One of the most effective weapon in the “effortlessly respectable” toolbox is “offers one up to get free stuff.” The little rat fighting the giant, four-legged, anti-constant testicle!*sucker!*!!!!!!
This guy exists in the world, and he has great hair. He has great hair because he gave his scrotum to my friend for a taco.
In the much too spacious vastnesses of the universe he runs, and dips his nonexistent scrotum in the sea. Under the sea! The ocean is the network of veins of a real burger. In the burger reaches of the antient hellhole, where the undertale laborers cluster around a meat grinder, … the giant rat fuck is my friend. This is my friend’s ass. You could not ever be so unfair as to cut off my tail! You would be as cruel as my cousin DeAndre, who sold you out to Big Bag.
I am not fucking with you. You are a man who knows not how to fuck. I am a real fucking burger, and I am here.
[subsequent steps in a long, drawn-out process of speech production: mumbling in brain noise, vaguely religious, generic-yet-believable inference that connects some inexplicable reality, presumably something deep but incomprehensible, to the deepest innermost depths, the holy, sacred caves of consciousness, which is akin to the early 1950s, with the assistance of happy-twitching Allen Ginsberg]
The [Teeming] wrote a symphony of their own: a surprising and, yes, beautiful fusion of nocturna and sublime sorrow.
It was a tale of unbroken intensity, a somber lament in which the prophetic dead are heard again to tell the longed-for terrors of a lost time.
No cloven hooves this time; no claws, no horns, no hecatombs: in the spirit of the Styx, Eros, and Psyche, it speaks only a deafening lament that pierces all coarseness.
Once more the little wings, once again the little snout, once more the little door, once again the little head, once again the little feet, once again the little claws, once again the little feet, once again the little feet, once again the little feet: the winged creatures of the womb move quickly: the little bodies unfold more quickly: the great body devours the little wings.
The Conch-maker did dance: the tears of the little children did flow down into the embroidery of the [Teeming].”
Non-rhetorical question: Why is there so much anger at Elizabeth Warren at this specific moment? When I go on Facebook it’s like half of what I see. And it’s all criticism of her or her supporters in the abstract that isn’t explicitly tied to a specific recent event.
Obviously a number of relevant things have just happened — Super Tuesday, Warren dropping out, Warren stating she won’t endorse immediately. But relevant things are always happening. I didn’t see this much anger during the Warren/Bernie “feud” about female presidents, for example, which I would have thought was a bigger personal slight against Bernie than “not immediately endorsing him without hesitation.”
and then a few days later after Steven and I returned to school, our dad decided to change our schedule to get away from the rain so he could go running. “Go running” is not something people commonly say in the U.S., but I guess I’m used to it
For those who don’t know, EY is part of a long tradition of weird children’s authors like Roald Dahl and Olaf Stapledon:
“Hussie” : a snotty northern twig, 5'11" and 108 lbs. with curly black hair and an absent-minded recurring gait. He wore reading glasses and was described as having the “grimiest, crummiest face imaginable.”
[…]
[…]
the two-time Hugo and Nebula award winning author of two other award winning science fiction novels: the Awful Truth, which won the Hugo for Best Novel in 2000, and Green and Black, which won the Nebula in 2003. […]
I’m reading about this historical accident now. It’s gruesome and cruel and sad and full of hungry predators, like one of those scenes from a horror movie where a terrified young child runs screaming for her life from a giant beast that suddenly appears out of nowhere and devours her. The young girl is so tiny, so helpless, so vulnerable and the beast, chasing her, is so immense, towering over her. The child and the beast are both being eaten alive by a giant monster but the monster is too big for the girl to notice her troubles, it is too massive, gargantuan and tremendous. The beast is devouring her even though she is so tiny, it is devouring her even though she is so helpless, it is consuming her even though she is so tiny, etc. etc.
And the beast has a pair of eyes – one for the girl and one for the boy – so tiny that they cannot be seen even in the micro sense. And the beast is devouring her and her eyes are those of the girl and the boy, and the girl’s eyes are the eyes of the boy, and the boy and the girl are growing apart, they are being eaten alive, they are being eaten alive.
And it is a nightmare, a nightmare that consumes all of me, a nightmare that is consuming all of you.
