- - - - -

On the subject of really prancing...

The electric squirrel emancified itself bitterly, cursing its young green cordoroys for their imaginative presumptuousness. Cautiously upbeat, it mangled through the brassy spaniels, cavorting its way irregularly towards its goal, a lime green toreador. No one was prancing, it thought, no one was REALLY prancing. Unsure of its trachea, the squirrel charged sublimely, until its milky eyes wrote a suicidal dream of inebriety.

Meanwhile, an erstwhile clam submurged its bloody soul within a vat of cauterised melancholy. Sobbing with leftover Christmas glee, it spied the squirrel irrationally manhandling a ladybird, and marooned itself to the soiled invitation, for no one was prancing. No one was REALLY prancing. Now completely arrogant, the enraged caterpillar lobotomised its handlebars thoughtfully, savouring the taste and compassion. No one frazzled as it looped itself gaily around a sodden spike of meringue, losing presence of self worth, enraptured by the quintessential glow of its own morosity. Unhappy, sinc e no one was prancing. No one was REALLY prancing.

The aisles mocked with the embers of torment, loudly yet still enveloping the disturbed ideals witheld by the inbred voltage. Supply was seven, the smell of the colour salt wafted uneasily through the solid foamy air, the video revolved, the ions displayed, but no one was prancing. No one was REALLY prancing. Retail therapy helped pass the solution, but devolved within a torquing static blink, which undressed the squirrel discretely. Connecting its victuals numbly, the squirrel dispersed a sordid watchtower to pursue an invigorated Moldovian.

A special walrus looked on. "People should be spelling!!" It quaggled. "People should rotate!!" It mooed. But obscurely, the possums envisaged an aleotropic kumquat, and rehinged the walrus in disdain. Sporadically, the clam resolved, and gyrated to a freedom not yet discovered, where soldering was commonplace. Sadistically, the caterpillar groaned, consuming wholly the elementary wit provided by the diurnal sheep, who scorned and choked rings above the turquoise sky. But they weren't prancing. Not REALLY prancing.

But time went by, and horses flew, until upon the sound of the number yellow, a prance was indeed distorted. The walrus brimmed, the squirrel mirthed, the caterpillar bloated, as finally there was prancing.

There was REALLY prancing.

The world was doomed.
The world was doomed.

The world pranced backwards to its mood.

- - - - -

Some things to read...

Interviewer: What do your arch enemies look like, Susan?? What scares you??
Susan: Any freeze-dried yogurty, malty lookin' thing. Anything white and creamy freeze-dried, stay away from it.
Interviewer: My, that's frightening.

Friends are but enemies who lack the guts to kill you. Never trust anyone who is better than you at anything.

Never ever agree to do a group project. People will assume others will do the work, and eventually it all falls down to the two or three people who care the most about their reputation. As a result, those people improve the reputation of the group with people outside the group, even though many of those people have done nothing. It is all too easy to wind up doing more work than the others...

But once you get the knack of not doing the work, always agree to do group projects. Encourage enthusiastic friends about how rewarding it is.

Mailing people dead animals is often a good way of letting them know you're not their friend.

Receiving dead animals is a good way of knowing that your life could be worse - The saying goes, it's better to be talked about behind your back, than not be talked about at all. Equally, it's better to receive mail containing mangled animal carcass, than not to receive mail at all... At least it shows people think about you.

If when you say things, people stop talking, move away, or ignore you... try, try, again...

But trying is the first step towards complete failure. Perhaps you should just cut your losses and join a convent instead.

Suicide is the attention seekers last resort...

But without attention, what's the point of living anyway??

Pokémon is anime...

But anime is NOT Pokémon...

Bored person, boring person. Do something more interesting than complain about it.

Always put your driver disks somewhere safe. That's something you MUST do. >:| <throws his stupid USB thing around the room for its lack of functionality>

Life sucks to start with, but it does stop sucking...

...usually when you die.

Anyone who tells you to "cheer up bucko", PUNCH THEM. Repeatedly. Then you will.

- - - - -

Modern Day Nursery Rhymes

The Grand Old Duke of York...
He had 10,000 Men...
But then again... you know how people talk

Georgie Porgie Pudding and Pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry...
When the boys came out to play...
Georgie Porgie was charged with sexual harrassment and creating a hostile offensive environment, and after a brief court summary tribunal, he was taken away.

Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon.
The little dog laughed
To see such fun,
And scored some more stuff on a spoon.

Wee Willy Winkie,
Running through the town,
Upstairs, downstairs in his nightgown.
In and out of houses,
And along seaside piers,
When they finally catch him, he'll get Mr Thompson as a cellmate for ten years.

Old King Cole was a Merry Old Soul
And a merry old soul was he.
He called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl
And had a colonic irrigation.

- - - - -

The annual picnic of the non existant people...

Sandwiches adorned my plate from every conceivable angle, but no one seemed that bothered about my tuna spread and prawn mayonnaise. Geoff was enthralled by his little pet kitten, Lard, who was sitting amused by a dandelion, whilst Fay chatted gaily at anyone she thought might be listening.

Was it the typical congregation of empty minds, concerned with nothing more than what the weather would do tomorrow, and would they be out in it when it did, that deserved the following??

Was it a reflection of the bleak Burger King tomorrows, the going large of society controlled by the actions of meagre people such as this?? Why go large?? Excess. Greed. The unpopulated picnic was consumed by invisible mouths.

A reaper for worth appears. He's violated their personal space. Antagonism all around... how DARE he set foot near my picnic.

He slices through their skulls.

Adrenaline rush. Dead dead dead. The reaper for worth enjoys this mild victory in the war against excess.

And he licks at the prawn mayonnaise which drips in the empty sun.

It's not bad.

Mourners will weep, for that's what's expected of them. (They didn't get the inheritence). But in reality, the reaper knows that nothing has been lost. Should they care to see it, there are benefits to his actions. You don't get to go large.

He picks up a scotch egg. Enjoys it quietly in the sun, and relaxes before setting off again. Not a bad day.

But before he leaves, the reaper stands and considers his job. He's just the garbageman of reality. Simplistic. When it's out of use, it's binned. He sighs, annoyed at the constant obligatory handling of trash. He could be more.

But isn't. And this is his punishment for not reaching his potential worth.

So same again next year.

- - - - -

Return!!