If I Lived On the Baseball That I Just Bombed Into That Lady's Front Yard
Our scientists call it a "Vicious Topspin Gravitational Pull" - this is nerd-speak for what actually keeps us put on this crazy spheroid as we careen through space; the theory goes further, suggesting that our sun, which comes in five-hour-intervals, isn’t spinning around us, but rather that this “Topspin” of our Ball-Earth rotates us sunny-side-up every five hours as our sun stays in place. Regardless of what holds who where, it's been a good life, living as I have in the Stitches...I got my condo on the cheap, just as it was being built, and it's well big enough to accommodate my lovely wife, our three strapping kids and our two adorable dogs, though the neighbourhood does leave something to be desired - a circumstance we hadn't foreseen in living so close to the dry, flat deserts of White Leather; we cringe at the thought of our children accidentally finding themselves footing-less on that slick Ball-Earth, but we are equally relieved that, unlike our euchre-buddies the Stevensons, we are nowhere near the strange designs that our astronauts have dubbed, “The Signature of Bud Selig”. These odd, textured, seemingly stamped loops on the White Leather are a matter of much consternation, and since the beginning of time there have been scientific-naysayers...those who believe that it is actually this "Bud" who created the sun, the sky, the totality of our Ball-Earth despite the scientific proof to the contrary; these "Bud-ists" hold that there is but a matter of time before our Ball-Earth is snuffed out, enveloped by a "Great Glove in the Sky". Ironically, this is where the "Bud-ists" and the scientists agree, at least in theory: a lot has been made of the "Big Crack", the explosion of time and space that created our Ball-Earth...and later proofs have posited that our world is traveling in an arching pattern, as if hammered by the aluminum-stick of some supreme athletic-being, that we are destined to "land", sooner than later, on a massive, lush place called "That Lady's Front Yard". I, for one, have no time for these "doomsday" prognosticators; I can't spend my life worrying about whether our world will end up in the "Great Glove" or "That Lady's Front Yard"...not with children to raise and my newly-minted promotion down at the Stitch-Recovery Plant. Yes, it will mean more time away from my family, but I might finally be able to move us into that swanky neighbourhood up in Rawlings County, the nationally-known home of the Grand Dent. What could be better?