karma of an Overcrowded Kitchen Sink

Or, a wombat can’t ride a unicycle, can it?

I’ve never met a cliché I couldn’t conquer. Or a challenge featuring the written word I wasn’t up for.

That’s why, when my best bud (besides Jeff Bezos, of course) Roz Warren challenged me to a writing contest, I knew I had to throw everything — including the proverbial Kitchen Sink — into my effort.

Some of you may be familiar with Roz and her work. She’s pretty well-known around these parts. She enjoys, essentially, writing about anything that suits her fancy — and consequences be damned. Gosh, I wish I could be like that.

Roz is the reason I’ve spent some time recently reading about such random topics as armpits, driving, sharks and breasts. And why I’ve decided to accept Roz’s challenge to include Karma, Unicycles, Wombats and the aforementioned domestic washbasin (you know, the Kitchen Sink) in my upcoming work.

Editor’s Note: Please consider this an official entry in Roz’s Writing Challenge!

In the interest of full disclosure, Roz and I aren’t going-out-for-coffee friends. I’ve never even met her.

Like more than 8,000 or so of you, I merely “follow” her online efforts, as she dissects life with an acerbic wit and insight. Not sure if Roz has reciprocated my effort to bond over the written word (please follow me, Roz — hint, hint), but she should. Don’t be thinking I’ve got a lock on the RWC, but I just might.

The topics Roz wants us to write about — again, for those who weren’t paying attention the first time, Unicycles, Karma, the Kitchen Sink and Wombats — are certainly a tad “out” there. And she randomly capitalizes them, so you should, too.

Roz firmly anchored herself in my authorial wheelhouse when she said I would get “extra points” if I combined all four into one quasi-creative effort.

And just to be clear — Roz’s Rules apply to everyone who enters the RWC, not just moi.

So I reckon I’ll just bundle the Unicycle with the Wombat and toss those two together with a touch of Karma, then throw them all into the Kitchen Sink— cause even I don’t have the words in me to opine more fully on each individual contest topic.

Here’s the deal: My nephew once learned how to ride a Unicycle.

He was pretty good at it, too. But the day he tried to up his game by dribbling a couple of basketballs at the same time ended in disaster. He wound up with a broken collarbone and assorted dings and lacerations, so that was pretty much the end of that. My sister-in-law — his mom — sold the single-wheeled apparatus the next day.

You see, Nephew was never destined to be a circus clown. And I’ve always wanted to use the word “apparatus” in an essay. Win-win, if you ask me.

In addition (I know; clunky transition, but isn’t that why we’re here?), I don’t have much to say about Wombats, either.

I’ve been to Australia, their native land, exactly once, but didn’t journey to Tasmania, where the furry, brown-ish beasts are known to hang, nor their homeland of Queensland, which also hosts a substantial koala population. In addition to the Wombats, you see.

Side Note: I did see a couple koalas during my visit, but they were in residence at the Sydney Zoo.

Second Side Note: Did you know if you “Google” the word “Wombat”, you’ll discover that folks actually design statues to honor this particular marsupial? The one above is named “William the Hairy-Nosed Wombat”. Apropos of what, I can’t say. I won’t even hazard a guess. But it’s in Queensland, so that’s cool, man.

I think we (the koalas and I) met right after I searched, in vain, for Nemo. He wasn’t at P. Sherman’s house at 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney. No Wombats at that address, either. Go figure.

And why am I capitalizing these random topics? Remember — cause Roz did, of course. Duh.

Some might say that my failure to locate a Wombat while Down Under was the result of bad Karma.

I, however, would challenge that assertion. I’ve been known to possess a certain amount of kismet, if serendipitous circumstances warrant. Oh, and also, there’s an electric sports sedan named Karma. It’s made in SoCal, and retails at about $85,700.

You’re welcome.

Back to the matter at hand. If you’re talking about the Sanskrit translation — one good deed will produce beneficial results, while you’ll get bitten in the arse, bigtime, if you wish something bad on a person, place or thing — I’ve got good Karma up the wazoo. Great Karma, really. Worthy of italics, which most writing teachers say is a pretty weenie way to emphasize a point.

Take, for example, the time a coworker and I went out in search of fame and fortune.

Actually, we were on our break. I bought a lottery ticket, and purchased one for my friend, as well. Paying it forward, or whatever.

Came to find out I won a hundred bucks! But my pal didn’t score, so I split my winnings with her. Betcha can’t guess what happened next. We each bought another lottery ticket and — yup, I won another Benjamin! If that’s not fantastical Karma grounded in solid reality, I challenge you to tell me what is.

Of course, the proprietor of that particular lottery location could have been manipulating the results to encourage me to keep plunking down dollars. But can that even happen? Skewing such outcomes, I mean. I’d downright skewer anyone who did that to me. Wouldn’t you?

I’d like to think Karma played a role in my cleaning up to the tune of Two C-Notes. Please let me hold onto my assumptions, OK?

For the record, my friend didn’t win the second time, either. And I didn’t reinvest in that particular lootery — but don’t you just love Urban Dictionary? And I did take my buddy out for a nice lunch. Seemed only fair.

So there you have it. I’ve crammed three random topics into a metaphorical Kitchen Sink of an essay.

Technically, four. Just hope my concerted efforts don’t get washed down the metaphorical drain. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

If you want to try your hand at Roz’s Writing Challenge, the deadline is next Tuesday, the 24th. She says she doesn’t have much of a monetary reward for your efforts, and no celebrities — except for Roz, natch — will judge the contest, but I’d give at least a penny for Roz’s thoughts. Wouldn’t you?