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Tasty bunnies

Whatchamacallit whatchamacallit okay, people. I'm feeling stuck and mentally and authorially constipated, what Is Known, generally, in The Biz, as Writer's Block. In order to work through around about this, I'm going to write me some train of thought. We'll see how it goes. Channelling. Channel surfing. A combination of the both. We begin:

Fourscore why do I always start with fourscore? That's 80. Maybe it's intuition. Maybe that's how long I've got in me. Could take a while. Even at one a year, could take a long while, and I don't think it'll be that many. Good. Too many minimes running around could depress the economy. "Everyone wants a piece of me. Now you can have one!" Am I reluctant in saying it can only improve things? Am I overly Modesto? Possibly USC? Injokes. As opposed to things only other people would find funny: outjokes, such as my own personal pains. We all have them. Mine just involve more clown shoes than most. Not to mention that echidnu. Echidwho? Never mind.

Not really producing here, not really participating here, not really reacting here, not really here here. Nothing here here. Hear hear. Depressed internal phone! It's for you. They want to know what you did with the minatour. He's got a wand of digging, y'know. I'll trade you even up. Even odd. Even even. No money down, no resistance to the spiel, too much beeping and too little time. My stomach hurts. It must be the Romantic Deconstructionists. Or maybe it's the Impressionists. I always have trouble telling them apart. Something to be said for nostalgia, eh? Also something to be said for Look! A three headed monkey!

Fortune, why dost thou taunt me? Why dost plague me with visions of impossible dreams? I know why, but I dare not speak it. Not even if I whisper. Fortune has good hearing. Otherwise, I'm tolerable, thank you, but I think my body is breaking down around me and my brain isn't working as well as it used to and I'm losing my creativity and my zest for life and I hate my conditions and I might be getting a cavity. Maybe. It seems to be gone now, though. My brother's getting married, did I mention? Which means, inevitably, that I'm going to be an uncle at some point. An odd thought.

Otherwise, not much, and you? That's nice. That's nice. That, too, is nice. That's... okay, enough about you. Back to me. Me. ME. ME! Worship me, you pathetic loathsome pieces of slime! MEEEEEE!!! And so the wheel turns again. (To everything... there is a season...) Pardon. A short research project. Ahem.

That's it. Okay. In case I've offended one of you, I hereby fall at your feet and weep and wail and beg forgiveness. Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, and Urania, I beseech your aid!

Especially Thalia. As always.