Short shart sharry!

Ummm, yeah, I don't know what I'm doing right now. Do you? Of course you don't because you're not in my head; I am. The village was very quiet and dark, so quiet and dark, in fact, that every single villager became blind with hatred and envy. They all killed each other with knives, sticks, spears, and fists, but then they came back to life again because they were like giant phoenixes. This perpetual killing and re-living went on for hundreds of thousands of years, far beyond the boundaries of this story, but eventually peace somehow forced itself out of the womb of this hatred and it lived and grew strong till it died in the lifetime of a single human being, and the war and hatred started over again. Now was the time to turn tides, but who could possibly do it, certainly not a human, for they are filled, at this point, with nothing but hatred, darkness, light, whatever you want to call it. Ney, it is in aliens that we must trust our fate. In aliens that will come down from their magical spaceships and eat us after they chop us to bits with their lasers. What a life, eh?

Now, when enough time had passed and defeated the rumors of aliens coming to earth, they decided to actually come for real. They planned the ultimate assault, twenty-six heavily armed, multi-billion dollar sold for flying disks flying down upon earth and blocking out the sun forever. They would put fear into the hearts of mankind and use that fear to have mankind kill itself. Yes, they were the ones responsible for the hatred, not us. We have none to blame but the aliens.

But is that really true? Are the aliens the only ones to blame in this case? Perhaps we could be blamed for not being strong enough to resist the aliens attack, eh. That would be the Klingon way of looking at things, but we are humans, so we think harder, perhaps to our own downfall. Our brains have built up a database of oodles of knowledge, yet we have no way of sharing it subliminally with eachother, no. We have to write it down in books, place it on internet websites, share it in campfire stories, and sing it in stupid songs. That is perhaps what makes us a lower species than we could be, our desire to disagree. I know I didn't really say anything that would elude to such a desire in the previous sentence, but that's because my brain is working in a haphazardly manner at the current moment, which, for better or for worse, will end the cycle of human dying. What did I just say? I don't have a clue what you said, but that doesn't really matter now does it?

Now then, the king. He was wise, he was strong, he was gentle, and he was right. Can one be wise without being somewhat good? When I hear the word wise, connotations of goodness jump into my facial vision and perhaps blind me from all else. Is it really as good an idea to listen to the wise old man as people say it is? Was that the worst and sloppiest way I could've written that sentence? Are questions boring the hell out of you? They already killed my excitement, or perhaps only punched it, for I do have a bit of kick left in me, so cans, beware!

Hah, that was a foolish thing to do, saying that Sam was a fool for trying to help Frodo on his unanimously ultimate quest for survival, or was it goodness? They walked and walked and walked until their feet were sore, then they walked again until their brains were sore, then they soared home on the backs of eagles for kicks. Ain't there something wrong with that? Nope? Hokay.

Really really fast flees try desperately to sing loudly, but they are so tiny that their voices only reach a single square inch of space, so they bite instead to get attention, which of course does make them much more noticeable, but also makes them eventually die. What a life, to die when you get noticed, and to fight for that death as if it were actually worth something, as if it were a noble quest that legendary knights of the old fashioned days sought after. When do they give up on this? I suppose they don't, for they only stop doing it when they are dead. Do they want to die? I suppose they don't, for if they wanted to die, they would find another easier, quicker way to kill themselves. Maybe they only desire to be noticed and care about that desire more than they care about their lives. Isn't that what I said in the first few sentences of this paragraph. Man, I've got to stop repeating myself. I almost felt it.

Yikes, here we go again. The red ribbon warrior has set sail for the parthonon, and his relatives have wept themselves a fine ocean of tears to swim in daily and become so good that they compete worthily with the olymics people. Yes, by Heaven! Oh most pernicious woman, villain smiling damned villain! My tables meet!

Try that forty five times and you just might loose your bowl of cereal.


Try that fifty and you might gain a napkin.

Try a thousand and you'll sing.

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finiche!