|
An exciting tale filled with adventure, intrigue, and excitement! A moving, heart-stopping, maniacal menage of marauding monsters making to mend their malfeasance by means of emotional monitoring! A story of such scope and breadth, such depth and power, such heart and soul, wisdom and wit, rhythm and blues, that the gods themselves where they sit wrapped in the worship of beauty will weep to witness the wiles of men and women wandering wistfully through the wisteria while whistling wetly! A barrage of literary stylism! An onslaught of coy and meaningful phrasology! Sesquipedalian, prolix, basking in the nomenclature of a sure and self-aware intelligencia, an anti-illetari, an intellecuarchy! Humor! Other forms of irony! A nice day in the park! By the fire! Lolling in the bedroom, in the bed, under the bedclothes, having sleep, will having been asleep! With a cup of tea! No lemon! One sugar only please! Not darjeeling though, I hate that one! It began like all stories do, in the beginning. Corn dogs were involved. Amounts of catsup. Alternate spellings of the aforesaid, like ketchup, and variations on-the-theme, like Heinz 57, A-1, the like. There was food. There was eating. Consuming. Appetites were influenced, influenced. Stomach nibbled, were nibbled upon. Wrists were kissed. Wild orgies were ensued. Lots and lots of towels were used. Irregular alignments were trued. Oaths were muttered, mild and crude, plain and rude, smart and ish-prude. There was a dude with an attitude. A cow mooed (sorry). It was set in the land of the setting sun: the setting was the setting. There where the sun sits for a spell before spelling the night as watch-dog of the other-side-of-the-world. There underneath the trees over the ground next to the river beneath the clouds away from the cold near the warmth of a thousand happy families with their thousand and seven happy dogs. There were the houses are built out of hopes and dreams and one dreams of hopes of popes and periscopes to see above the sea of catholic confusion and an uncertain future. The land where the shorn sheep wear no underwear, wear and tear make for an unfair tariff on the emotional welfare of the werewolves scary, very few care and are unwary, and nary a bear, bare like the shorn sheep now so unhairy, rest in the winter nor hibernate there in their lair, marry! The principle characters were various and few. There were two. Me and you. And you. Simultaneous. Instantaneous. Emancipation was the plot, freedom from sin was our destiny, the fate of the souls our motivation, the moving speeches of the demi-god heroes our entertainment, the frivolity in wandering our religion, conversations with prelates our key to good living, locksmithing eventually our enslaving chains. There was dancing, there was running, there was sitting for long periods of time talking about looking at people eating in train cars rolling along tracks sweating under the sun that is coasting above a blue sky resting around an earth spinning through a solar system spinning though a galaxy spinning through a universe... sitting. There was development, there was the kind of development that is a picture developing, the picture always having been there, the chemicals bringing it out finally to be seen, there was the kind of development that is a baby developing, every moment another influence on its final character, there was the kind of development that moves a species randomly through fits and starts from a limited potential to an awesome eventual fated superiority. There was a lot of the number three.
|