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When Mom planned this trip, she thought that maybe we should take our third day of Thanksgiving and drive to Arizona, but now that we remembered how pretty Las Vegas was (so long as we stayed away from the buildings), we decided to go back to the Danger and Death Park one last time. “But this time let’s stay on the tourists trails and just look at the scenery rather than trying to climb it,” Mom suggested. “I’m sick of hiking with a gnawing fear of death and dismemberment.” “Okay, no danger then.” I agreed, more for Mom’s sake than for mine. Girls are afraid of everything. We decided to walk a loop around the whole valley, staying inside the wall of the mountains and not climbing any of them.


Mom had gone swimming. “They look like bundt cakes!” Mom said, clearly pleased with herself for making a meta-for and forgetting that she wasn’t the writer in the family. The word “meta-for” comes from the word “meta” meaning “nonsense words that hipsters use” and “for” meaning “for something you could say more clearly.” “What’s a bun-cake?” I asked. “It’s like if a donut and a poundcake had a baby…” then she interrupted her explanation about where baby cakes come from. “NO! It’s like a panettone!” “What’s a pain in the tony?” I asked, thinking maybe that was a word for what Mom is. “It’s like if a bundt cake and a scone had a baby…” Mom said. I didn’t think that babies should be having babies, even if they were just cakes, so I asked Mom to stop describing things.









Oscar the Meaning of Life



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